with that?â Turk stared towards the canteen, avoiding the scars that ripped through Jerichoâs face. âConsidering the past.â
âWhy wouldnât I be?â Jericho deliberately ignored what he was really asking. After all, the past with Vaughn was exactly that. The fucking past. His fingers twitched, wanting to rub his left kneecap that had never healed right from the night he and his king had been ambushed. For the safety of his crew and the Dog House, heâd always held fast that there was no grudge, though he doubted anyone bought that. Hell, he didnât believe it. He clenched his hands into fists, trying to shove aside the dark memories of that night and the burning desire to even the score.
âAnd Karla wouldnât say what was wrong with her brother?â Frost looked as skeptical as Jericho felt. Whatever ailed the Breed King, it had to be big to leave the comfort and security of his large mansion in LA. Jericho wondered idly if the issue was something else entirely, like being involved in social scandal, something the full-blooded clans would feast on for months. Heâd heard when Karla had refused to divulge the parentage of her baby, the gossip had raged years until sheâd been banished here. That had been years ago, and Jericho now sensed she was looking for a way out of Camden and back into her family business. He also got the distinct impression she wanted to tie him into those plans, something he was not interested in, at all. His place was here.
âThe King and his Enforcer can come here and hide out with the women.â Reaper shot him a fierce look. âBut weâve got your back if either show up here.â
Reaperâs meaning was clear: the pack stood with him. All men patched into the Diablo Dogs had dirty reputations, but together as brothers they stood strong, even if it meant standing against the King they were supposed to claim fealty to.
Chapter 6
The radio was tuned to a golden oldie station and Lydia found her foot tapping to an old James Brown song as she stared out the car window. Bowden had driven them out of town and they now rumbled along a partly surfaced road hedged with sweet-potato farms, and fields spotted with grazing Jersey cows. Bowdenâs mood seemed light, considering what they were heading out for.
âHow are you getting on with Greta and Dominic?â Bowden asked. âHave they got their caravan ready to roll yet?â
âI think so,â Lydia said, though she really wasnât sure. After the death of her mother by a hit-and-run when she was thirteen, sheâd moved to the mainland to live with a cousin. The family home had stayed in her name, rented out to Dominic and Greta Solberg, a German couple who had moved into the small workersâ cottage out the back and turned the four-bedroom home into a successful bed and breakfast for the last ten years.
After Greta had written to Lydia to advise her that she and her husband were ending their lease to retire and travel the country in a caravan, Lydia had seen it as a sign and made the decision to return to her childhood town. It was a beacon of hope for some peace in the darkness that threatened to choke her at night, causing her to wake with a panicked shout, body trembling and drenched in sweat. Now she wasnât so sure; her panic attacks were still not subsiding, even in the peace of Camden.
Beside her, Bowden gave a short chuckle. âThat Greta is one hard-nosed lady. I still remember the time she kicked out a couple of bikers for smoking pot. Heard she chased them with a straw broom, right off the premises.â
Bowdenâs humour was infectious and she laughed with him. Lydia had sat down with Greta a few times since moving back, and learned quickly it was best to just agree with whatever the elderly woman said. She hadnât seen much of Gretaâs husband, Dominic, just the odd glimpse now and then of him slipping into the
âWhy wouldnât I be?â Jericho deliberately ignored what he was really asking. After all, the past with Vaughn was exactly that. The fucking past. His fingers twitched, wanting to rub his left kneecap that had never healed right from the night he and his king had been ambushed. For the safety of his crew and the Dog House, heâd always held fast that there was no grudge, though he doubted anyone bought that. Hell, he didnât believe it. He clenched his hands into fists, trying to shove aside the dark memories of that night and the burning desire to even the score.
âAnd Karla wouldnât say what was wrong with her brother?â Frost looked as skeptical as Jericho felt. Whatever ailed the Breed King, it had to be big to leave the comfort and security of his large mansion in LA. Jericho wondered idly if the issue was something else entirely, like being involved in social scandal, something the full-blooded clans would feast on for months. Heâd heard when Karla had refused to divulge the parentage of her baby, the gossip had raged years until sheâd been banished here. That had been years ago, and Jericho now sensed she was looking for a way out of Camden and back into her family business. He also got the distinct impression she wanted to tie him into those plans, something he was not interested in, at all. His place was here.
âThe King and his Enforcer can come here and hide out with the women.â Reaper shot him a fierce look. âBut weâve got your back if either show up here.â
Reaperâs meaning was clear: the pack stood with him. All men patched into the Diablo Dogs had dirty reputations, but together as brothers they stood strong, even if it meant standing against the King they were supposed to claim fealty to.
Chapter 6
The radio was tuned to a golden oldie station and Lydia found her foot tapping to an old James Brown song as she stared out the car window. Bowden had driven them out of town and they now rumbled along a partly surfaced road hedged with sweet-potato farms, and fields spotted with grazing Jersey cows. Bowdenâs mood seemed light, considering what they were heading out for.
âHow are you getting on with Greta and Dominic?â Bowden asked. âHave they got their caravan ready to roll yet?â
âI think so,â Lydia said, though she really wasnât sure. After the death of her mother by a hit-and-run when she was thirteen, sheâd moved to the mainland to live with a cousin. The family home had stayed in her name, rented out to Dominic and Greta Solberg, a German couple who had moved into the small workersâ cottage out the back and turned the four-bedroom home into a successful bed and breakfast for the last ten years.
After Greta had written to Lydia to advise her that she and her husband were ending their lease to retire and travel the country in a caravan, Lydia had seen it as a sign and made the decision to return to her childhood town. It was a beacon of hope for some peace in the darkness that threatened to choke her at night, causing her to wake with a panicked shout, body trembling and drenched in sweat. Now she wasnât so sure; her panic attacks were still not subsiding, even in the peace of Camden.
Beside her, Bowden gave a short chuckle. âThat Greta is one hard-nosed lady. I still remember the time she kicked out a couple of bikers for smoking pot. Heard she chased them with a straw broom, right off the premises.â
Bowdenâs humour was infectious and she laughed with him. Lydia had sat down with Greta a few times since moving back, and learned quickly it was best to just agree with whatever the elderly woman said. She hadnât seen much of Gretaâs husband, Dominic, just the odd glimpse now and then of him slipping into the
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