“That’s cruel,” I tell him, dishing up the cooked food and sliding a plate toward him.
Niran’s eyes meet mine. “You either spend this life regretting what passed or move on and deal with it. Losing my leg lost me my career, but I found something to compensate and, in many ways, something better. I not only found a team, I found a home. There’s no point bottling regret up, that’s not how you deal with it.”
A shuffling of feet has me looking past him. Alicia’s come out of her bedroom, and in her bare feet, neither of us had heard her. From the look on her face, she’s obviously been there a while.
“Want breakfast?” Anticipating a yes, I push my plate toward her, and turn to start cooking more for myself.
She steps forward, tilting her head and looking up to Niran. He’s a tall man. Even seated on the stool, he towers above her. “You’re a friend of Grumbler?”
“I am.”
She takes my knife and fork and starts in on the food while I turn back to the stove. “Where’s Grumbler gone?”
“I’m not sure,” Niran replies, carefully.
“Has he gotten the video taken down yet?” Her eyes look hopeful.
“Again, I can’t tell you. But he’ll be doing all he can so that video is completely destroyed.” Niran’s tone leaves no room for doubt and seems to reassure her.
“I spoke to Marisa last night, Mom.” She looks straight into my eyes. “I told her Owen just wanted to make a notch on his bed with me. I didn’t tell her about the filming.”
It’s up to my daughter to know what to tell her friend. Sure, she hadn’t shown good judgement with Owen, but Marisa’s been her bestie for years. “And?” I ask cautiously.
She shrugs. “She said the amazing first time was over glamorised. That it never happened that way in reality. She said most boys preferred girls who know the score.” Picking up a piece of bacon, she chews on it.
I think she showed good judgement. If Marisa knows and hasn’t criticised her, maybe she’ll be feeling better about herself. That she hasn’t mentioned the video is good. Hopefully that means if the footage can be found and destroyed, no one need ever know about it.
I notice Niran’s eyes are focused on my face. In that instance, I believe he’s read my mind and is trying to tell me to have faith.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Grumbler
Bypassing Niran’s bike which had been sufficient to get me from A to B, I go to my own ride, patting the seat before swinging my leg over it. Niran’s rides well enough, but there’s nothing like being on your own where you’re truly one with the machine. Not that this ride is for enjoyment, but at the end of this jaunt, I hope there’ll be something to put a smile on my face.
Glancing up at the sky, I see clouds threatening, so I pull my waterproof jacket out of my saddlebag and slip it on. When it rains, it rains like it means it. I’m not surprised that my brothers around me are doing the same.
Lost waves his hand over his head. Behind him, I slip into position beside the VP. Salem’s behind us, with Bones and Token then Pennywise bringing up the rear. Behind the bikes, Connor is driving the truck. The whole club had wanted to come, but Lost had kept it to a small group. Well, how many did it take to bring in one man? Besides, too many bikes turning up might bring us unwanted attention.
I punch down into first, then into gear, musing I still find it strange to ride close to the head of the pack like this. Before Snake and Poke betrayed the club, I never expected to rise through the ranks. Still, here I am, and, it appears, my brothers have faith in me. I suspect the self-doubt I used to see in Lost eyes is mirrored in mine, and for the same reasons. If we could be so duped, let a mutiny be planned without even sniffing a whiff that something wrong was brewing, how could we be trusted to lead an MC?
Perhaps, like Lost, it makes me try harder.
Before we left, Lost had instructed we use our Bluetooth headsets, when normally most of us prefer to ride without constantly hearing brothers yammering in our ears. But today, when we’re going to plan our approach off the cuff, it makes sense to be able to react immediately.
From the map Token had pulled up, it looks like the house is set in its own grounds. We’ll park a ways out, send up the drone, and then analyse what we can see. Christ, how things have changed. In the old days when I first joined the MC, we had radio headsets to use if necessary, but often the signal didn’t come clearly, and they had next to no range. Drones? Never even heard the word. We’d roll up and cope with whatever is there, our information limited to how many cars were on the drive.
Now we can get copious amounts of information before we go inside. We even have the ability to look through windows.
After a few miles, Lost waves his hand in a downward gesture and points to the side. We pull up. Connor parks the truck behind us and soon has the drone out and ready, while Token calls up the app on his phone. Within moments, our little friend is flying high, ignoring the rain and
