Page 17 of Mischief Mayhem

“I never thought he’d start on you,” Trojan had said. “I’m sorry I ever left you alone.”

We’d lived here in Madison County ever since . . . up until Trojan died, leaving me alone again.

“What about now?” I internally screamed at the heavens, praying it reached my brother in the afterlife. “What am I supposed to do without you?”

No response came. No response ever came. Trojan’s widow, Marissa, had taken off shortly after he died, only contacting Selene to report she’d seen a woman who had betrayed the club at one of her local bars. Occasionally, I reached out to her, but she never took my calls, and eventually, I stopped trying.

“Hey!” shouted Leo from down the hall. “Hey, can you help me . . . please?”

Confused, I stood and walked back down the hallway, opening the door so I could grab the towel from the sink.

“Please? I get a please?” I smiled as I waited for him to dry off, purposely averting my gaze to give him what privacy I could. “So polite all of a sudden.”

He let out a small laugh, and the sound nearly startled me. He’d been here six months, and I’d only heard him snicker once after a joke at my own expense. Did Leo Caputi, king of mafia assholes, have a sense of humor?

“What can I say?” Leo sighed and grabbed my shoulder so I could help him out of the tub. “You bring out the nicer side of me.”

“I have that effect on people.” I ignored the headache coming on and helped him limp across the hall to his bedroom, where the club had given him some clothes to wear from the lost and found. In all the years we’d been tailing this bastard, he’d always worn the nicest suits—Ferragamo, Tom Ford, Versace. Now, he had two pairs of jeans, one hoodie, and a few white T-shirts, all of it previously owned by people he considered enemies.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

7

VERONA

I woke up to the sound of the television echoing down the hallway. Head splitting and still wearing the same clothes I went to the clubhouse in, I rolled out of bed and rubbed my eyes, deciding to change into something more comfy. As I slid underwear up my legs, I wondered where I put the panties I had on last night. My brain hadn’t fully woken up enough yet to process that, so I hit the bathroom and stumbled down the hallway to the living room.

Castor sat on the couch next to Wheels, both of them spooning cereal into their mouths and watching cartoons. At least Wheels had an excuse. He lived here.

“What are you doing?” I grumbled to my brother.

“What’s it look like?” Castor asked, wiping milk off his chin.

“Looks like you’re eating my food and stealing my cable.” I narrowed my eyes while I poured myself a cup of coffee. Thankfully, one of them had been thoughtful enough to leave some for me.

“What’s yours is mine,” Castor called. “That’s the older brother code.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I poured cream and sugar into my delicious brew and trudged back to the living room, murmuring to myself at how much I’d had to drink last night.

“What’s on your schedule for the day?” Wheels asked, taking a sip of water as he leaned back in his seat.

“You’re looking at it.” I shrugged, rubbing at the ache in the center of my chest. My scar always hurt in the morning, but especially after a night of drinking. I blamed dehydration and a lack of caffeine. “I was going to do yoga and meditate for a bit, but eventually, I have to go by the hospital to visit Pollux. I might as well hit the clubhouse to check on Dad.”

“I’m heading to the hospital around noon when visiting hours start.” Castor gulped down big swallows of his milk, reminding me of when we were kids. “We can go together.”

“Sounds good.” I rubbed at my eyes. “Fuck, why did I drink so much.”

“Good question.” Wheels flashed his devilish grin. “I have a better one. What were you doing in the side room with the door locked at four in the morning?”

Last night rushed back at me: playing poker with Hollywood, losing, making a bet to dominate him, losing again. And then . . . what came after . . .

Holy shit.

It had been one of the most intense experiences of my life, and it had happened with my big brother’s best friend, the MC’s heartbreaker, the one that rode through hang-arounds like the club rent-a-car.

“Uh-oh,” Castor teased. “What’s that look?”

I cleared my throat, my cheeks suddenly burning, the weight of my bad life choices suffocating me.