Dark Guardian (Black Hoods MC Book 3) Read online

  “You guys good?”

  Both kids turn toward me, and even though their faces say they’re ready, their eyes scream they’re not. “Ready,” Kevin says, taking his sister's hand. “We got this, Gene. Promise.”

  And he does. I can tell by the determined set of his jaw. I just wish his sister looked as confident.

  “Shug, what about you?”

  Natalie straightens her shoulders. “I’ll be okay, Mr. Judge. You don’t have to worry about us.”

  A lump forms in my throat as she speaks, and I can’t tell if it’s because of my own fear for her, or if it’s because she never ceases to amaze me. Maybe it’s both. Who fucking knows? “You got your phones. Call me if you need me, for anything, okay?”

  They both nod in unison.

  “I mean it. I can be here in less than five minutes. Just say the word.”

  Natalie’s hand lands on my arm, her touch as light as a butterfly. “We’re gonna be okay.”

  Kevin chuckles. “It’s school, man, not prison. Go do your thing. We’ll see you after.”

  “You want me to walk you in?”

  Finally, Natalie giggles and shoves at my arm playfully, attempting to move me toward my truck. “Go! We’re fine.”

  I allow her to move me away and laugh with her, the lump in my throat loosening just a little. “All right, all right, I’m going. Have a great first day, guys.”

  As I pull away from the school, I catch a group of women standing near the entrance with their kids in tow, every single one of them smiling when I creep by.

  Smirking, I wave. “Morning, ladies.” Several of them drag their kids into the building, while the rest stare back with hungry looks on their faces. Gotta love moms. Maybe this school thing won’t be so bad.

  Grace

  The coldest pair of green eyes stare at me from across the table.

  “You’re late,” Greg growls, puffing out his chest as he looks down at his watch. His beard is more unruly than usual, sticking out in every direction. He’s also in dire need of a haircut.

  “For goodness’ sake, I’m three minutes late.” I settle into the chair across from him and set my purse down beside me in the booth. “It’s not like I missed the whole darn thing.”

  “Still late. I don’t have all day to wait on you.”

  He’s lying, of course. Greg has all the time in the world. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it, he likes our standing Friday night card games at the soup kitchen. Greg had stumbled into my life after he’d helped scare off two teenagers trying to steal my purse when I was walking to my car. And here I am, three years later, still trying to repay him for his bravery, of which is against his will.

  “I’m sorry, but I brought you something that might cheer you up.”

  His brow arches in interest. Slipping my hand into my bag, I pull out a wrapped Whataburger. His entire attitude changes when I set it on the table and slide it over. Snatching it up, he devours the burger in four bites.

  “Better?” I laugh when he runs his weathered thumb across his lips before sucking it into his mouth.

  “Would’ve been better if you’d gotten me two of them.”

  I slip the second burger from my purse and hand it to him, watching his perpetual frown slip into the tiniest smile. Stuffing it into his worn Army jacket pocket, he pats it in satisfaction.

  “I’ll forgive you this time, but don’t be late again.”

  I roll my eyes. He’ll never admit it, but he enjoys our Friday nights together, even if I am late more often than not. I just wish I could visit with him more, but my caseload prevents it.

  “How have things been this week?” I ask, trying to make small talk while he’s still in a good mood.

  “Weather’s been shit. Too hot.” It has been hot, topping in the upper nineties for the past three weeks. I can barely stand it, so I have no doubt it’s been awful in his tent a few blocks away. The place he wouldn’t have to live in if he’d just take me up on my offer.

  “There’s air conditioning at the VA.”

  “I ain’t goin’ to no VA. Those bastards sent me to Nam, and they’ll try to send me back.”

  “The war has been over since 1973,” I chuckle. “I’m pretty sure at 72, you don’t meet the age requirement for active duty.”

  “Doesn’t mean they won’t try.”

  It’s the same argument we have every week. I offer to get him off the streets, and he fires back nonsense at me. It’s the definition of insanity, but it won’t stop me from trying. After finally getting him to open up to me last year, I was able to verify his veteran status, and even had a caseworker set up for him. But he won’t go. It’s frustrating, to say the least.

  “They aren’t going to send you back, Greg. They just want to help you get medical care and give you a safe place to live.”

  “I said no, didn’t I? N-O. Even spelled it for ya.”

  “You did, but you earned this with your service.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest, attempting to look intimidating. “They didn’t do shit for me when I lost my job, my house, or my life. Why should I trust them to house and feed me?”

  I stifle a sigh. He has to be the stubbornest man on the planet. He could have a warm bed to sleep in and round-the-clock medical care, but he won’t budge. When he left the Army, things were in a constant state of flux for benefits and support. How he got lost in the shuffle, I’ll never know, but after a few calls and a push from a friend higher up in the food chain, I’d secured him a spot at the local VAs assisted living facility. All he had to do was show up.

  “Consider it,” I urge.

  “No,” he fires back. “Are we playing, or do you plan to sit there all night, gabbing and clucking at me like ladies at a beauty parlor?” Greg has always been blunt and to the point since the day we met. If he’s ready to move on, you can either comply, or he’ll just get up and leave. There is no middle ground with him.

  “Fine. But this conversation isn’t over. Poker or Gin Rummy?”

  Pulling out a worn deck of cards from his other jacket pocket, he opens the box and shuffles the deck, his fingers nimble for his age. Without so much as another word, he deals out a hand and lays the cards down in front of me.

  “Poker. And the bet is more of those burgers.”

  Greg cracks the first smile of the night. And true to his word, he earns himself at least a dozen burgers over the course of our playing time. I’m not what you would call a card shark, but I’m decent. Greg, however, is a pro. If I hadn't called off the last game when I did, I’d be buying stock in Whataburger to pay off my debt to him.

  “Giving up easy today, kid?” he teases.

  I motion to the setting sun outside the booth’s window and say, “It’s getting late.”

  “Past your curfew, eh?”

  “I don’t have a curfew,” I mumble back.

  “Neither do I, so why the rush? I need to earn some more burgers before you start trying to beat me.”

  “It’s been a long week,” I lie. Greg is still a capable guy, but I’d rather that both of us weren’t out on the streets this late at night.

  Nodding, he gathers up the cards and pops the deck back into his pocket before we shove out of the booth.

  “Don’t forget what you owe me, Grace. Extra cheese, and maybe some fries.”

  I laugh at his demands. He knows I’ll get him whatever he wants, and that’s how our relationship has been since he rescued me. He may grumble about being able to take care of himself, but if he really needs it, he’ll give in soon enough. Blankets, coats, and gift cards, or cash for food, are just drops in the bucket to what I’d like to do for him. I just wish he’d be more open about the VA. But hopefully, I can convince him to go there soon.

  “I won’t forget.”

  “Don’t be late.”

  “I guess we’ll see what happens,” I throw back over my shoulder. “Maybe I’ll have a date next Friday night.”

  “Yeah, me,” he scoffs. “But if y
ou do find yourself a man, he better come with you. I’m going to have some questions for him.”

  Yeah, right. There has never been a man in my life, and I doubt there ever will be. No one wants to be involved with a workaholic who can never make plans.

  Chuckling, I shake my head. “See you next week.”

  He follows closely behind me until I reach my car and unlock the door. Satisfied that I’m safe, he turns, heading toward his tent home, but stops and waits until I’m inside my car. The engine of my Volvo starts up on the first turn of the ignition, and with a wave, I pull out of my parking spot. Standing on the corner, he watches until I disappear around the corner.

  Most nights, I’d listen to music during my drive, but silence is more fitting for my current mood. The banter between Greg and me as we played earlier runs through my thoughts instead.

  How many other veterans like him are on the streets right now because they fell through the cracks?

  It breaks my heart to know these men and women put their lives on the line to protect our country, and we’ve failed them so badly. Greg is one of the luckier ones since our chance meeting, but a part of me wants to advocate more for those like him. Between my own work, and volunteering at Greg’s shelter throughout the week to help support the attached soup kitchens serving line, my plate is already full. Yet, there has to be some way I can help them. I just have to find it.

  My older apartment complex comes into view within ten minutes of leaving the shelter. The old brick contrasts against the new luxury apartments that continue to pop up in the historical district of Austin. Where families used to live in beautiful historic homes, younger couples and singles now dot the sidewalks, dressed in fancy clothes, carrying their coffee in one hand and their phones in the other.

  As I park my car in my designated spot next to the entrance of my building, two younger women in skirts that leave zero to the imagination, and heels high enough to reach Heaven’s gates, trot by me toward a waiting Prius with a ride share logo in the back window a block away, their giggles echoing off the surrounding buildings.

  “I miss the old neighborhood,” I murmur under my breath, walking up the stairs to the front entrance. My apartment is on the first floor of the building near the back. With most of my neighbors nearing Greg’s age, it’s quiet at night, which I love. Work is far from quiet, and the silence at home in the evenings is almost therapeutic.

  Unlocking my door, I step inside and flick on the light switch to my left, flooding the apartment in a soft, warm glow. The small space I call home, with such historic charm, has exposed brick walls and original hardwood floors. They were the biggest draw when this apartment came up for sale in this building. And the close commute to work was a bonus.

  Setting my keys and purse down on the entryway table, I utter, “Home sweet home.” Home sweet, lonely home is more like it. I’d considered over the years getting a pet, but it wouldn’t be fair to them with the hours I keep.

  I head toward the kitchen when I catch my reflection in the mirror above the table. My dark hair lays in loose waves on either side of my round face, with little wisps of gray baby hairs dotting my hairline near my ears. My gray eyes behind my wire-frame glasses showcase my extreme exhaustion.

  Sighing, I jump when my cell phone rings from inside my purse.

  Retrieving it quickly, I answer, “Grace Halfpenny.”

  “Hey, Grace,” the voice of my supervisor, Eric, comes through the line. “I’m sorry to call so late.”

  “It’s okay. Is something wrong?” Please say no. I just got home and haven’t even taken off my shoes.

  “Austin PD requested crisis prevention for a removal. Parent OD’d in the car outside of a Denny’s. I wouldn’t normally ask, but with Cindy out of the office…” he trails off.

  “It’s fine. What’s the address?”

  Rattling it off, he apologizes again before hanging up. Without even a second thought, I gather my things, take a deep breath, and step back out into the night’s air. No rest for the weary, right?

  Judge

  “I don’t have that,” I repeat, walking away from the others to gain a little privacy. I’ve been on the phone with the school’s secretary for almost ten minutes now, having this same conversation over and over again. The same one I’d had when I went to register them a few days before school started.

  “Sir, we need to have the children’s birth certificates, transcriptions from their previous school, and vaccination records for their files. Surely you have them somewhere.”

  Feeling my eye twitch, I clench the phone in my hand. I know she’s just doing her job, but how many ways can I say it? “Look, I don’t have them. I’ll work on getting replacements for your files, but those kids need to stay in school.”

  “Of course.” From the sounds of it, she’s just as pissed off as I am. “I can let it go for now, as legally, we can’t keep them from enrolling in school,” she snaps, emphasizing the last word to reinforce the idea that this isn’t the end of it. “But please, keep me informed on where you’re at with attaining those documents.”

  “Will do,” I growl, but the phone disconnects before I finish, making it painfully obvious I’ve been dismissed. Stupid bitch.

  Before I have time to stew over being hung up on, my phone rings. With a sigh that’s supposed to be calming, I look down at the screen. Mom is calling.

  “What do you want, asshole?” I greet, bringing the phone back up to my ear.

  Mom chuckles on the other end. “Fuck you too, prick. Is that any way to talk to your buddy after not speaking for three months?”

  I grin. “Pretty sure it’s not my fault. Your phone works just as well as mine does.”

  Mom groans on the other end. “I wasn’t exactly on vacation here, Judge.”

  “I know, I asked you to go there.” My smile fades. “You good, brother?”

  “I’m coming home, man. I’ve done all I can do here, and shit with Marie is hitting the fucking fan. I gotta sort out my own life before I can do much more for this club.”

  I lean my ass against a nearby picnic table and stare down at the ground. “You got an escort?”

  “Yeah. V is heading back with me. Thinking he might stick around a while.”

  “Good. Get your ass home, brother. The club needs their VP back in one piece.”

  “Their VP needs his old lady to stop being such a fuckin’ psycho.”

  I chuckle, knowing that Mom loves Marie’s psychotic side almost as much as her fancy new tits. “See you soon.”

  Disconnecting the call, I shove my phone back into my pocket. Mom and I have been around since the beginning of the Black Hoods MC. We’ve seen and done a lot of shit together. He’s been gone, dealing with an upheaval in the SoCal chapter, but I wasn’t lying when I said we needed our VP back.

  Not only does Mom fill that role in our club, but his name is Mom for a reason. These guys look up to him. He takes care of them, offers advice, and bakes fucking pies, of all things. He’s a weird fucker, but he’s ours.

  And even if the club didn’t need him, I do. Becoming an instant dad hasn’t been easy, and who better to offer me parenting advice than the man who has a pack of burly, grown-ass bikers calling him Mom?

  A car pulls into the parking lot, and Karma motions for me to get my ass in gear.

  Moving toward the others, I watch as Sharon Palmer pulls up to the front of the garage and gets out of her car. Sharon is an old friend. We’d gone to high school together, and her old man had been a good friend to the Black Hoods before he died. She’s also the real estate agent listed on this particular garage.

  “Hello, boys,” she purrs, sliding her sunglasses up on top of her head while flashing us all an easy smile. The woman has balls of steel. Not too many people would be comfortable pulling up to a parking lot filled with Black Hoods, especially not good-looking women driving a fancy Tesla.

  “How you doin’, darlin’?” I ask, stepping forward and holding out a hand to her.

/>   “Can’t complain.” Grasping my hand in hers, she gives it a firm shake, not once losing her smile. “But only ‘cause complaining is against company policy.” Turning to the others, she throws out her arms. “So, I hear you boys are in the market for a new garage?”

  “Don’t think there are many of those kickin’ around here, are there?” Karma drawls.

  “Just this one,” she replies, pointing at the building behind us. “Let’s go take a look around.” We all follow as she walks toward the front door and unlocks three different deadbolts. “What kind of business are you hoping to run here? Body shop? Maybe a custom motorcycle garage?”

  I look around the reception area of the old garage. It needs some TLC, for sure, but it definitely has the potential to be exactly what we’d all been hoping for.

  “Neither,” I respond. “This town needs a basic garage. Just somewhere to go for a tune-up, or an oil change. Find out what the squeal from under the hood is coming from without paying an arm and a leg for shit parts.”

  “Well, this place would be good for that.” She opens the door to the garage bay. “There are six bays here, each of them with fully operational lifts and power doors. And right through here,”—she enters another door at the back—“is a bathroom, a small kitchenette, a furnace room with space for storage, and an office. The property extends all the way to the corner if you’d want to expand the structure in the future. Perfect for the right buyer who has an eye for a deal and a steady hand for renovations.”

  She stands back as each of us moves around, looking into the different rooms, assessing the potential of making this a lucrative business for our club.

  I try to focus and keep my mind on this piece of club business, but all I can think about are the kids. I wonder how they’re doing, and if that bitch in the office gave them a hard time about not having birth certificates.

  “Everything okay, boss?”

  Hashtag’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, but also gives me an idea. “Not really,” I admit. “Hash, you think you can hack into the school computer system?”