Page 66 of Crow

A quick inhale in the hall tells me that none of the old ladies are around, or if they are, it’s late enough that they’ve already cooked and had done with it. The place has a distinct odor ofeau de male, not pot roast and mashed fucking potatoes.

Connie had surgery on her front legs, and one is in a bright purple cast. I’ve helped her go outside a few times now, carrying her and bearing as much of her weight as possible. At first, she didn’t know what to make of a virtual stranger grabbing her around the hind end and whispering sweet dog nothings in her ears about just letting it flow, but now that she knows that I’m here to help her, as soon as I set her down and assume the position, she knows what to do.

She’s groggy from the pain meds that I’ve been giving her. I have a week’s worth and so far, she’s taking them well.

At my house, which I guess is now Tarynn’s house—we managed to get her to eat a bit of soft food before giving her another dose.

She’s such a sweet dog with the softest brown eyes, so eager to please and so gentle natured. There’s no way she didn’t have a family at some point. It breaks my heart—and Crow’s too—but life is hard. People move. They change. They don’t take responsibility for the ones they love. Sometimes, they can’t. Oftentimes, they just choose not to, thinking that if they turn their head in the opposite direction and don’t see, then the problem doesn’t exist.

I get Connie settled on my bed in my quiet room. The first thing I see are Tarynn’s bags. She assured me that she’d be fine at the house tonight. It’s late and she has more than enough clothes and shoes from our trip that she won’t need her other things until morning.

She encouraged me to go back to the club and get things settled—not even knowing what those things really are, but she could sense my restless agitation the closer we got to Hart. I wanted to spend the night with her and come back to the club in the morning, but she was right when she pointed out that if I did that, there’s no way I’d be sleeping.

The house is furnished and was cleaned when the last renters moved out, but it’s been almost a month. It’s been sitting empty and it’s my fault. I just never got around to posting the ad online for it. Every day I meant to do it, but something always came up. I’m the last person who would ever believe in fate, but maybe a few things in life do actually happen for a reason.

Now, Tarynn has a place to stay. While we were in Vegas, I paid my regular cleaner a small fortune to be there to receive all the furniture I ordered, as well as to bring linens for the bed. Tarynn had a small heart attack when we got there and she found out what I’d done, but instead of protesting uselessly that it was too much,or doing the whole ‘I couldn’t possibly acceptthis’routine, she wrapped her arms around my neck, kissed me softly, and thankedboth of usfor being so unbelievably kind and for giving us a home.

I settle Connie on the bed and curl up behind her. I tuck my face behind her soft brown ears and inhale her dog scent. She smells like soap and something sterile, still lingering from the vet, but she also just smells like outdoors and sleepy dog.

Five year old, ten year old, fifteen year old me rejoices in this moment. I always wanted a dog. I mean, I wanted a fuck of a lot more than too—acknowledgement, control over my body, a part in the family, to have just one single friend—but I really, really wanted a dog. Adam and I didn’t agree on much, but we agreed on that.

I’m sorry, okay? I wrecked your childhood. I get it.

My head barely hits the pillow before knuckles rap against the thick door. I left it ajar for a reason. Because I knew that I couldn’t come back here without having this out. It’s the reason I’m here instead of with Tarynn, where I want to be.

Because I have obligations.

Or do I?

Don’t you fucking dare, Owen. You like it here. You like the life, and I know that when you get to do real violence, it make you giddy. You can’t honestly tell me that you detest anyone. They’re our family, not just mine.

“Come in.” I sit up, barely refraining from adding something snarky, like tacking ondarling.

Don’t fuck this up. I let you stay in control. If you wreck this, it’s not just me who will be disappointed.

He means Tarynn, but he also means me. I hate that he’s right.

I’m pretty sure that Tyrant allowed his father to suggest his name. Zale Grand was okay until he wasn’t. Maybe he was more like me than anyone will ever know, or maybe one day, he just snapped and decided to turn into a raging fucking butthole with major paranoia issues. Potato pot-at-o.

Anyway, Tyrant isn’t much of a Tyrant at all. We go by our club names around here, but a lot of the men call him Gray anyway. He’s younger than me by a few years, the club’s golden child in more ways than one. He cut his teeth on this place, his old man being Prez before him. His grandfather founded the place. He’s got that sun bronzed, Greek god look about him, with long ashy hair, stark green eyes, and a physique that more than just the club whores have drooled over for years. He only has eyes for one woman, our club queen.

Thing about Gray—he’s a family man, he takes the club brother shit seriously. This place and all the men in it—we’re his and he’s ours. He gives back far more of himself than he ever asks for in return. Doesn’t mean he hasn’t got his hands dirty for this place in the past or that he hasn’t seen his fair share of death, violence, and blood.

His salt of the earth, down to earth personality is the reason that he closes the door and leans against it casually. He only smiles at the dog, though the club doesn’t generally let animals in here. I only brought Connie with me because Tarynn has a hard time lifting her, and I knew the clubhouse wouldn’t be in loud party mode tonight.

Tyrant raises a sandy brow and waits.

If this was Crow, he’d wait right back. There’s no way he’d be the one to break the silence first. I try and channel my inner douchebag—I mean Crow—and wait, back against the headboard, one hand resting on Connie’s shaggy ruff, fingers buried in the fur so far that they’re seeping up the warmth of her skin.

Inner douchebag? I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re the one on the outside now.

Ooh, who knew. Crow can be funny when he wants to be.

Tyrant probably has his old lady and his daughter here, or wants to get back to the house they’re still renovating together. He’s not going to wait me out. “What are we doing here, Crow?”

I know how unwarranted it is, but my first impulse is towards violence. I want to shout at him that it’s Raven, not Crow. I want to tell him that I’d like to come over there and tear off his mouth, shove it where the sun don’t shine, and let him talk out of his ass all he’d like then.

Sigh. Old habits die hard, don’t they?

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