Page 1 of Enforce This

Chapter One

Trista

If you didn’t already know, nursing school is a bitch. Yeah, it’s exciting to buy your first stethoscope from the community college bookstore, and sure, I looked good in scrubs…

But who in their right mind decided this shit needed to be five days a week?

I kind of expected to be done with the marathon desk sessions when I grabbed my high school diploma a year and a half ago, but there I was scrambling around at the ass crack of dawn.

I should have been up hours ago, but it was Thursday and I’d been on the go since last week, pulling doubles as an aide at the nursing home Saturdays and Sundays, only to return to the grind of a student nurse when Monday rolled around again.

My thick, brown hair was in a messy top knot while I hurriedly swept concealer under my eyes. Maybe if I doctored them enough no one would notice the dark circles that threatened my light-olive complexion.

I lifted a stick of eyeliner and was just about to make my mark when the phone lit up and began to vibrate against the bathroom counter.

“No,” I groaned when I saw the four letters on the caller ID.

Mark.

My mother had done her best to keep him out of my life and me away from his biker bullshit. She must have done a decent job of it; considering it’d been a year since his last call.

My stomach flopped. I knew why he was calling now, everyone in the area had heard about what happened. His trophy wife was killed in a drug raid gone wrong.

I didn’t want to hear about his loss. I’d only met the woman twice in the entire five years they were married.

I should have let the damn thing ring, but the longer it vibrated, the angrier I got. I didn’t have time for his shit, and yet, I was raised to be a good daughter. No matter what he was, he was my father, and a good daughter would accept his call. That’s the type of nonsense my stepfather Doug always preached.

I snatched the phone up and swiped the green circle, allowing him to hear my annoyed sigh before I blurted out, “What?”

“Is that any way to greet your old man?” He chuckled.

I raised a brow that he couldn’t see and let him interpret the silence however he liked while I fastened the name tag to my scrub top that read, Trista Miller.

“Feloni, I am your dad… You know…”

He was the president of a biker gang. Feared and respected in the streets. Perhaps it was that knowledge that made me pause with concern when I heard the crack in his voice.

“Is that your way of saying that you want me to pretend that you didn’t choose your club over me and mom?” I loyally choked out.

He sighed and the silence began to brew again.

“Mark, I have to–”

“Yeah, I know. You’re really busy, baby girl. I won’t keep you long, it’s just that Princess’s funeral is today…”

I squinted, unable to believe my ears. Did he really just refer to his deceased wife by her biker-slut name? I mean, she did have a jacket that read Property Of, but still…

What century was this? And what did it say about my father, if he were the sort of man who would take pride in the ownership of a woman?

I half-growled, half-grunted my disgust.

It was unfortunate that his wife was dead. It really was. She was young. She probably had a life once upon a time, before she got involved with him, but none of that had anything to do with me.

“Do you think they’ll carve that into the stone? Sophia “Mafia Princess” Miller,” I snarked, unable to hold back any longer.

He gave a thin sigh, “Are you coming or not?”

“Negative. Some of us have a future to plan for. You know something that doesn’t involve a stripper pole, or wrapping my legs around hogs and the dogs that ride them?”

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