Page 59 of Single Mom for the Bikers

He climbs in, along with the remaining Son, both of them keeping their guns on us until they can slam the doors shut. The truck immediately backs up and kicks up dirt as it turns towards the front of the clubhouse. I raise my gun, but even if I could get through the armor, I wouldn’t risk hitting Mia.

“Mia! No!” Shel screams.

But the truck barrels away from us, charging straight through the chaos. We run after them, but there's no way I can catch up, and when stray bullets start whizzing by, I drop into cover, pulling Shel with me.

Shel crumbles like she’s been hit, but the bullet wasn’t physical. “Mia!”

32

MIA

Ms. Ginger,the lady that smells bad, is watching me again. She said to call her Mommy, but she’s not Mommy!

“Here, honey. I've got some Pop Tarts.” Ms. Ginger puts them on the table in front of me.

I turn my head and hug my knees to my chest. She doesn’t like me, I can tell, even if she pretends. I hate her. I hate her crayons. I hate her Pop Tarts. And I hate that she sees me cry. Mommy says tears are just how the bad feelings get out sometimes, but I don’t think it’s working.

The door opens, and Mr. Matt comes in. I hate him, too. Even more than Ms. Ginger.

“How's she doing?” he asks.

“How the fuck do you think she’s doing? I can’t believe you grabbed her without a plan.” Ms. Ginger picks up the crayons and throws them. “A couple broken crayons aren’t going to keep her happy. Shit, I said I would help you, baby, but I’m not a fucking nanny.” She bounces her shoulders.

Mr. Matt comes over and gets down low next to me. “This is your new home, Mia. No one's gonna hurt you. Do you want Mommy to be here with you? I’m working on it, promise.” I don't say anything. I don't want to talk to Mr. Matt.

Ms. Ginger doesn't look very happy when he talks, and I’m glad. Does that make me mean? But I think Mr. Matt and Ms. Ginger are mean, so maybe it's okay just this once. He pats my head like I’m a puppy and walks away.

“Why do you care about her bitch of a mother?” Ms. Ginger pulls Mr. Matt with her, but I can hear them just fine. “She's not gonna give you what you need like I can. She'll just be trouble. Keep Dodger’s kid. She'll be pissed for a while but forget soon enough. That’s what happened to me when I got shoved in foster care. We could raise her, you and me. Mia’s his flesh and blood, Shelby was just the carrier.”

“Ginger, you fucking know what the plan is,” he growls.

They use a lot of bad words. It’s funny when grownups forget, but not this time.

“I made him a promise. This is my fucking duty. You hear my words. One day, I'm going to be on top in this club, and I'm gonna carry on the legacy that Dodger couldn't.”

“Then fuck her if you want. I don’t give a shit, but when that day comes, who's gonna support you, huh? Be everything you need for you? I can tell you for sure, it ain’t gonna be her. She's fucking tainted now.”

I don't understand what they mean, but I know they’re talking about Mommy, and not in a nice way. So I think it’s okay to be mean and not do what they say.

I wish Dante and Izzy were here, but Mr. Havoc, Mr. Phoenix and Mr. Sledge are going to come get me with Mommy like last time. Maybe this time I’ll get to ride on a motorcycle.

“Jesus, Ginger. Are you jealous? Worried I'm gonna fucking trade you out for a younger model?”

“You know what? Yeah. I am, a little, because I fucking waited for you to get out of prison and I stuck with you. She didn’t even want you when they thought you were just her dumb neighbor. You wanna fuck her? Fine, she can be our bitch, but I'll have her hanging in a fucking noose before I step aside.”

Lots more bad feelings come spilling out, making big wet spots on my knees. Maybe if I eat one of the Pop Tarts and hide in the corner they’ll forget about me. I don't want them to be mad at me.

“Baby, relax. She's a tool, right? You'll always be my old lady, Ginger. Don't fucking worry about it.” Then he looks at me, and I try to make myself teeny tiny while I take little bites. It's frosted. “We’re freaking the kid out. Why don't you get her some water, or something?”

“Oh, excuse me for not catering to the little princess. Maybe if you warned me you were going to grab her already I would’ve been more prepared.”

“Ginger, she's a fucking four-year-old. Just keep her happy until we got this figured out, okay? I had to take my shot when I saw it. No fucking way the Eagles won’t respond to this, and once Badger’s in control, everything will work out.”

“I hope you’re fucking right, Grinder. I'll take care of her. Just… do your thing.” Ms. Ginger's coming this way. I don't like how she always stands when she talks to me. It makes her too tall.

“Do you want water, kid?”

“I want my Mommy.”

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