“I don’t know, Char. Maybe you could trust me,” I ground out. “You know, since you went through all that trouble of making me the club’s President.”
“Shit, if I went around trusting people, I’d be dead.”
“Fair point,” I replied.
“Besides, you’re only acting president and don’t fuckin’ forget it. I brought you in to run things on the outside because I couldn’t trust anyone in my club anymore. Someone set me up, and I just can’t be one hundred percent about anything anymore.”
I didn’t know if Char was overly cautious from a life of crime or if meth had made him totally paranoid. Maybe there had been a rat in the club that got him locked up. I wasn’t sure, but I knew one thing for sure. The Spiders were currently pest free, and every member had gone through the flames when I took the head seat.
“The club is solid. I’ve got shit handled.”
“And my account?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get your Chocolate Yum Yums,” I snapped.
“Listen, you cocky motherfucker. Commissary is all I have to trade with in here so don’t fuck around.”
“Roth put the money in your account. Can we move the fuck on?”
“How’s the other thing?” Char asked, instantly switching gears.
“Which thing?” I huffed in irritation. I hated talking in code.
“The new seat for that old bike?”
Char was obviously talking about Minus, the new Burning Saints’ President, and the current thorn in my ass.
“It’s being handled.”
“You sure?” he pressed.
“I’m gonna have the prospect take care of it,” I replied.
“The prospect?”
“He’ll have a foreman with him on the job.”
“If you think he’s qualified to take care of a seat like that.”
“He’s good. There is one thing, though.”
“What?”
“There are two seats now,” I said.
“On one bike?”
“Two new seats, two old bikes. One belonging to our old friends.”
There was a long pause on the other end before Char asked, “The V.P?”
“Rapunzel,” I replied.
“That gonna be a problem for you?”
“I’m good.”
“Take care of the original order first.”
“I said I’m fucking good.”
“You have two minutes remaining,” the automated voice interrupted.
“How’s my baby boy?” Char asked.
I rolled my eyes. Ryder Carsen owned several bars and restaurants in the area and had married a nun for fuck’s sake, further solidifying the fact he wanted nothing to do with his father. Char didn’t like that Ryder wasn’t taking up the mantle, but there was nothin’ he could do about it now. I had the baton.
“He’s insignificant,” I said.
“You watchin’ him?”
“Yeah, boss, we’re watchin’ him. He gets out of line, we’ll deal with it.”
“He gets out of line, use his pretty little pussy to deal with him. He’s fuckin’ whipped.”
“Got it.”
Jesus, even for me, that seemed harsh. There was no love lost between father and son, and I got it. I hated my own father, but I wouldn’t fuck with my mother to get back at him. Low fuckin’ blow.
“You good otherwise? Anyone hassling you in there?” I asked.
“You think I can’t fuckin’ handle myself or something?” Char bellowed.
“Anything else then? No? Good.” I hung up before Char could respond. I was done putting up with his shit. I had more important things to do than be his backup cupcake fund guy. I had real fuckin’ problems to deal with out here. Shit to tend to with my club. Besides, he wouldn’t have to worry about snack time, or anything else for very much longer.
Hatch
Monday night, I got home to find Maisie in a knock-down, drag-out with our oldest boy, Flash. His real name was Parker, but we’d called him Flash ever since he was little because as soon as he could walk, he was off and running. The only thing faster than his feet was his mind. Very little about him had changed over the years, except these days he always seemed to be in a bad mood.
“What’s the rule, Parker?” Maisie growled.
“The rule’s stupid!” he snapped.
I did not like the tone he was usin’ with his mother.
“What the fuck’s goin’ on?” I demanded, walking into the kitchen.
Maisie raised her hands in defeat and turned her back.
I faced my son. “Flash?”
“He has a D in three classes,” Maisie provided.
“I have a D in two classes,” Flash corrected. “I have a D+ in science.”
“You’re gonna have an F as in, foot up your ass, if you keep up with the attitude,” I growled.
Flash looked at me sheepishly. “Yes, sir.”
“Look, son. You’re too smart to get grades like this, so what’s goin’ on?”
“Nothing, I’m good. I’ll get the grades up,” he replied dismissively.
“I know you’ll get your grades up. All of ’em. But that’s not what I’m concerned about,” I said, softening my voice. I could tell something was on my son’s mind and it bothered me that he was closed off. He and I had always been close and him holding back was unusual. “Talk to me, buddy.”
“Can we just talk about something else?”
“What else is there to talk about that’s more important than your education, Flash? What’s more important than you?”
“I just want to go work on my bike, can we do this later?”
“Oh, no, mister. There’ll be no working on your bike until those grades are up,” Maisie said.
“But that’s not fair! We have less than a week before Christmas break. It’s not like I have new homework or anything,” Flash protested.
“That means you have time to do your missing assignments and go over the material on the tests you failed before holiday,” Maisie shot back instantly.
One thing I’d learned quickly was to avoid arguing with my woman at all costs. Only the strong survived and I’d yet to meet anyone that strong. She’s as sweet as pie ninety-nine percent of the time, but she’d stab you in the neck with that one percent slice if you pissed her off.
“But I still have problems with the ignition to work out,” Parker whined.
“No buts. It’s like your father said. There’s nothing
