Brooks (Dirty Misfits MC Book 1)
Brooks: Chapter 4

“Home, sweet home,” I said with a sigh.

I tossed my purse into the hooks I hung recently on the wall and closed the door behind me. Thunder boomed and lightning pierced the sky, illuminating my dark townhome as if it were daylight outside. The townhouse rattled with the thunderous applause of the summer storm that had seemingly come out of nowhere, and as I shook off my umbrella I set my sights on dinner.

Because I had a pot roast slow-cooking on the counter.

After hanging up my umbrella as well, I padded into the kitchen. I took the top off the slow-cooker and took a massive whiff of the luscious smells pouring from the inside of that hot-ass pot. My stomach rumbled with a need for food and I got a small pot of rice bubbling on the stove. Then, I made my way upstairs to change into my comfy pajamas.

Before finding myself staring at the mail I had slapped onto the kitchen table.

Yet another letter from Brooks stared up at me and I reached for it. With trembling fingers, I ripped it open, curious to see what it had to say. Yet again, this one was pretty short. A one-page letter as opposed to the small books he sometimes wrote me.

This letter had something curious in it, though.

This letter had news that steeled my gut.

Dearest Raven,

I had my parole hearing today and, believe it or not, they granted me my freedom. I don’t know what my lawyer did or how he got the recommendation from the warden in the first place, but I’m coming home in two days’ time. They release me Friday morning, and I know this is asking a lot of you, but I’d really like to see you.

Think about it and get back to me. The halfway house I’m going to be in is just outside of town. 4315 Levington Street, if I’m not mistaken. “Hangman Halfway House” is the name.

• Brooks

I slowly placed the letter down, but that didn’t stop me from re-reading it. My eyes scanned the sentences over and over, trying to process what he had just said.

“Friday morning?” I whispered to myself.

That meant he’d been out of prison all damn day.

I raced to the window and peeked outside my backyard. Lightning flashed and I canvassed the woods, wondering if he was out there. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew the club had someone checking up on me every now and again. I didn’t see him every time, but sometimes I caught his presence lingering when it didn’t need to be.

Porter, of all people, keeping tabs on me like I was the club’s property.

I didn’t know how to feel about the letter. I didn’t want to be dragged back into that kind of life. I wanted nothing to do with the club that got Gage killed. But I had to admit that there was a small, very faint part of me that wanted to see Brooks. Whether I wanted to slap him again or hug him, that remained to be seen.

I did know this, though:

When I saw him again—and I would see him again—he’d get an earful of exactly what I thought about him.

Good, bad, and indifferent.

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