Mad About Moon (The Whiskeys: Dark Knights at Peaceful Harbor #5)(5)
Jojo had called him on his shit, her gorgeous eyes drilling into him as she coaxed things out of him that he’d never told a soul. She’d listened intently, asking about him—not just his situation. He’d been young, only twenty-three, but as he revealed his demons, detailing his grief over losing his father and his anger toward his mother for drinking herself into oblivion, their connection had felt heaven-sent. He’d confessed his darkest secrets, his womanizing ways, and to stealing to keep food on the table for his sister.
Could it really be her after all this time? He’d felt so much for her, he’d almost convinced himself he’d conjured her out of hope, rather than having spent the best night of his life with a woman he’d never see again. She’d become his fantasy, the woman he measured all others against. He could still feel her softness beneath him, see her hair fanned out around her beautiful face as they lay in the grass making out beneath the stars. And afterward, when she’d said, So you’re really a wolf in sheep’s clothing, his response had come without thought. You tell me, Little Red. She’d shaken her head with that low, sexy laugh and said, Forget Little Red. I’m the big bad hunter who nailed the wolf with my first shot.
Bullet Whiskey nudged him and said, “Dude, you done spacing out?”
Bullet was the oldest of the Whiskey siblings, which also included Bones, Bear, and Dixie. At six five and about two hundred and forty pounds, he was also the biggest. Bullet had spent several years in the Special Forces, where he had nearly lost his life, and he had been running their family bar, Whiskey Bro’s, ever since. He was married now, to Finlay, a petite blonde who owned a catering business and worked part time at the bar.
Jed shook his head to try to clear his thoughts. “Yeah. What’s up?” Across the room he saw Bones talking with Sarah and Scott. “Are Sarah and Scott okay?”
“You kidding? They’re elated that their sister stopped by.” He lifted his bearded chin toward his father and said, “Biggs called a meeting. In the kitchen, Prospect.”
Biggs Whiskey was the president of the Dark Knights motorcycle club. The Whiskeys and the Dark Knights had saved Jed’s ass, giving him a job, a home, and a purpose, which was why he’d decided to try to join their ranks. Prospecting to become a member of the Dark Knights was a process that started as a hang around, which was like a honeymoon period, when guys who wanted to join the club and the current members decided if they liked and respected one another enough to move on to the next stage of consideration. Prospects were given grunt work, which could be anything from fetching an ashtray during a meeting to picking up a stranded member at three o’clock in the morning. That grunt work would likely continue for the next year, but Jed didn’t care how long it took or how many menial jobs he had to do. The club was all about brotherhood, watching out for the community and for their own, which extended well beyond birthrights and bloodlines, to the family of each and every member. He wanted to be part of that more than he wanted anything else in life.
Until now.
Now he wanted to see if the woman he’d fallen hard for so long ago was Josie Beckley. He knew Sarah and her siblings had grown up in a horribly abusive household, though she and Scott had never witnessed Josie being abused. But she was exposed just the same, and Sarah and Scott had both left home before Josie. They didn’t know if she’d suffered at the hands of their monstrous parents after they’d gone. He was still trying to put together Josie as his Jojo. Sarah had told everyone weeks ago that she’d seen Josie and that Josie—Jojo—had a son. He hoped to hell some asshole hadn’t harmed either of them. The thought of Jojo or her boy hurting made his blood boil.
As he followed Bullet into the kitchen, he tried to recall what he’d learned about Jojo all those years ago. He remembered feeling like they’d had a lot in common and that she’d been the first girl to ever completely understand what he’d gone through. But as he scrutinized his memories of their conversation, he realized she’d spoken in generalities: Life is good now. I know all about alcoholics. Some people shouldn’t be parents. While she’d been prying information from him, he’d been too entranced with her attention, her beauty, and her deep, caring personality to ask much about her.
Fuck. Did that make him a dick?
He would sure as hell make up for that. He was no longer a troubled twenty-three-year-old. At twenty-eight, he had his head on straight. He had two stable jobs, and he was saving money, sharing an apartment above the auto shop with his buddy Quincy, while house hunting for a place of his own. Luckily, he’d never been a big drinker or a drug user. His downfall had been taking care of his family by whatever means he could, which often put him on the wrong side of the law. But he’d been on the right side for a long time, and he was never going back to that awful life.
Members of the Dark Knights gathered in the kitchen while the rest of their friends and family remained in the living room. Jed drew his shoulders back at the sight of Biggs standing shoulder to shoulder with Bullet, weathered and tattooed arms crossed over his leather vest, his cane leaning against the counter. A stroke had left Biggs unable to ride his motorcycle, but he would always be a biker. It was in his blood, and he’d instilled the same loyalty to the biker lifestyle in his children. His children were tough as nails, and his sons were members of the Dark Knights.
“We have a lot to celebrate tonight,” Biggs said slowly, a lingering effect of the stroke. His thick, untamed graying mustache and beard hid the slight drooping of the left side of his face, and a cane helped him deal with the muscular deficits of his stroke. Even with his cane and slow, sometimes slurred speech, his rough, manly presence was intimidating as fuck, but he was a good man and had become like a father to Jed.