Page 62 of Gonzo's Grudge
We went back inside. Dad was in the study with the door open, phone to his ear, saying words I never thought I’d hear him say—“disclose,” “recuse,” “immediate resignation”—and the sound of it felt like a man taking nails out of his own coffin.
I lay down on the quilt and stared at the ceiling until the cracks looked like roads. Somewhere, a motorcycle’s hum drifted thin through the night and away again. I didn’t know if it was his. I didn’t need to.
The truth had been put on the table tonight. It made a mess. It also made a map.
I wasn’t a pawn in a game I didn’t know about. I wasn’t someone to throw in my father’s face anymore. I was a woman who knew the cost of staying and the cost of walking away.
Tomorrow, I’d see Devyn’s name in my father’s call log and know whether he meant the words he said. Tomorrow, maybe a letter would land in our mailbox, and I’d read a thing I didn’t know how to believe yet but wanted to anyway. Tomorrow, I might climb on the back of a bike and hold on to a man who was danger cloaked in brutal honesty in equal measure.
Tonight, I slept in my old bed in a house where everything had shifted half an inch, and for the first time since Hampton Stanley sat in my apartment and smiled like a snake, I didn’t feel like a fool.
I felt braced.
And when morning came, I planned to be ready for whatever came next.
Chapter 19
Gonzo
The day my boy walked out of Avery Mitchell Correction Facility a free man, the sun shone brighter.
He stepped through those gates with his shoulders squared, jaw tight, eyes older than they had any right to be. My gut twisted because he was only half the age he looked. There was no giving him back the innocence he entered this place with. There was no taking back the things he did to survive. But he was out. That was what mattered. The scars left behind we would deal with as they came.
I pulled him into a hug that should’ve cracked bone. “You’re home, son.”
He grunted into my cut. “Feels like I never left.”
It wasn’t true. The scars on his face, the way he scanned the lot like every shadow might bite—he’d left, all right. And some of him was never coming back.
But I swore to myself that the bastards who put him there weren’t going to keep walking free.
The storm came faster than I expected. Loco called a meet that night at the clubhouse. We rolled into the common room, leather creaking, the space littered with eyes that had seen too much and weren’t about to look away now.
Loco stood at the head, arms crossed. “Boys, I called in a favor.”
That got my attention. Loco didn’t call favors lightly. He had connections, the legal kind.
The door opened, and in walked a woman like she owned the place. Not too tall, but a woman who carried herself with confidence and power. She wore a sharp navy-blue suit, heels clicking against the worn floor, eyes deep under a crown of braids. She carried the room without saying a damn thing, and every man in leather straightened like we were the ones on trial. The thing was, it wasn’t only her stance, she walked with authority and kept her eyes locked to Loco’s with meaning. I just wasn’t sure if the stare was about love or hate.
“This is Juanita Banks,” Loco said, voice steady but his gaze following her like a magnet. “Old friend. Works in DC.”
She smirked. “Federal investigator. And right now, your ace in the hole.”
Burn whistled low. Tower muttered, “Hot as fuck and hell on wheels. Damn, Loco, she’s the total package and you been hiding that.”
She didn’t reply to the guys, again, her focus remained on Loco. Dropping a folder on the table with a satisfying thud, she smirked proudly. “I came with a federal warrant. Hampton Stanley’s being removed from office pending investigation into misuse of federal relief funds, embezzlement, racketeering—you name it, we’ve got it. As of tomorrow, he’s no longer mayor. As of five minutes after that, I’m back to DC like we never met. You forget my name and face, and I,” she narrowed her eyes on Loco, “forget yours.”
The room went quiet.
“You serious?” Tower asked.
“Dead serious,” she said. “And before you ask, no—I didn’t do this for free. I did it because Dante called in a favor I owed. And because Hampton Stanley left an easy trail, this is buttoned up, and I am no longer held to anything from any one of you.”
I glanced at Loco. He was stone-faced, but I knew him too well. The way his hand tapped against his side, the way his eyes lingered on her—it was written all over him.
History. Fire that hadn’t gone out. A fire that burned the man once before.
Juanita caught it too. Her lip twitched into the kind of smirk that said she’d seen him bleed out soul deep and tasted the sweetness of his love both in equal measure.
