Page 6 of Gonzo's Grudge
I killed the call, texted the officers?—
emergency, Pop’s house, now
—then shoved my cut on and roared out into the night.
The road blurred. My mind didn’t.
Pop Squally. Dead. Gone.
Couldn’t happen. I couldn’t let it stick. He wasn’t just president. He was the beginning for Dreadnought. He was the piece that held us together. He’d pulled me out of the sandbox, built this club, gave me a life when I didn’t know what to do outside of the Marines. He was invincible. He couldn’t be … not with us, not part of us.
No.
Not Pop.
Blue lights lit up the driveway like a funeral procession. Sirens wailed low, fading into the night.
I ditched my bike, unsure if I got the kickstand all the way locked in, and ran straight for the cruiser. I had one thought the moment my eyes locked to his. Save him. My son sat in the back, caged, wrists cuffed, face pale.
“GJ!” I banged on the glass. “What is this?”
His eyes were wide, hollow. “No one will tell me shit. They rolled up right after I hung up with you. Next thing I know, I’m in cuffs.”
“Sir, you need to back away.” The voice snapped sharp, female.
I turned. Waverly. Cop blues hugging her curves, hair tied tight. Same eyes I remembered from nights past, when she wasn’t a badge but a woman in my bed.
“Oh, fuck me,” I muttered. “It gonna be you tonight, Waverly?”
“Don’t do this shit, Gonzo.” She stepped into my space, chest to chest, eyes steady. “Your kid’s in real trouble. Best thing you can do? Get on your bike and leave. Call your boys off. I know they aren’t far behind. GJ is in trouble, don’t make it worse. Get him an attorney. A good one. I’ll text you when he’s booked. Come in the morning, bail him out.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then Stanley will have us throw you behind a cage too.” Her eyes softened as a woman who knew the depths of the man in front of her. “Don’t give him that win, Gabriel.”
Her words slammed into me harder than any fist. Stanley. That son of a bitch. This was a setup, even she knew it. I yanked my phone out and sent the text for them to regroup at the clubhouse, I’d be there soon. While I didn’t like cops in general, Waverly was a good woman, and someone I could trust. Well, as much as I trusted anyone who wasn’t in the Saint’s Outlaws.
“GJ,” I called, ignoring her continued yapping, locking eyes with my son. “What do you want me to do?”
He shook his head, tears in his eyes. “Dad, they’re saying murder. Pop’s murder. I didn’t do it. You know I didn’t.”
The words stabbed me. I knew better. There was no way GJ did that shit. Pop Squally was family before I even had the Saints. He had been around since before GJ was born. My son didn’t know a life without Pop in it. Hell, I could barely remember life before the Corps and before Pop myself.
“Gabriel.” Waverly’s voice cut soft this time. “You can’t help him here. Call a lawyer. I’ll keep him separate as much as I can, keep him safe ’til morning. My shift ends at seven hundred but I’ll shoot a text to get someone to call out so I can hold over. But you gotta get out of here now.”
My chest heaved. Rage, grief, helplessness—all boiling into one roar that ripped out of me, aimed at the sky. “FUCK!”
GJ flinched in the back seat.
I stepped into Waverly’s space, close enough to feel her breath. “Take care of him,” I said, voice low, deadly. I pulled her close, not in a lover’s embrace, but in one of respect and appreciation. Leaning in, I whispered, “I owe you.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead holding her close for a second too long wondering if I could manage to walk away from my son.
She shoved me back. “Don’t owe me shit. Just don’t fuck this up worse.” Her eyes locked to mine. “Gabriel, you know it and I know it. You gotta go.”
She wasn’t wrong, but it killed me inside. “I’m trusting you, Waverly. Please don’t let me down.”
She gave me a nod, and I had to learn to lean on her like I had never leaned on anyone. My son was my life outside of the club.
The text came half an hour later, just like she promised.
