Read Online Devil's Fall: Dust Bowl Devils MC by Britten Thorne - Free Book Online Page A

He’d lived it all his life. Looking back, he should have seen the third blow coming. Banishment from the club, hiding the girl - they were considerable troubles. He should have braced himself for number three.
    Not that being braced would have made it any easier. The third strike would have knocked his boots clean off no matter how ready he thought he was. But he’d had no hint of what was coming, no clues, he wasn’t ready at all.
    Both Jupiter and Yards burst into his office. "Did you take care of her?" Jupiter demanded right away.
    Gunner squinted at him. He needed to dance around some half-truths, here. "Problem solved. What the hell is this about?" He gestured between the two men. They exchanged glances that could only mean something was wrong.
    "Well?" he asked, "Are we having a tea party? Want me to paint your nails? Spill it."
    Yards finally spoke up, speech slurring less than usual. "You need to call your father."
    "Why, what the fuck, someone die or something?" He meant it as a flippant comment, but when their eyes slid away, he realized he'd guessed right and his stomach sank into his shoes. Someone had died. "Get out."
    They shut the door behind them but he could hear them hovering in the hall, speaking low, behaving as if they were waiting for some shit to go down. Waiting for me to fucking explode.
    If I'm calling my father then that means it isn't him, so what's the big fucking deal? The coppery taste in his mouth as he picked up the phone told him that he already knew. His clenched fist shook and he made himself release it and flex his fingers. If I don't make the call and hear it, then it doesn't exist. I haven’t talked to him in almost three years. Haven’t thought about him in months. I can go on pretending all is well .
    The phone rang in his hand, lit up with the name, “Nomad.” He cursed himself, fucking coward , before answering the call.
    "Dad?" He never called the old man that anymore but it just slipped out. He realized he was shivering and sat back down in his chair.
    "I'm sorry," Nomad said, "It's Jay."
    No first names. We called him Alvarez . Gunner closed his eyes. "What happened?"
    His father sighed. "He shot himself. They're keeping him alive but it’s not good."
    Shot himself. It echoed in his mind as if it had been shouted into a canyon. After we spent all that time together trying to not get shot. Protecting each other.
    "Son? Are you there?"
    Could I have protected him from this? "I'm here." Why did he feel so cold?
    "Come home. Don't worry about club shit for a while. His mother is looking for you, she says you ought to come say goodbye."
    Gunner groaned. "Keeping him alive" had sounded like there was a chance.
    "I know there's a lot of shit going on right now," his father went on. You have no idea . "You can stay with Lily and me if you'd like."
    He would have preferred to have his father berate him for losing touch with his friend for so long, accuse him of not being around when Alvarez needed him, blame him. Not this kid gloves bullshit.
    "I'll think about it." He hung up and stared at the wall, unable to form a complete thought.
    His whole world was in shambles.
    Alvarez, his brother in arms, had tried to kill himself. He was dying right now.
    The man's face came to Gunner's mind, unbidden. The way he'd looked sitting in that bare hospital room where Gunner lay injured, when the rest of their friends were cold in the morgue below.
    He'd looked like a ghost, then. Hollowed out. Insubstantial.
    There'd been six of them, together since basic, brothers in every way but blood. Four years together, two tours, and four of them killed on the same day, in the same instant.
    They'd all thought they were invincible when they were together. Like a bunch of fucking children . He thumbed his tags, deep in his pocket, and squeezed his phone until the screen cracked. He felt no better.
    Fuck Alvarez. Like I don't have enough shit to deal with right now. The bastard.
    He jumped from his chair