His Other Half (Patches Tarkio MC, #3) - Debra Kayn Page 0,29

him telling Curley that he planned to spend tomorrow with Cami. Knowing his MC brother, he'd keep an eye on the apartments.

At least he'd know Josie was safe and protected.

He opened the whiskey on the way to the door. Once inside, he dropped his bag and turned on the stereo. Cranking the music until the four-foot speakers in the corners of the room bounced, he tipped back the bottle while walking to the kitchen.

In the overhead cabinet above the fridge, he brought down the wooden box filled with enough drugs to let him escape for a month. All he needed was a couple of days to escape.

Needing to clear his head, he grabbed a joint and a bag of white powder. He walked to the couch and took off his boots, peeling his socks off. Then, he took off his vest and set his pistol on the couch beside him.

Where he planned to go, he wasn't a Tarkio member. He wasn't Paco.

Hell, he wasn't even Paxson Cook. A name that came from nothing. Had no connection. Had no one.

He lit the end of the joint, took a hit, and held that first toke in his lungs, settling back on the couch and propping his feet on the coffee table.

Exhaling harshly, he followed it with a swig off the bottle. Damn Josie for being there for him. For letting him stay. For holding him all fucking night and not getting a wink of sleep because she truly believed she was stronger than his demons.

He gripped the bottle until his calloused fingers turned white.

Fuck the journal that made him care about her.

Repeating the smoke. Repeating the drink. The vision of her in front of him never faded. The warmth of her body against his never cooled, even when she was away from him.

He couldn't get her out of his fucking head.

The phone rang somewhere in the house. He ignored the call. There was nobody he wanted to talk to. Nobody that mattered more than forgetting what he was doing.

He pulled off his shirt. The tattoos on his skin a reminder of everything he'd lost. Of his failures. Of his weaknesses. Of his dreams that were buried to the ground.

The whole inside of him echoed. He'd never be whole.

With the joint between his thumb and index finger, he trailed his pinky over Penny's name. His sister had no proper grave. No fancy headstone.

He'd buried her in the mountains, promising to do it right, but the hills were scattered with death. Deaths marked against Tarkio.

It was the best he could give his sister without turning himself in for the murders of the men who'd hurt her. Who killed her.

And it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

But Josie was alive. He'd saved her.

She'd end up hating him. He wasn't the man for her. Damn her.

He lifted the bottle, draining the rest of the whiskey. Needing to take a piss, he stood and stumbled, falling over the coffee table.

A groan slipped out of his lips. He could feel the vibrations in his soul but failed to hear the sound over the music. He reached up to the couch. His hand came down on the pistol. Gripping the handle, he hefted himself to his feet and carried the weapon with him to the bathroom.

Chapter 15

Josie

A knock on the door startled Josie from folding laundry. She picked up her knife and went to the other side of the room. There was no peephole to look through. "Who is it?"

"It's Cami...and Chrischris."

She set the knife on the kitchen counter and unlocked the latch to let them in. "What's up?"

On Saturday, Cami had told her she was going to spend all day with Chrischris. He'd promised to bring over food and a VHS movie. She planned to stay in and let them have their privacy. Though Cami swore they'd only struck up a friendship, Josie believed Chrischris had other plans.

"I need to ask you a favor," said Chrischris.

She motioned to the couch. "Go ahead."

He remained standing by the door. "Will you go over to Paco's house?"

She glanced at Cami, not expecting that request. Giving her attention back to Chrischris, she said, "Why?"

He rubbed his hand over his whiskered jaw. "He's in a bad place. Nobody can get through to him, and if he doesn't get a grip soon, he's not going to have any house left."

Her pulse quickened. "What do you mean? He's destroying his house?"

"That's what I mean."

She stepped over to the couch, glanced down, and wiggled her