Page 43 of Wait For Me

Bagger

“Cut it all off.”

“What exactly does ‘cut it all off’ mean to you?” The barber asked while eyeing my shoulder-length hair that brushed across my leather cut. I noticed the reflection of some military asshole in the mirror and pointed.

“Like that,” I demanded.

“Son, you want to go from this long haired, biker look to a military high and tight?” He asked, not believing what I said. When I nodded, he laughed. “Can I get that in writing before we start?”

“Funny,” I deadpanned, though it was obvious the man was nervous about making such a drastic cut on my hair. “I’m not a bitch. It’s not gonna kill me to cut the shit off. I want it short like that, but maybe faded better than that asshole’s so I don’t look like a complete dick.”

“Whatever you say, you’re the boss,” he relented and then for the next fifteen minutes, I tuned out everything but the buzzing sound of the clippers and the little snips of the scissors. I was fucking tired of not being taken seriously in life because of my looks. Every time I walked into a bank to try to get a loan to open my own restaurant, those fuckers all but laughed me back out the door and told me to come back when I had an investor or someone else to back my sorry ass. They never said it quite like that, but the looks they gave me told the story for them.

~*~

“Holy fucking shit!”

“You go off and join the fucking Army, man?”

“Damn, dude, didn’t realize how ugly you were under all that hair!”

“Laugh it up assholes!” I called back to the chuckleheads who were out taking a smoke in the fresh air when I pulled up after getting all my hair whacked off. I was twenty-six years old and wanted more out of life than to just be a biker, making runs, and earning dirty money. There were things I loved to do outside of riding and cooking was always one of them.

I wanted to start my own place, a fucking restaurant of all things, but I didn’t want to have to do it with club money. I wanted it to be mine – free and clear. Well, mine and the bank’s, I guess. No one would take me seriously though. Missy’s father had even offered to put up half, and be a silent investor, if I could manage to get a bank to loan me the other half.

Somehow, I think it was a joke to him and not a serious offer. He knew they wouldn’t lend to me. It was fuckin’ ridiculous too. My mom owned the building that I wanted to put the restaurant in, and signed it over to me. It was where she used to have her bakery before she got too sick to deal with it anymore. She was going to sell it before I sat her down and told her about what I’d been thinking. Now, I just needed the cash to overhaul the building, set up inventory, and pay initial checks for workers before I started bringing in money.

“Office, now!” Tripp yelled to me as soon as I walked through the door. I followed like the good little soldier I was.

“Heard your momma signed over her bakery to you.”

“Fucking hell! Who told you?”

Tripp smirked. “I know all, Bag. What you planning to do with it?”

“I want a restaurant there, but free and clear of the club. I wanted to sink or swim on my own.”

“That’s not how we work, and you know it. We ain’t letting you sink, so why the fuck wouldn’t you come to us to help you swim?”

“June from the bank told you, didn’t she?” I asked. The sneaky fucker had running around with the woman on the sly – so he thought. We’d all caught her on the back of his bike a time or two over the past year though.

“Don’t want my kids to know about that yet.”

I laughed. “You think Kip don’t already know? He saw you months ago taking her up to the cabin.”

“Fucking hell! Can’t have any secrets around this place.”

“That’s for damn sure,” I agreed.

“Listen, we don’t have to put the club on papers, but you were going to get your rich bitch of girlfriend’s father in on investing. Why the fuck would you be willing to work with a slimy bastard like that rather than the club?

I hesitated in answering.

“Why?” Tripp asked again. It was a simple enough question, but not really a simple answer. I decided to just dive in and be truthful.

“I lost my cut before over something that should have never been put on my shoulders – not at the time anyway. I was too young for that shit.”

Tripp hung his head. “Damn, Son, that was four years ago. You lost faith in the club that long?”

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