I’ve been waiting ‘till next time’ for the last couple years. Through problems with the Makris family, through threats from the cartel, through wayward gun runs through Colorado. Every time, I’ve put establishing who I am on hold in favor of my duty to the club as the president’s daughter.
I nod my head in agreement, but already I’m thinking, planning, plotting, looking for loopholes.
For years, I’ve been the president’s sheltered daughter, doing my duty to the club — a duty which I’ve enjoyed — but which has put so much of my outside identity on the backburner.
This photography event represents a chance for me to make a name for myself as Adella Garcia Stone; as a person, and not just the daughter of the president of the Twisted Devils MC.
I can’t give that up
All I need to do is get my qualifying photographs in the mail — photographs for the event organizers to judge and, hopefully, find me qualified to display at the event — and I can do that all without leaving Lone Mesa.
Then I’ll just have to figure out how to get out of town.
“Oh, here comes the Grand Poohbah now,” Ruby says.
The doors open.
My father emerges, along with the rest of the club.
They’re all looking stoney-faced and ready for war. Even Snake. Though, within his piercing blue eyes there’s that same troubled look I saw last night. Something is hurting him, something he won’t talk about.
Just as much as I want to get my name on the list for this photography event, I want to find out what’s bothering the man I care so much about.
“Listen up, everyone,” My father’s voice booms. He’s not an especially large man — not as large as Blaze or Mack, or as hard-edged as Razor — but he has a commanding presence. Blaze and Mack and Razor all demand attention because of their size; my father commands attention because he radiates implacable authority.
“Today, in just a few hours, we’ll be meeting with this son of a bitch who thinks he can dictate terms to my club. We’ll set him straight, and send him packing with a clear message — that if he doesn’t leave this club alone and stay the fuck out of Lone Mesa, he’s going to wind up wishing we killed him quick.”
My father says more — mostly the kind of language that would make even the most fiery of revivalist preachers green with envy, but I stop listening. I turn to my mother.
I have a plan.
“We should throw a party for the boys,” I say.
“Yes, with lots more gin,” Ruby adds. “And top shelf stuff, too.”
“A party?” My mom says.
“They hardly got to enjoy your steaks last night. They’re going to have a lot of stuff to deal with over the next week, we should let them know how much we appreciate them.”
“You know, dear, that’s not a bad idea. Having some quality alcohol around here — none of this bottom-shelf dreg — and some decent food would boost morale,” Ruby adds.
My mother is quiet for a while, thinking.
Her eyes drift from me to my father, and she spends a long moment looking at him. I see the full range of her emotions play out in her eyes — concern for the weight my father carries on his shoulders, love for him and all that he’s willing to bear to take care of his family — and, even before she opens her mouth, I know I’ve got her.
She never can resist treating my dad right.
“Fine. You grab your things, I’ll grab a couple of the boys, and we’ll go shopping.”
I think about saying more — about asking for her to make sure Snake comes along — but think better of it when I catch the look on her face; I’m already stretching it by getting her to step out and go shopping for the things to throw a party. If I ask for anything more, she’s likely to second-guess the whole thing.
“I’m coming, too. Anything to get some fresh air — and some nice gin — before I’m locked down,” Ruby says.
I grab my purse, throw on my leather jacket, and get ready while my mom grabs Razor and Trips — forcibly — and drags them towards Ruby and I.
In moments, we’re piling in to my mom’s SUV and heading toward the store.
“We need to stop by my place,” I say the second we leave the clubhouse parking lot. “I left something at home.”
Tricia gives me a dirty look, but she steers the SUV toward my apartment.
When we get there, I’m only gone a second, just long enough to run inside, grab the photographs I’ve spent weeks working on, and shove them into a large manila envelope. I take a second to seal them in, write the address on it, and now all I need is a couple stamps and a mailbox
Ready, I race downstairs and back to the SUV.
Soon after, we’re at the store.
“Addie, since we did regular steaks last night, I want to change it up a bit. I’m going to make tacos. I want you to head to the butcher’s counter and get the best skirt steak you can find. Then get fifteen pounds of shrimp. The biggest shrimp you can find. I’m going to head to the produce section and get everything to make a salsa and the tortillas — we’re doing this by hand for the boys, since the next week will be rough. Ruby, you take care of getting some good alcohol. Whiskey and gin, please.”
“I’m already ahead of you, dear,” Ruby says. “Bless the state of California
