Page 81 of Claim Me

A moment passes before Sync replies with, “Is this Zoot?”

I laugh at his bullshit and ask again, “Is Indigo really okay? Don’t answer like a biker. Answer like family.”

“He’s in a lot of pain, but it’s temporary. He’ll be ready for that blowjob in no time.”

“Thanks, ya tiny-dicked wrinkled ballsack fuckwit.”

“Don’t teach my daughters that crap.”

“I promise I won’t. However, I WILL teach MY daughters how to stand up to men with mutant testicles.”

“What happened to mocking me for being a greasy French fry?”

“I’m channeling my O’Malley side and using new fun words.”

“I’m ignoring you now.”

“Tell Indigo to text me when he gets back from his test. I want his answer to that blowjob question.”

Sync refuses to respond with words, but he does give me a “thumbs-up” emoji.

I feel a little better knowing Indigo is getting checked out in a real way. None of the biker bros want to admit when they’re in pain even after they’ve gotten shot, stabbed, and even run over. They laugh off the pain, but those things catch up to them. I want Indigo to live to be a very old man sitting next to my saggy ass on our porch and talking shit about the neighbors.

First, though, we need to get everyone back to the farm so our family of six and a half can feel safe again.

INDIGO

Bear, Tack, and Sync entertain me between tests. Mostly, we talk about our kids since we assume the cops are monitoring us. Sync shares a few stories about when the twins were young.

When he hesitates halfway through a story and frowns at me, I mutter, “I know you were with her. I was around back then.”

“Yeah, doing your ‘Jessie’s Girl’ routine.”

“Is this real tension?” Bear asks. “Will I need to smack Sync around to get him in line?”

I shake my head and tell Bear, “Save your energy for your kids.”

He gets my real meaning. Whatever happens next between the Brennan family and the club will likely be bloody. No reason to wear ourselves out beforehand.

Changing the topic, I mumble through swollen lips, “Siohban’s OB wants to schedule a C-section for three weeks from now. It wouldn’t be safe for her to give birth like Carys did.”

The men read between the lines again. I need this shit with the cops to be handled to ensure my son can be born safely. Carys got lucky when she labored on the farm while we were locked down with mercenaries crawling around the woods. Siobhan’s body might not be able to handle a natural birth.

Zoot’s heavy boots again alert me to his impending arrival. I’m dressed and waiting for my discharge papers when my president turns the corner and enters this end of the emergency room. Noble follows after him. I’m surprised to see Caveman bringing up the rear.

“We didn’t ask him to be here,” Zoot announces as soon as my gaze hits Caveman. “He’s got an issue with clinging to people. Fucking sad.”

Caveman smirks until he gets a good look at me. Cracking his neck, I see the exact moment when he decides he’s going to kill someone. Up until this point, he was likely thinking like a club president and plotting smart moves to win a war. Now, he’s a man looking to spill blood.

Zoot studies me and exhales hard. “You’re locked down at the farm for the next week. The press is already swarming the hospital. We’re planning to release a photo of your injured face just before we leave. Let them lap up the drama while we get you to Aunt Fred.”

“What about us?” Bear asks.

“You and Tack ought to ride home together. I can’t see the Brennan family fucking with Suzanne Knutsen after she just did that goofy rich lady interview with the governor for the local paper,” Zoot says, and I sense he’s mostly talking to spying Brennan family cronies. “Bear, you need to watch your back. If the cops are coming for us, they’re willing to battle the Kovak family and their allies. I’d suggest you get home and stay there for now.”

Noble nods. “The cops fucked up today. They look weak, and that’ll bring out their enemies. Someone’s already blown up the precinct chief’s house out on Sheridan Lake. Anyone who’s been wanting to take a shot at the cops will do it now, so the blame can fall on the club.”

I admire how easily Noble lies about the chief’s house explosion, as if anyone besides our president would have done such a thing. Years ago, Zoot left bombs all over the fucking city. At least a few of the cops from today likely have something waiting to go boom under their homes.

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