Page 93 of The Prez

He sends another picture where I can actually read the words.

Me: Absolutely fucking not.

Pete: It’s because he’s grumpy.

Me: I already owe Zeke a punch to the mouth. You want one too?

Pete: I got a jaw of steel Prez. Do your worst.

Thankfully, Jace gets us back on track.

Jace: We’re still on for noon?

Me: Yeah. Zeke, leave your fucking dogat home.

Zeke: *frowning emoji* Yes, Prez.

“I’m hungry,” Omari whines when he comes around the corner, his curly hair still wet. “Why don’t I smell bacon?”

I look over my shoulder with a frown. “You’re complaining an awful lot for someone that didn’t make the damn bacon himself.”

Omari ducks his head with a smile, moving over to the cabinet and getting pancake mix from the cabinet. “Whatever. Go sit down. I’ll cook breakfast.”

Little Raf is finished with his food, so I take him out of his highchair and cart him to the bathroom so I can wipe his face. While Omari cooks, I get Little Raf dressed for the day.

By the time I’m finished, Omari has breakfast done and a plate for me on the table. I sit Little Raf on my lap so I can feed him some of my food. He shared with me, so why not?

“What’s the plan for the day?” Omari asks after he sips some juice.

“I gotta go to the clubhouse for a little bit.”

Omari frowns. “You said we were going to do something today. I didn’t think that something included going to the clubhouse.” He rolls his eyes but cracks a smile when I throw a piece of pancake at him.

“We are doing something. But I have to stop off there first. Is that okay, precioso?”

He sighs dramatically. “Yeah, it’s fine.” I see where Little Raf gets the dramatics from.

We talk about our weekend plans as we eat breakfast, Little Raf picking bacon off my plate and stuffing it in his mouth. Once we’re done and have the kitchen clean, we get dressed and head out. Since Little Raf can face front now,Omari spends a lot of the time taking pictures with him. They like to use the filters on that stupid social media app and pose while I drive them around like I’m their chauffeur.

Since Omari got out of the hospital and recovered from his injuries, we started doing something as a family once a month. It could be something as simple as watching a movie with our phones off, going bowling, mini golf, or indoor parks for Little Raf. It’s helped us grow closer.

We pull up to the clubhouse, and Donovan opens the gates for us. He has six more months as a prospect before he’s a patched member. I extended the prospecting period to eighteen months from a year after what happened with Telly and Sam. I want to make sure whoever we patch in to Devil’s Mayhem will be up to our standards. I was wary of him prospecting at all, but he’s proved to be solid, especially after he gave me the heads up about Brock.

Chance drove Brock’s car to another highway and made the crash look like an accident. He said the cops are still looking for Brock’s body, but they don’t think they’ll find it. The cops have gotten complaints about Brock and his drug dealing, so they’re thinking he was abducted in some kind of drug deal gone wrong. Either way, I’m in the clear. The police aren’t looking in the direction of Devil’s Mayhem.

I pull my SUV into my spot and hop out, getting Little Raf from the back. Omari grabs his diaper bag and follows me to my office. The brothers that are around say hello to us both, some winking at me and giving me a thumbs up. My heart rate kicks up, nerves dancing in my belly.

Omari pushes into my office, setting Little Raf’s bag on my desk. He smiles, picking up the picture Hazel took of me, Omari, and Little Raf on his first birthday. Omari brought it here as soon as Hazel gave him the printed photo, framed it, and put it on my desk. He’s already added other photos and plants in here to “liven up the office” as he says.

“This is my favorite picture of you two.”

I walk over and kiss him. “You’re in it too.”

“Yeah, but you two looking at each other like this makes me happy.”

It is a nice picture. Little Raf’s face is covered in cake and icing, but his smile is bright and he’s looking right at me, his little hands reaching toward me. Omari is on his other side, watching us both with a soft look on his face.

I pluck the photo from his hand and set it on the desk. “Come on. We gotta go if we’re going to get out of here soon.”

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