Reilly was an untouchable. Totally off-limits. To him. To anyone and everyone with a dick in the club. He had no fucking clue why, since she was an adult and certainly not a virgin. Even so, she’d been put on the no-fly list for all the Fury members.
He guessed if he didn’t wear a Fury cut, he could get away with sliding between her thighs. But he did, so he couldn’t.
It was just one of the rules the guys followed to keep in good standing in the MC. As much as he hated rules, this was one he did his best not to break.
However, Reilly was distracting him from what he really needed to do. It wasn’t finishing the oil change. It was to go outside where he had some privacy and call the name and number back. To find out why the fuck this person felt the need to hunt him down and turn his life upside down in the process.
To bring everything he’d buried deep back to the surface.
To stir up memories he and his sister Saylor had done their best to forget.
Maybe he should just toss the wadded-up note into the trash and go back to living his life. Simply ignore it and tell Reilly to never take a message from that person again. But if he told her that, she would want to know why. The woman had a way of digging you didn’t realize was actually digging until it was too late.
She was a goddamn pro at it.
She should’ve been a lawyer just like her sister. In fact, Reese would probably love that for her, instead of her sitting in the office of a garage in Manning Grove surrounded by horny bikers who wanted to do dirty things to her baby sister.
He sighed and realized she was still standing there watching him, a concerned look on her face.
He needed to get the fuck away from her. He strode over to his toolbox, snagged his cell phone and didn’t stop moving until he was out the back door, in the warm mid-April weather and staring sightlessly out over the boneyard.
He took a breath.
And another.
He went over to the picnic table they sat at during lunch or to burn a fatty and settled on the wood bench facing the storage yard, keeping his back to the building. He dug into his open coveralls and into the front pocket of his jeans, pulled out his metal pipe and an old prescription bottle full of bud. He had tossed the pink paper ball onto the table and occasionally took a peek at it while he packed the premium bud tightly into the bowl.
He dug into his other front pocket and pulled out a Bic, put the brass pipe to his lips, tipped the flame to the bowl and inhaled the smoke until no room was left in his lungs. He held it deep, until his lungs screamed for oxygen, then blew out the smoke on a frustrated breath.
He took another long hit, then another, and sat there until the sharp edges had slightly dulled.
He snagged the wad of paper and used his fingers to flatten it out against the worn wood of the tabletop. Not enough fucking pot existed in the world for the call he was about to make.
He shouldn’t make it.
He should just use his lighter and burn the paper to ash to rid himself of the temptation.
But he was curious.
He couldn’t imagine why anyone from his past life would bother to reach out to him unless it was either something major or bad news. Or both.
More than anything, he wanted to know how that person even tracked him down. How the fuck did he find him? Why would he think Rev would care enough to hear any news?
In truth, today’s technology didn’t make it difficult for anyone to be found, even when they weren’t using their legal name. One had to work very hard to go totally off the grid and never be found again.
He honestly never thought anyone would bother to look for him.
He was wrong.
He set his phone next to the now wrinkled paper and decided he needed another hit of pot first. When he was done with that, he picked up his phone and plugged in the number written in Reilly’s neat print on the paper.
He stared at the Send button for a couple of heartbeats, then, before he changed his mind, he tapped the green icon. He put the phone to his ear and dread filled his chest as the ringing filled his ear.
Maybe he wouldn’t pick up.
Maybe he wouldn’t pick up.
Maybe—
“Hello?”
Rev’s jaw shifted when he heard a voice he hadn’t heard in a long time. Older but still familiar.
“Hello?” Another pause. “Anyone there?”
Rev should hang up.
“Michael?” The voice sounded kind of hopeful.
Fuck. “Yeah.”
“Oh, blessed be! God is good! I’ve been trying to find you for the past three weeks.”
“You found me.”
“What a relief. You made it quite difficult, you know.”
On purpose.
You never did anything. You never stepped in. You turned a blind eye. You are no better than them.
“But I prayed and prayed for God to guide me. And He came through. He found our lost lamb.”
The searing heat of anger began to flicker like a flame in Rev’s chest. “Ain’t lost.”
A long hesitation came from the other end of the phone, then, “Yes, you’ve lost your way, nephew. But it’s easy to find it again. For you and Sarah. God is always willing to help.”
Sarah.
He hadn’t heard that name in a long time. The same amount of time since he’d heard the name Michael.
“Sarah died,” Rev said flatly.
A deep gasp filled his ear. “Oh no, Brother Michael. May the good Lord be with Sister Sarah. God’s embracing His child in His loving arms.”
That made Rev want to puke.
The “good lord” hadn’t been with her when she was a child, so why the hell would he be with her now? Why didn’t their god embrace her in his loving arms back then?
Why didn’t the “all-seeing” and “all-knowing” divine being do something to stop them?
He refrained from asking those questions because he didn’t want the conversation to last any longer than necessary. He wanted to know why the fuck his uncle had searched for him.
And managed to find him.
“That news is quite devastating. I will add Sister Sarah to my prayers, of course. I’m not sure whether to tell that sad news to your mother or father yet. They have enough of a heavy burden to deal with right now.”
Rev hoped that heavy burden crushed them. But even with whatever they were dealing with, wouldn’t being told their daughter was dead be important?
Of fucking course not.
“That why you hunted me down?”
“Yes, I felt you needed to know and figured you’d want to come home.”
“Why the fuck would I wanna come home?”
Home. That was no longer home and hadn’t been for over ten years.
Home was where family was and the Fury was now his family. Everyone inside the garage behind him was family. Not the man on the phone.
“I… I…” his mother’s brother stuttered. Most likely from Rev’s choice of words. “Please don’t use such foul language.”
Fuck that. “You reached out to me first, Matthew. You don’t fuckin’ like it, hang the fuck up and never call the garage again.”
“It’s upsetting to hear that Satan still has a firm grip on your soul, Brother Michael. I will also continue to pray for you every night.”
Satan had a firm grip on his soul. Jesus fuck. “Yep. He sure as fuck does.”