Fiasco (Dirty Aces MC Book 6) by Lane Hart (black male authors .TXT) 📕

adopted. I bounced around foster homes, nothing ever permanent.”

“Jesus,” I mutter. “I’m sorry,” I tell him and then laugh. “I came here pissed at you, and somehow I’m the one apologizing.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you after the crisis was averted. I should have, but I didn’t know if you would want to know me. Not to mention that we had already dragged you into the MC’s business more than we should have. Keeping you apart from all this is for your safety.”

“I’m tougher than I look, Nash. And of course, I would want to know my brother, as long as you’re not a serial killer or anything,” I joke.

He cringes and keeps his gaze on the floor. “In that case, you should probably leave and stay away from me.”

“What?” I ask in confusion as I look at the other two men’s faces and they quickly go about their business, Wirth back to teaching pool and Malcolm to the bar to grab a drink, both pretending like I’m not there. “You’re joking, right? You seem like such a nice guy…”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Nash says softly before he disappears back into the other room, leaving me standing there making a puddle of rainwater on the floor, trying to figure out what he meant by that statement.

What did he mean? Was he being serious about killing people? God, men are so infuriating, even ones I’m apparently related to.

There’s no trying to blink back the tears this time, I let them fall as I turn to leave.

Chapter Fifteen

Fiasco

Despite how exhausted my body feels after a shower, aching from work and desperately needing sleep, I know I won’t be able to get any until I make sure Joanna is okay.

Since Nash, Wirth, and Malcolm have been blowing up my phone even though I’m obviously avoiding their calls, I’m guessing she went to the bar and confronted her brother.

I hate having her mad at me. It’s a common occurrence with women; but for some reason, it bothers me that someone as good and kind as Joanna is angry at me and hurting because of my big mouth.

Even though it’s eleven o’clock at night and the rain is pouring outside, I hurry down to the parking lot, get in my Thing, and drive over to Joanna’s place.

Her car is in the driveway; but as I knock on her door for the third time, I start to think she may not answer it. I’m about to leave when the main door opens and she’s standing on the other side of the glass in a fuzzy, white robe with little purple hearts on it.

The annoyed look on her beautiful face warns me that the first words out of her mouth will probably be to tell me to leave.

“What are you doing here, Phillip?” she asks, her voice slightly muted by the glass.

I try to find a response that will most likely win her over. “You told me I could come visit Ace anytime I wanted.”

She scowls at me for several silent seconds until I brush the front of my wet, dripping hair back. Then, finally, for some reason, her face softens, and she opens the glass door and holds it open for me to come inside.

Joanna goes into the living room while I’m still trying to dry my boots on the welcome mat and comes back with Ace in her arms and the leash connected to his collar. “Fine, Ace probably needs to go to the bathroom.”

I glance toward the hallway and ask, “You want him to take a shit on the toilet?”

Finally, she smiles and says, “I don’t know if you’re joking or not, but no, Phillip, can you please take him outside?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” I reply as I lift the dog from her arms and carry him out the front and put him down in the yard. He looks up at me like, “What the hell, man. It’s wet as shit out here.”

“You’re not the only one getting drenched,” I tell him. “Go do your business, boy!”

He waddles off, tugging on the leash as he goes to the bushes and squats down next to one. It’s too dark to tell what he’s doing; but when he comes hobbling back to me, I pick him up and carry him back inside.

Joanna is waiting at the door with an arm full of towels. She uses the first one on Ace. “That’s as dry as he’ll get,” she says when she’s done. “I made him a bed in front of the sofa if you want to put him down there.”

I take him over to where she said and find a round doggy bed next to a bowl of water and food. She just brought him home from the vet today and she’s already taking care of him.

“There you go, buddy,” I tell him, rubbing his head. He circles around once before flopping down, laying his chin on his paws and closing his eyes like it’s lights out for him.

“You’re dripping wet,” Joanna says as I stand up, and then she reaches up with another towel to dry my face and then my hair. I could take the towel from her to dry myself off, but I prefer to let her take care of it for me.

“I didn’t just come over here to see Ace,” I tell her.

“You didn’t?” she asks, her chocolate eyes flicking to mine for a second before they lower to where she’s moving the towel down to dry my arms and then the front of my leather cut.

“No, angel. I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“I went to the pool hall,” she says.

“Did you talk to Nash?”

“I did.”

“And you’re still mad at him?”

“Yep,” she answers. “But I don’t want to talk about me.”

“Okay,” I agree.

Finally, she stops patting me dry to look up at my face. She’s so small and fragile-looking, like I could pick her up and carry her around everywhere like she does to Ace.

“Who were those children on your