Page 67 of Dock

“Gam Gam was the same way,” Emmerz quietly announces.

“You not?”

An innocent yet melancholy filled shrug bounces her shoulders. “You have to have family before you can answer that question.”

True.

I didn’t know that shit ‘til I had that shit.

“Who knows.” Nervousness creeps into her gaze. “Maybe future me does.”

“And maybe…” my frame slides upward to warmly tangle both arms around her frame, forcing Noodle to slink off my chest to the open portion of the mattress, “just maybe…that future will include me and the club, Teach.”

Chapter 11

Hogan

“Dock”

I might’ve come on too strong with Emmerz.

And somehow, we apparently haven’t come on strong enough with the fucking Berkleys.

Pulling over on the side of the road a good distance behind the cop car is followed by parking and gearing up.

We enter every situation where shots may be fired under the assumption they will.

That means ear wedges.

Vests under our cuts.

Blades sharp.

Guns cleaned, locked, loaded and ready to be fired first rather than second.

Upon our approach to the situation, Sheriff Gerald Grey slowly backs away from the driver’s side of the moving truck he had been monitoring to greet us, “Misfits.”

“Officer,” the three of us politely respond knowing better than to refer to him by his club name when he’s on duty.

While Tags is a “retired” member, he’s not really retired.

You don’t ever truly leave the club.

You just become less active.

You stop being required to show up for Church – club meetings.

You stop being summoned out of your Old Lady’s bed to handle business – like I was.

And you – usually – stop coming to club parties.

Not always.

Some of the old timers still can’t help but enjoy a handful of Cookies every now and again.

Particularly the ones that never bothered to settle down.

Nonetheless, even when you’re not nuts deep in club shit, it’s still your sworn fucking duty to protect this city and those in it.