“Both of them, really. Most of us have had it rough at some point or other. Some of us…well, God knows I’m…” He gestured eloquently, grinning, teeth white in the dark. “But I had a good childhood. Modest, broke as hell, really. But I was loved. I had Daddy, and Gram. And then I had the club; I’ve got Ava, and the kids, and all of you brothers.” He knocked their shoulders together. “But those two in there never had anything. Worse: they weren’t even raised like people. They’re got each other now, and that’s something, that’s good. They’ve got us, too, but we don’t count as much, I don’t think. They’re struggling. When you’re a trained killer, I think that struggling looks a lot like knifing your best friend.”
Carter shook his head. “I should have waited to talk to Jimmy until y’all got here.”
“Nah, you took initiative. That’s good.” Mercy leaned back so he could inspect him. “I’m proud of you. Most of the time I get the impression you don’t give a damn what goes on around here.”
“You…you think that?”
“Well, ‘don’t give a damn’ is maybe a little harsh. But you seem kinda checked out. The club isn’t the place you always wanted to end up. I get that.”
Carter swallowed, throat suddenly tight, and set his drink aside. “Does Ghost – does everybody else think that, too?”
Mercy shrugged. “Maybe some of ‘em. Probably.”
“Shit.”
“Everybody comes at it a little different–”
“No. Mercy, I prospected, and you guys patched me in. Why would you put a Dog on my back if you thought I wasn’t loyal?” His pulse picked up, the first stirrings of panic licking at his gut.
Mercy gripped his shoulder, and squeezed reassuringly. “Nobody said you weren’t loyal. There’s never been any doubt that you were trustworthy.”
“Yeah, but what about thedon’t give a damnpart? Isn’t giving a damn kind of a prerequisite?”
It was hard to tell in the dark, but he thought Mercy looked amused and fond. “Let me ask you something: do you think every member of every chapter of this club is equally invested?”
“I…dunno. I’ve never really thought of that.”
Mercy smirked. “Trust me, they’re not. Nobody expects them to be. But if you’re loyal, and you show up, and you take care of your brothers, nobody needs you to be me.”
“I’d have to grow about a foot, first.”
Mercy tousled his hair, and the gesture was so big-brotherly it tightened Carter’s throat another fraction. “Start eating your spinach.” He grew serious again, hands folding together, hanging between his knees. “That was big what you did tonight, though. I’m serious. Things went a little sideways, sure, but that happens. And all things considered, you were doing a good job of it until Tenny, well – look, I don’t even think I’m qualified to handlethat one.”
Carter snorted. “I dunno. You’ve got the bellowing down pretty good.”
“Hey, what’s the point of being this big if you don’t get to throw your weight around a little?”
Carter laughed, and picked his glass back up, feeling warm and much, much better in a way that had to do with the company, and the unexpected praise, and nothing to do with the alcohol.
Headlights turned in up at the main gate, and he swallowed the Scotch down in one long slug, throat burning afterward.
“Show time,” Mercy said, and hopped up to go tell Ghost that the dad was here.
Twenty-Seven
The next day was Saturday, and after a fitful night of not-sleeping, Leah fired off a text to Ava around nine in the morning, asking when they could meet up. The answer was immediate:come for breakfast at Mom’s.
She picked up some champagne and orange juice on her way, and knocked on the door at Casa de Teague just after ten.
“Ooh, mimosas,” Maggie said when she answered, and waved her in right away.
The kitchen was warm and sunny, and smelled of fresh bread and something fruity and sweet. Leah heard the kids’ voices echoing from the living room; could envision Mille and Ash in their playpen while Remy and Cal played on the rug. Cal’s voice was always piping and excited, and Remy’s low, and soft. He looked just like a mini-Mercy, but with a calmness to him; Ava joked often that he was already a little old man.
“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t just a social call?” Maggie asked, getting glasses down from the cabinet.
“No, it is,” Leah said, setting her burden down on the counter and turning into Ava’s offered hug, a quick, tight embrace.
“Then why do you look so glum?” Maggie asked. The loud pop of the champagne cork accentuated her raised-brow glance.
