Page 9 of Vapor's Blaze

I press my hands against the outside off my coffee cup to warm them. “I just don’t know why he would hide this from me.”

“Fucking hell girl, he’s not just hiding this from you he’s hiding it from everyone.”

I glanced around nervously before asking, “Does my grandfather know?”

“You better believe he does and he’s furious about it. Tracker is lucky to still have his patch. He’s gonna have to learn to stop letting Scrapper lead him around by the nose and use his own good common sense.”

I come to my feet and look down at Jamus. “I’m sorry. This is making me so angry that I need to walk it off.”

“I know just how you feel. I’ve been walking it off for months now.”

My lips twitch. “I think you mean riding it off. That’s what you do when you’re upset. You go on long lonely rides up and down the coastline.”

His angst evaporates in an instant. “You got me there, girl. It’s the old school biker in me, thinkin’ that everything looks less fucked up after a nice long ride on the open road.”

Gazing down at Jamus I realize that he’s now become the closest thing I have to a parental figure. He fills the roll of my mother, father, and the grandfather role my actual grandfather continually abdicates by being a degenerate asshole to me and everyone else.

I lean over and give him a kiss on the forehead. When I pull back, Jamus’ expression is all kinds of shocked. It cheers my heart a bit that he’s so taken aback by my heartfelt gesture.

“You know that you’ve always been like family to me, right?”

The shocked expression on his face turns pleased in an instant. “I’ve always thought of you and your brothers as the kids I never had,” he responds quietly. There is something about his tone that’s off a little, but I don’t know why.

I continue, “Thanks for answering my questions about where Tracker has been every night. Honestly, I was worried that my grandfather had him working round the clock running drugs or something.”

“Nothing like that, missy. Trust me, anytime he gets a rough assignment I make it my business to tag along.” His hands tap each side of his waist where the leather vest he never takes off covers his belt. “I’ve got that trusty hunting knife I used to save your grandfather all those years ago, and my thirty-eight special on me at all times. So you don’t need to worry about Tracker, not on my watch.”

“You’re good people, Jamus. And I’m glad you’re in our life.”

He looks bashful at that. “Thank you, girl. Now run along. You know I ain’t good with feelings and stuff.”

I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, none of us are. Take care. I’ll probably stop by tomorrow or the next day.”

Jamus jerks his chin at me and takes another swig of his beer.

As soon as my back is turned, the smile falls off my face. I hate lying to the old man, but the fact is, I’m not going to walk it off. I go out to the parking lot, get into my car, and use my cell phone’s navigation app to take me straight to the Savage Legion’s bar in town. It’s high time I had a talk with that brother of mine. He needs to grow up, get a backbone and stop letting those Savage Legion assholes exploit him for free labor. My brother needs someone to talk some sense into him and that’s what sisters are for.

***

I pull into the parking lot of the bar, realizing rather quickly that I have driven past it a million times before. It looks worlds better than any of the establishments my grandfather is involved with, and I don’t know why, but that pisses me off. These people are clearly making money. They can afford to pay a bartender. There’s no need for them to be slaving my brother out.

As I stomp across the parking lot, deep down inside I’m hoping this is all some kind of mistake. It would be such a relief to walk through the front door and see that my brother isn’t standing behind their godforsaken counter serving drinks while the Savage Legion rakes in the money from his hard work.

The minute I walk inside, I’m surrounded by huge, hulking men wearing Savage Legion cuts. It’s only nine in the evening and the place is already packed. I feel like I’m walking into enemy territory, and I guess in a way it’s true. I want to know what they’re holding over Tracker’s head to force him to work for free. For all I know they could be threatening our family, or God forbid, me.

And sure enough, my oldest brother is behind the bar, running his ass off. If I’m being honest, I’ve never seen him work so hard. It pains me to think the thugs from the Legion have him too terrified to take a break. I march straight up to the bar, snag the beer mug from his hand and slam it down on the countertop, holding it pinned to bar with my palm.

“What the hell are you doing with your life,” I demand.

Several conflicting expressions jump onto his face. There is embarrassment, annoyance, but mostly surprise at seeing me here. While he’s gaping at me, my peripheral vision picks up somebody walking through the side door behind the counter carrying a stack of boxes. It also registers that he’s wearing an actual parka with the hood pulled up like he’s an Arctic explorer or something.

Trying to pull the mug from my hand, Tracker asks cautiously, “How did you find out I’m working here?”

I yank it back and throw it behind the counter where it smashes into a million pieces. “You should know better than to try to hide things from me. I always find out.”

“Yeah,” he growls, “You sure the fuck know how to get in a grown man’s business. By the way that’s two dollars you owe me for the beer glass you just broke.”

A familiar voice intrudes into our conversation. It’s the person wearing the parka. “No lovers’ quarrels allowed in the bar.” Instead of his voice being all sugar sweet like it was the night we spent together, it’s riddled with jealousy. God, why do all the really stupid things have to happen to me?

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