Unbreakable: Unrequited Part Two (Fallen Aces MC Book 2) by Max Henry Page A

cheer him out the door. “A guilty conscience never goes away,” I mutter as I turn to grab my neglected drink.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” Apex strains against the hand Beefy has pressed in the center of his chest.
    “It means”—I take a swig and swallow the bitter drink down—“that it doesn’t matter what you do to try and clear your name. If you’ve done this club wrong, nobody will ever let you forget it.”
    He rips Beefy’s hand away from his chest and stands close enough that I can feel the heat radiate off his body. “That goes both ways, you disrespectful little fuck.”
    “It would, if I’d actually done the club wrong.”
    Apex’s fist connects with the bottle in my grasp. It smashes on the floor to my left.
    I heave a sigh and stand. This shit’s not getting anybody anywhere. I can argue with our president all I like under the pretenses of a “fair debate,” but truth is nothing I say will change his stance. He thinks all of this is some elaborate plot to overthrow him. Yeah, that’s happening too, but it’s not why I’m here.
    “I’ll be at home if anyone needs me.” I look directly at Beefy and shrug. “Pushin’ shit uphill here, brother.”
    He nods his assent and tips his head toward the garage, indicting I’m free to go. Apex eyes with me with utter disgust as I turn away from the mess—literally and figuratively—and take my leave.
    I came back here with the thought I could get a handle on what’s happening now Twig and Gunner are gone, and I guess I did, but the lead weight in my chest as I step down into the garage reminds me that things are far from over, let alone underway. We need to sort out our club before I can expect any help with Elena, which brings me back full circle to doing it alone.
    How the fuck do I even stand a chance?
    I can’t go out and organize anything without being accused of taking club business into my own hands and getting shafted. No, Elena’s not club business, but Carlos sure as fuck is . . . especially after what went down.
    Fuck. Twig’s family. I clean forgot to ask anybody how they’re holding up or when the funeral is.
    Fingers and Abbey are nowhere to be seen as I remove the precautions I’d placed around my bike and return them to their respective places. The green machine belonging to that Grime fucker still sits in my space. Suitable name. Can’t imagine what else you’d call a man who club-hops to suit his needs. It still sits unwell with me that the guy’s even here.
    I pull out of the garage, at war with my emotions as I take to the open road. Life sure as shit has thrown curveballs of late, and I’m left the only man to bat, hitting at the wayward fuckers with a split stick of wood.
    As I stop off mid-journey to pick up a few things for a woman who needs all the support she can get, it dawns on me how much like my parents I’ve become, carelessly sacrificing my own health and happiness in the name of ensuring those two things are a priority for the people around me.
    Let’s just hope it pays off and the reward comes full circle.

SEVEN
    Elena
    Grief is worse than morning sickness. It’s worse than the most extreme gastro bug I’ve ever had. To be honest, I’m not totally sure if it’s just grief, or some concoction of the former with a nasty helping of shock on the side. My stomach is on a never-ending cycle of cramp, followed by nausea, and then expelling its contents. I’m drained emotionally, physically, and every way between.
    Maria had cried as Carlos pointed to the stack of drugs my mother’s body brought in for him and instructed her to clean the blood and gore off the plastic wrap. Tears dripped from her chin as she looked across to me with apologetic eyes before Carlos slapped her for “wasting time,” as he’d put it.
    Wasting time how? What rush could he possibly be in when I’m certain he has one hundred times that amount stashed away around the state?
    Turned out his rush was to “clean the