Page 31 of Break Out

“Really?” I asked, my tone dry.

“Don’t be so skeptical. I’m just saying – you’d be right in his wheelhouse.”

I raised my chin in an exaggerated nod. “That doesn’t make me feel any better. What’s your point?”

She grabbed a cucumber and cut off the ends. “Jasmine was right. Except instead of hitting their compound, we’re going to find their campsite.”

My eyes widened and I straightened from the counter. “That’s worse than Jasmine’s idea.”

She shook her head. “No, sweetie. It’s smarter because women all come and go at rallies.”

I shot her a pointed look. “Not with Riot patches, they don’t.”

Her head wobbled side to side. “Not usually, but I’ve been to their area before. If I go with you, it’ll be fine.”

Chapter 7

Reality Sucked

Steel

“You sure you’re reviewing the books, Prez?” Tie asked, while he stood in the doorway to my room at the clubhouse.

“Yeah, I’m reviewing the books every time you say they need it. Why?”

He blinked. “You aren’t pissed about what the Jacksonville chapter brothers are costing us? Have cost us? We haven’t nailed down a new law firm to put on retainer, but every place we’ve spoken to the damned fees are at least triple. I could give a shit about the lost dues from their chapter. Losing our lawyers fuckin’ sucks.”

I dragged my hand down my face. “Yeah, I’m aware of the legal issues we got, Tie. And at this point, I’m not sure we should keep the Jax chapter, but that isn’t official, so keep it quiet.”

“Steel, I’m treasurer. I don’t run my mouth. I want to know if we’re gonna force them to pay next week in Daytona.”

That sounded like a plan, but I knew better. It was a fuckin’ five-hour ride down to Daytona. Bike Week down there was one of the only reasons I was willing to allow a second Florida chapter of the Devil Lancers. It gave us somewhere to stop off before or after the rally. In the spring it couldn’t be beat. All the women, the beach…

…And there went my dumb-ass brain serving up visions of Simone and questions about whether she’d look better in a one piece or a bikini. The only right answer was nude.

Shit.

Reality sucked. Simone wouldn’t be at Bike Week. A new graduate wouldn’t have time for fun and sun around a bunch of rowdy bikers.

My son did, though. Or, rather, not my son.

No, that was wrong. Nothing was going to change the fact that Jordan was my son. Not him shoving me out of his life. Not DNA. Not a damned thing.

I loved him, even if I didn’t know him very well any more. I’d changed his diapers, and been there when he took his first steps. He may not have known it, but I’d been at his basketball and baseball games – even though I’d had to lurk by the stands and behind the dugout.

His bitch of a mom had done a helluva job spinning a tale about me and convincing him to give me a cold shoulder.

Until he needed money, of course.

That was all I was good for… child support, even as an adult.

My phone dinged and I saw a complete surprise.

A text from Jordan.

The check never came.

I debated my response. The check never came because I never sent the damned thing. After my failed attempt to see him in December, I decided to be a jackass. He expected me to foot his bill for college… I expected to see him in person to do it.

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