Page 105 of Parrish

“You have to excuse my nephew,” I tell the Charon boys. “He’s fucked.”

“There’s always one in the lot,” Mac replies.

Maybe where he’s from but around these parts, we’re all fucked but I don’t tell him that. Instead, I point a finger upstairs.

“There’s two spare bedrooms upstairs and a pullout couch in the basement. One of you can crash in the living room too. It’s not the Ritz Carlton, but while you guys are here, consider my house your house.”

“Thanks, brother,” Arrow replies.

“If the shoe was on the foot, I’m sure Scout would do the same for me and mine,” I tell him, tipping my chin towards the dining room. “Why don’t we sit down, and you can start to fill me in. The kid isn’t cursing so I’m going to take it as a sign that he’s figured out how to put the filter in the coffee pot.”

We all usher into the dining room and sit around the table. I watch as Arrow nods towards Mac, giving him the green light.

“Mac, you take this one,"

Leaning back against the chair, Mac, pierces me with his blue eyes and I give him my undivided attention. Or at least I attempt to. My fucking head feels like it might split open.

“Two years ago, the club got wind there were several ledgers in existence,” he starts, and I hold up a hand to stop him from going any further, already not liking where this is going.

“Ledgers? Like books?”

He nods, and I turn my head.

It’s too early to hit the books.

Any fucking kind.

“Nico, how’s that fucking coffee coming along?”

“If you had a Keurig, it would be done already. This shit is just as bad as watching paint dry,” he calls back.

A grunt or maybe a growl escapes my lips as I begrudgingly turn my attention back to Mac.

“Go on,” I tell him.

“The man who wrote them was not a Charon. He was our VP’s blood brother. He died in the 9/11 attacks, along with his wife. They left behind a daughter who came to live with her Uncle.”

“Your VP,” I say. Other than Scout, he’s the only Charon whose road name I can’t forget. “Bulldog,” I add.

“That’s him,” he confirms.

Ain’t that some shit.

“Anyway, Silk wound up marrying one of our brother’s Eagle and well, you know how it goes.”

“All too well,” I mutter as my mind trails to my daughter. Once my property, she’s now Blackie’s too and forever entwined with the club.

“Two years ago, we discovered, John’s bag missed the flight and was still at LAX.”

“John is Bulldog’s brother,” I say, trying to follow him. He nods, and Nico emerges with the pot of coffee.

“You going to get some mugs, or should we all pass this shit around?” I ask.

“Do I look like a waitress?”

“Reina’s got a killer apron hanging in the mud room,” I retort, letting my eyes scan the length of him. “It should fit.”

Grinding his teeth, he mutters something and spins around, heading back into the kitchen.

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