Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“Is the rest of the club going?”
“You think they’d miss one of their favorite members play in a fucking Super Bowl?” I asked. “Of course they’re fucking going.”
I was hit in the head with a roll of medical tape.
“Hey!”
Linc grinned.
“I hate that I can’t fuckin’ ride my bike anymore without people trying to run me off the road for a goddamn autograph,” he grunted. “My publicist tried to tell me I couldn’t wear my cut, either.”
I started to laugh.
“Let me guess, you told him to shove that opinion up his ass?”
Linc was dedicated, that was for sure. He’d known at eighteen that he wanted to be a member of The Dixie Wardens MC, just like his old man, and he’d accomplished it at the age of twenty-one.
He would have accomplished it sooner if those first three years playing ball in college hadn’t kept him away from home more than he’d intended.
Although, it put him in a good place to be spotted by NFL scouts, so we really couldn’t complain.
“Mommy!”
My head snapped over in time to see my three-year-old daughter leading two police officers in the room—Aaron and Big Papa.
“Yo,” I said. “What’s up?”
Laura threw herself into my lap, and I caught her before she could hit her face on the table.
“You mind if we talk outside for a minute?” Aaron asked.
“Puppy!”
I looked over to see Achilles start growling ferociously at Tank.
The two dogs had never figured out how to get along, though they never went further than a few growls.
I was pretty damn sure that Achilles could take Tank if he really wanted to but that was because Tank was getting on in years.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I said, standing up.
I placed Laura in my chair and handed her my phone.
She opened it like a fuckin’ pro and went to work doing what she always did on my phone—which was go to some animal sounds game and start making as much racket as a three-year-old could make.
“Be back in a minute, baby,” I said to Ellen as I passed.
Her eyes caught mine, and I could clearly read the fact that she expected to be apprised of whatever situation brought the two men over here without a warning.
I had a feeling I knew though.
Eight years ago, I’d gotten a restraining order against Margot and full custody of our daughter, Lydia.
Margot had been sent back to the psychiatric facility and had later been sent to prison after she’d tried to murder her doctor…twice.
The last seven years she’d been in a minimum-security prison for women, and I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her since.
That didn’t mean that she didn’t constantly write letters to the kids. Letters that I promptly intercepted and then destroyed as soon as they hit our mailbox.
Lydia didn’t know that she wasn’t our blood child, but one day she would—though that day wasn’t today.
It was still something that Ellen and I bickered about—telling her. I didn’t think that Lydia needed to know at all. Ellen thought it was something she needed to hear from us rather than finding out herself later on.
We’d tell her in time, I supposed, but right now wasn’t that time.
Hence the reason Big Papa and Aaron likely didn’t want to talk in front of our children.
It wasn’t a surprise when Linc followed us out, though.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Aaron spoke first.
“Margot was shot to death outside of a halfway house when she tried to rob a woman. The woman, who had a license to carry concealed, feared for the safety of her children and herself. She pulled out her gun, and shot her dead center in the chest.”
I blew out a breath.
“Shit.”
I can’t say that I was upset about her death, but I could say I definitely felt some relief at the news. It was freeing, in a way, to know that that chapter of our lives was over.
No longer having to worry about that woman and what she’d do next was an enormous weight lifted off my shoulders. It was enough to make me want to yell out in relief.
“That sucks,” Linc grumbled under his breath. “Guess we won’t have to renew the restraining orders after all.”
I slapped my hand down on my son’s back.
“I’d offer to go for a ride with you, but I don’t want your coach to kill me if you fall off and break a nail before Sunday’s game.”
My kid flipped me the finger. “Fuck off.”
I snorted.
“Language!”
We all looked at the closed door.
“How the hell does she do that?” Linc asked.
“You’ll eventually find out, son, that women have eyes in the backs of their heads.”
“And, apparently, ears like a goddamn wolf’s.”
***
Ellen
I walked tiredly up the stairs that would lead us to the box seats that Linc had reserved for us to use for the game today.
I stared at the stairs and wondered idly what the hell I was doing.