“Seven days,” I tell them, as I know Bulldog is that much of an ass to count a week into double digits if you give him time to explain the logic behind his thinking. And the guy can be pretty convincing when he wants to be. I’m not looking to be talked out of this. I just got back. I want to rest on my time, in my own way. I don’t want to have people at my place poking their heads—and no doubt their hands—in everything.
When I’m at the club, I play a role. And to that fact, sometimes I’m Bass, the social butterfly joker who never takes life too seriously. When I’m on a job, I keep my shit locked down, hyperfocused on everything even while I maintain the persona. But when I’m home? That’s when I can take off the mask and be me, whoever the fuck that is, when I wake up.
I like to take a break from it all a few times a month. Just a little recharge to keep me going. Haven’t had that in close to a year, and I was hoping to get a full week of isolation before I had to come back to my duties of being the social king for the Hounds. It’s a hard task. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. Not one of these sourpusses can put up with half the shit I deal with, hence why I’ve been unopposed from my position for so long. That and no one wants it. I not only have the responsibility of verifying the paperwork for each new brother we gain, but I also have to ensure that all the dues are paid. I’ve also somehow become the unofficial therapist.If anyone has a problem, they think I’m wanting to listen. And don’t get me wrong, I like learning the shit, ’cause I’m nosy as hell, but sometimes I just don’t give a fuck.
One of those times being now. I don’t want this chick at my place. I don’t want her and her kid poking around, trying to figure me out, when the club is expecting me to gather intel on them. Meaning all work and no rest.
No rest for the wicked.I can’t help but chuckle at the thought. Yeah, so maybe I’m more inclined to the comedian personality than not. I just don’t have to like things right now. Check in with me tomorrow, and I might sing a different tune.
But as I exit the room we use for Church and see the woman in question just glaring, I doubt tomorrow will be any different.
Chapter 8—Milly
I’m annoyed. Okay, I’m beyond annoyed, but I’m trying to deal with it for Ollie’s sake. The kid was smiling this morning—actuallysmiling. Don’t think I can name a handful of times that’s happened since all this started.
When I woke up, Ollie and I weren’t the only ones in the bunk room with Bass, like when we went to sleep. The only reason I didn’t start panicking right away was because the threat wasn’t tall enough to reach the pedals of a car.
There wasn’t a lock on the door, and I wasn’t expecting to get much sleep as it was. New places rarely bring comfort for either of us. But the night’s events dragged Ollie under quickly, and I fell asleep, too, just not as deep as Ollie as he pressed his back to me on the inside of the bottom bunk farthest from the door. I’m exhausted, but I’ll gladly give up sleep to protect him.
Also, it doesn’t help that Ollie doesn’t actually sleep really well with others in the bed with him. It’s one of his triggers, but we both knew there wasn’t a better option. Neither of us trusts these people enough to sleep alone. They might have taken all my weapons when they showed us this room, but they didn’t check Ollie. His small pocketknife won’t do much, but it’s better than nothing.
Thankfully, I didn’t use it on the person who crept in on us. They haven’t started torturing us yet, but that might change if I get stabby, especially with a kid. Fortunately, my reflexesare quick enough that I slid the knife under the pillow again from where I had it almost at the kid’s throat. I don’t know what kind of place this is, but they’ve got to expect us—me especially—to be jumpy around them. I killed two guys last night for coming in on me while I was sleeping, for fuck’s sake. They really need to teach these kids a few basic survival skills. One day in the life Ollie and I live would get them all killed.
But all my thoughts of wanting to reprimand the kid went out the window when he whisper-yelled if Ollie was awake and asked if he wanted to playSuper Smash Bros.with him. Not only was it what he said, but the bright smile he pulled from my kid first thing in the morning. Then came the laughter as they pretended to sneak away into what I assume is the main clubhouse. Even a badass kid like mine wouldn’t laugh when tortured, so I pushed the morbid thoughts aside for now and rolled out of bed, stretching as I got up. The snap, crackle,andpop is real, and just the back release I needed after a night of nearly being kicked to death.
I expected a few things today, mostly more questioning. They went easy on me last night after I dropped the bomb about being connected with the Russians. Not many react really well to that, unless they think you’re joking. And if they think that, they aren’t the ones you want to hang out with, as they won’t take the threat seriously. At the very least, I hoped I could convince them that I’d play nice with them to hopefully get a Red Bull—or four—out of them.
How could I have known that walking into a room full of bikers, with my kid laughing and playing in the corner with the other kid, would be the highlight of my day?
“Wow. Is this all his?”
Ollie’s state of wonder has me looking up for the first time in the last twenty minutes. Glaring at our driver, someone who doesn’t talk and only answers to the name of “prospect,” doesn’t help my temper, so I’ve kept my mouth shut and eyes off anything that was pissing me off. Which didn’t give me much to look at, and since I don’t want to creep out Ollie by staring at him, I’ve faked sleep for the last ten minutes as I rocked between the two in the truck’s cab.
“Yup, and a few more acres in the back that you can’t see.” The deep rumble from the guy on my left has me clawing my nails into my skin. Guess hecantalk. Just not to me, or at least not to answer any of the questions I asked when I was first forced into the truck.
Andforcedis the correct word. One of them, think it was Casper, literally picked my ass up and put me in the cab before the prospect buckled me in. It was all the distraction they needed to get Ollie in next to me before they slammed the door. They must have known I wasn’t going to harm my kid to get out, even if I seriously thought it over for five minutes.
When I woke up this morning, I was optimistic. Figured they would run things through, see I wasn’t lying, and just wash their hands of the “baby daddy issues.” That’s what normal people do.
But this lot is different. First, they wouldn’t let me leave the clubhouse at all, even to walk across the street to get fresh clothes. Okay, I get that one. I’m a flight risk, but I wouldnever leave without Ollie, and they should have realized that from the get-go.
Second, after half of them got done with a meeting that was oh-so-important enough to do behind closed doors, they had the nerve to say I would stay with Bass. For a week. A week! Are they insane? Even my own family won’t spend a week with me. I’m brash on a good day. Ollie deals with it out of necessity. I’m going to annoy the hell out of this Bass guy, and they’ll blame me when he commits suicide to get away from my ass.
And let’s not forget the part that these people don’t know us. We’re strangers, and they’re forcing their way into our lives. Something I detest on a whole other level. I might admit to myself that I don’t have everything under control like I pretend. But having amancome in thinking he can fix everything just pisses me off.
Screw the suicide thought. I’m liable to kill the asshole myself if he tries to control anything Ollie and I do.
Looking up, I take in the remote area. No surprise since we’re in Kansas, but the trees surrounding the area are a welcome hideaway from the open road. It’s a spacious lot, I’ll give it that. But also tiny. We’re talking about a one-story house with two windows facing the front.
As we get out of the truck, I take in the rest, noting a detached industrial-size garage that seems twice as big as the house. Bass parks his bike in front of it—and I don’t notice his ass, thank you very much—gets off, and unlocks the chain on the door before walking in. A second later, the whole thing lifts like a typical garage, letting me know it’s mechanical.
As the bay doors rise, so do my eyebrows. Guy has about six bikes and a two-door truck in there. But that’s not whatdraws my eyes. It’s the weapons on the back wall that have me whistling, earning a glance from Bass before I divert my attention to the back of the truck and pull out our bags.
That was another thing the club decided for us. Apparently, my car is an issue, hence the ride out here. Bass didn’t have a vehicle on-site since he just got back from out of town, or so they say, so the prospect had to bring us. My car, which I loved, is being destroyed as we speak. Somehow, the club thinks it’s better that way than just hiding it in someone’s backyard under a tarp. I don’t get the logic, but I didn’t get to speak my mind. Okay, I did, but no one listened. They’ve all got a bad habit of pretending I’m not around. If they keep this shit up much longer, I’m liable to maim someone.
“See you around, Bass,” the prospect says before ditching me and Ollie. Not even a sideways glance to check that we’ll be okay out in the middle of nowhere with a biker. But I guess if they’re going to kill us, they’d do it in a remote location.
“Should we be worried?”
