Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 132031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
“My daughter’s out in the waitin’ room. It’s her first.”
Dev nodded, hiding his concern. There was a time that he’d have remembered such a thing, especially for such a longtime client. He’d have something special to give her as a birthday gift.
“I’m gonna need a few minutes, but Millie will handle gettin’ everything ready for her.”
He’d stalled long enough. It was time he steeled his spine. He went to wash up, giving himself a mental boost to be ready to deal with his old man.
It didn’t come easy.
“We’re good on time,” Millie called out.
Dev used a smile he used on his own daughters as he greeted the young woman waiting in the front room. He finally remembered her. She’d been there several times with her father. If memory served, she wanted a blooming lily on her hip. Something small and quick to see how she handled being inked.
“You old enough?”
“Today’s my birthday. I’m legal.” She grinned broadly, and Dev nodded, picking up an innuendo that she probably hadn’t meant to throw out. He didn’t see her as that kind of girl which made the comment funnier.
“Happy birthday,” he said, then nodded his head toward his old man’s bike shop. “If you hear some hollerin’ out there, ignore it. It’s all good.”
“When I heard you finishin’ up, I took a Xanax and have a playlist.” She lifted her phone and waved it for him to see.
Dev gave another nod of understanding and pushed through the doors. He’d heard those same words about a thousand times over the years.
It didn’t take long to find his old man hunched over a service bay, working on his Harley—his true love in life. His old man had mechanics there who handled all the service jobs from the bikes they sold, but no one touched his personal sled except his old man and that usually came while he tried to work out a problem.
The Harley got worked on a lot these days.
“What’s goin’ on?” Dev asked, standing on the other side of the bike.
“There’s a fuckin’ problem with the clutch.” He gave a growl while turning a wrench and never looked up.
Dev had to actively dial back the sudden burst of frustration.
He didn’t have time for this. He wasn’t a mechanic. He didn’t even fix his own sled. Literally every other person who worked under his old man was more qualified than Dev to help out.
“I got shit to do,” Dev said and started to pivot around.
He hadn’t taken a full step in the direction of his parlor before an object whizzed past his ear, slamming against the far wall of the service bay. The force of the hit made a loud clanking noise against the galvanized metal siding that lined the interior walls. Then again when it hit the polished concrete floor.
The heavy tool came awful damn close. The muscles in his back tightened, his shoulders stiffening in response. His hand fisted on its own. Dev slowly turned to see his father rising to his full height, fire burning in his eyes. A new, larger wrench in his hand.
Yeah. What did his old man have to be pissed about? He hadn’t almost gotten hit with a fucking metal wrench.
“Don’t disrespect me,” his father huffed, chest bowed, his breath labored. “You’re a goddamn loose cannon. Either passive to the point of embarrassment or hotheaded like a goddamn viper. You’re twenty-eight years old. It’s time to grow the fuck up.”
Yeah, he’d show this demented old man what grown up looked like.
Dev took two menacing steps forward. He had a hard time justifying not murdering the man who just sent a heavy tool flying at his head. His chest heaved oxygen in and out, wanting to show his father by deed how capable Dev was. He couldn’t keep his hands from fisting. The restraint he used to keep from diving over that bike and beating the hell out of the man spoke of nothing more than maturity and control.
“Talk about embarrassment,” Dev started, his finger lifting to point at his father—another in the long line of disrespectful actions Dev wasn’t allowed to do. “Don’t you ever put your hands on me again in front of my brothers or I’ll show you a trick, old man.” It wasn’t the endearment it used to be. “Fuck you.”
He seethed with anger.
As he spoke, his father came around the end of the bike as if Dev were nothing more than an annoying gnat. “You’ve gotta learn to channel your anger. You don’t have the goddamn temperament to lead this club and can’t fuckin’ listen to anyone to learn how. You’re impossible to deal with.”
“You don’t even know impossible or loyalty apparently…”
His father came to within two feet of Dev and stopped, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I do. In the next five years, the Disciples will own Dallas/Fort Worth. We’re triplin’ our portfolio and you don’t know shit about it. You’re off runnin’ after those kids like you’re their damn mama. You’re a goddamn embarrassment. Diesel’s ridin’ second at Smoke’s funeral.”