Page 6 of Riot

He fishes around in his pockets. “It’s like havin’ a child,” he sighs.

I grin. “One that never leaves you. I’ll be home soon, Dad.”

“Wise ass.” He hands the change over and then his voice drops. “You need anythin’ to get by, you let me know.”

I nod. “Got contacts. Keepin’ our heads above water long enough for me and Priest to get outta here.”

“Good.”

The club don’t deal in illegal shit, but it’s amazing what inmates will do for a cigarette, including protection.

I open my arms wide for a hug and his shoulders shake from laughter. “You gotta death wish, I swear to God.”

“What? Most people think you’re old enough to be my dad, so?”

He slaps me upside the head. “Second time in one visit you’ve called me old.”

I laugh as he one-arm hugs me, unable to leave me hanging. “See ya on the outside.”

“You bet.”

Three weeks later

I look up to the sky, like I haven’t seen it before, and inhale. Freedom never smelled so good.

I told Charles not to come get me. For one, I didn’t want him to see me looking like shit when I got out. He has been kind enough to visit, but that’s just him; the father I never had.

I was lucky, in the end, to have such a strong and kind-hearted man to look after me and my sister, who didn’t want anything from us. Just to make sure we were okay. It healed all three of us and I owe him a large debt that I probably can never repay.

“You look like shit,” are the first words I hear. Tag; the club’s Enforcer and the world’s grumpiest biker known to man. I mean, he’s a muscular, scary looking dude who used to be a bodybuilder and a boxer. I can street fight like nobody’s business, but I wouldn’t take on this guy unless I wanted my pretty face rearranged.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” I go toward him with my lips puckered and he shoves me back. “Looks like they sent the welcomin’ party pooper parade.”

“You wanna end up back in the joint? Just keep goin’.”

“You’d be the one goin’ in. Plus, you’re prettier than me, so probably not a good idea.”

“No doubt about that. They didn’t teach you any manners in there,” he says.

“I did learn how to make mashed potatoes out of a packet.”

He shakes his head. “That’s fuckin’ digustin’.”

I pat him on the side of the shoulder. “Best you keep towin’ the line, big guy. Some of us aren’t cut out for the slammer.”

He thumbs to the truck. “Shut up and get in.”

“Yes, sir.”

I feel bad leaving Priest back there, but the man can handle himself. They even lessened his sentence, though fuck knows why, he hasn’t exactly acted like the ‘son of a preacher child’ while being inside. But if he keeps his nose clean, he might just make it and live to tell the tale.

“You got any shit to get off your chest, do that with one of the sweet butts or Bronco, I’m sure he’d love to hear all about it.”

“Why’d they send you?” Everyone knows Tag isn’t one to converse with. I think this is the most he’s said to me in all the time I’ve known him.

“Only idiot who didn’t make himself busy.”

“Nice. Can we stop off at Burger King?” I ask.

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