Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“You going to bring her home?” She raises one eyebrow.
“Don’t know yet, Ma. She has a pretty good life in Washington.”
Mom taps the cup with her finger. “So, then you’ll break up?”
I shrug. “Guess so.”
The silence between each question makes it feel more like an interrogation, and suddenly, I’m sixteen again, getting the Bible slapped over my head for fucking Cece in my bedroom. And getting caught. My mom isn’t even religious, but she managed to find a fucking Bible from somewhere.
Mom raises a single dark brow judgingly, sipping her tea with her pinkie finger raised. “Emmmm. Mustn’t be a very spectacular girl.”
“Ma, stop. I’ve been home for five minutes.”
She sighs, resting her cup back on the table. Her features soften, and suddenly, I want Sassy Mom back. “I’m sorry, boy.”
“Ma…” Fuck me up. This is why I never wanted to come back to this cursed fucking town.
She waves me off, pushing up from her chair. “I’ll set up your room at the clubhouse. We don’t have to talk about that yet.” She stops when she gets to me, resting her hand on my shoulder. “I’m so happy you’re home, Nikolai.”
The music is fucking loud. I have just as many memories here as I do anywhere in this town, but the compound is different. It’s the solace I never got anywhere else.
A skinny little blonde rubs her ass against my dick, and I nod my head at Lester, one of the members of this charter. You would have thought he’d be all twisted and bitter as fuck that I’m about to take the gavel before him, but he isn’t. Lester is a forty-something-year-old, tatted-up ex-con. He did twelve years behind bars for manslaughter—nothing to do with the club, but how he got patched in.
“She’s looking pretty fucking cozy there, brother.” He wriggles his brows, but it looks fucking stupid because they’re dyed white. Not one inch of his skin isn’t tatted.
I flip him off before shoving her off. She falls to the ground and stands back to sashay her way to the bar. “Don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”
I hand him the joint as Derosa, Vaughn, and Goat appear behind him. The clubhouse is laid out the same as when I left. Dirty couches pushed against crusted wall coverings, a dusty bar that has enough alcohol to outlive an apocalypse, and the main room where we hold “Temple” behind the bar. Upstairs there are a few bedrooms where brothers can crash if they don’t have anywhere else to go, but all in all, most of them live in town. Since we fucking own it, Halsin is pretty much all club property. The charter here is just big enough. With my old man being the VP, Lester, Derosa, Vaughn, Goat, Smoke, Fanta, and the prospect. It’s manageable, which works for me since the chapter in San Diego is sufficiently larger. Not that I didn’t pull rank there, I earned my spot pretty fucking quickly there too.
“You ready?” Fanta asks, the fucking ginger with his hair looking brighter and brighter every time I see it.
“Yeah.” I stand to all my six foot seven. “Let’s roll.”
It takes exactly five minutes to get from the compound to the club downtown. Sissy’s is one of the tunnels we use for money and gun distribution in Halsin. Always has been, though I’m sure Sissy himself isn’t gonna be expecting to see me rolling up tonight. I don’t yet wear the President patch, but I will be soon enough if I decide this is what I want to do, even though I’m pretty sure I’ve already decided anyway.
I decided four minutes into arriving back in Halsin that I’d be taking the patch.
And that had absolutely nada to do with the town…
I push open the door, Lester, Fanta, and Smoke following closely behind me. The atmosphere is exactly as you could imagine. Flashing lights, loud music, and the smell of pussy thick in the air. We make our way straight to the bar, shoving through people who don’t already move out of our way, and those are usually the ones who didn’t see us roll through.
The bartender nods his head at us, but then his eyes narrow and I know the exact moment recognition catches him. “Oh shit! Niko, that you?” Carter Devalinge. I didn’t know him much growing up, but I hang with his older brother from time to time.
“Yeah, man. ’Sup?” We exchange handshakes and he grabs me a beer. Something simple and on the house.
He slides it over. “Damn, man. You went fucking ghost!” He gestures down to my vest while pouring weird shit into a cocktail shaker. Did I fucking ever… “I see you didn’t die like we all thought you had.”
The insensitivity of his comment isn’t lost on me, but fucking whatever. I don’t expect respect from people who don’t understand the word.