Page 5 of Brooks (Dirty Misfits MC 1)
If he couldn't organize his own thoughts, he certainly couldn’t organize the thoughts of his men.
I’ve left that life. And it’s time to let it be in the past.
I threw back the rest of my coffee and slipped the thermos into my car cup holder. I eased myself out and tossed my purse over my shoulder, readying myself for another wonderful day with my kiddos. They were the ones that brought me joy in the midst of my sorrow. They were the ones that held the healing hugs and kisses I needed whenever my heart couldn’t mend itself together. And during those moments where I felt more angry and more confused than ever before, all I had to do was scoop up one of them and cuddle them until they told me to let go.
Which, in some cases, was never.
Maybe things might’ve been different if Brooks simply would’ve acted first.
But I shoved the thought away as quickly as it popped into my mind. I needed to stop entertaining those selfish thoughts. I needed to stop cheating on the memory of Gage simply because his best friend had bigger muscles and a cocky-ass smile. Because at the end of the day, Gage was the one who stole my heart. Gage was the one that became the love of my life.
Maybe that’s why you’re so angry at Brooks.
Maybe part of me didn’t like reading his letters because it showed me that he was still the same competent, handsome, sexy, intelligent man he’d always been. Maybe part of me had written a few lettered responses I’d never had the balls to send because I was concerned I’d fall back into the same old trap of “loving the bad boy,” as my mother always put it. Maybe—just maybe—the anger I’d always carried wasn’t really anger at all, but rather guilt.
Guess we both still have a lot in common.
And as I started for the front door of the daycare, I wondered if Brooks ever tortured himself with what could have been, or should have been, or might have been if he had found the balls to walk up to me that night instead of Gage.
Three
Brooks
“Just to repeat,” the plump man in the middle of the board room said, “this is the parole hearing for one, Michael Brooks. He has served five of his six years, and he was granted the option of parole via good behavior because of his willingness to cooperate with police.”
I winced at his words because it made me sound like a fucking rat. And I despised snitching little rats. I didn’t cooperate with the police; I simply didn’t give them any grief when they asked me questions. I answered as curtly as possible, not once did I lie, and I still managed to get Hyde off with nothing but a few years of probation and fifteen months with a cuff slapped around his ankle.
I didn’t cooperate with anyone.
I just didn’t fucking lie to their faces like some idiots did.
“I have his file as well as recommendations from both the warden and two of the prison guards,” Mr. Rothsfield said.
I looked up at him with a curious look. I wasn't really sure how parole hearings were supposed to go, but wasn’t a recommendation from the warden a good thing?
I watched as my lawyer and the fat man in the middle with a sweat-soaked navy suit exchanged documentation. I watched silently as the board of people sitting in front of me passed around letters and whispered to themselves in order to determine my fate. I peeked up at my lawyer and I found him smirking at me, which I’d only ever seen him do one other time before.
Holy shit, he’s gonna get me out of here.
The only other time I’d ever seen him smirk like that was when he took on Hyde’s case. He didn’t seem to mind the conflict of interest, and I liked that because I had been willing the entire time to take the fall for Hyde. As the Enforcer to my club, that was what I did for my men. They looked to me not simply for direction, but for protection. And when Mr. Rothsfield smirked at me in the courtroom before they gave Hyde his sentencing, I breathed a sigh of relief.
So, why was he smirking at me now?
Mr. Plump sighed heavily. “Well, I suppose the evidence is pretty overwhelming, isn’t it?”
The two women beside him nodded their heads while one of them stroked my body with her eyes. She kept staring at my arms and my legs. One of my tattoos that crept up the side of my neck held her gaze before her eyes met mine. And the salacious desires that flashed behind her icy blue stare would have made me smirk just like my lawyer had done to me.
