Page 58 of Devil's Queen

“Don’t kid yourself… he gets it from you too.” A hint of a smile plays on her lips, teasingly reminding me of our shared history. As much as I may not want to admit it, she’s right. Our son inherited both our traits—good and bad.

“Now that you know, what are you planning on doing about it? A boy needs his father.”

“Still working that out, Miss Blanche. I only found out last night.”

“Well, work faster. My little songbird needs a sibling, and I’m not getting any younger. Leroy ain’t about to make me a grandmama any time soon, so it’s up to you to give me more kids to spoil.”

“I’ll figure it out, Miss Blanche,” I say, determination lacing my words. “Birdie deserves to know her brother, and Beaux deserves to know his father. I won’t let them grow up without each other.”

Miss Blanche nods approvingly, her eyes filled with pride and compassion. “That’s the spirit, son. Family is worth fighting for.”

Birdie comes bounding down the hallway. Her pink, frilly pajamas are now replaced with an equally bright pink dress with little white flip-flops. She twirls when she comes into the kitchen, waiting for approval from Miss Blanche.

“Beautiful as always, my little songbird. Now, say goodbye to your daddy, and then I’ll fix your hair really pretty.”

Taking the cue from Miss Blanche, I kiss Birdie on the top of her head before grabbing my cut and keys and heading out the door. Normally, I’d head for the shop first, but Tex had texted me this morning about swinging by the clubhouse to see him first. I can only hope he has news for me about whose cut that chunk of leather Remy had found came from.

The ride to the clubhouse is smooth, and the parking lot is mostly empty when I arrive. With the success of Ladies’ Day at the garage, I’d shifted some of the guys over to help there until we can get permanent hires in place. Parking in my usual spot, I leave my bike and head inside.

The main room is empty except for a few of the club bunnies wandering around in their bra and panties, still hungover from the night before. Ashley, one of the newer girls, flashes me a megawatt smile when she sees me come in. She stalks over to me, swaying her hips with each step.

“Can I get you some coffee, Rex?”

“Not what I came here for, Ashley, but thanks.”

I try to sidestep her, but she shifts to block me. “How about me instead?” Ashley bats her fake eyelashes up at me. She uses her shoulders to plump up her tits a little higher on her chest.

“I said no.” I try to step around her again, this time succeeding. I hear her dissatisfied huff behind me as I continue to Tex’s office.

As I approach Tex’s office, the door swings open before I can knock. He stands there, his brow lifted in amusement. “Ashley try to accost you too?”

“She’s aggressive, I’ll give her that,” I answer, stepping past him and into his office space. Tex follows into the space, closing the door behind us before he heads to his desk. He settles into his chair. “A little too aggressive. A girl like that will chew up and spit out some of the younger guys.”

“Sure will. Patch bunnies do that to the young and dumb. To be that naïve again,” he laments with a fake sigh. “Anyway, about what I texted. I talked to the girls this morning who worked on your little side project.”

“And?”

“Nothing. Not a single cut had any kind of damage to it. Smelled like sixty-year-old biker sweat and ass, but no damage.”

I rack my hands through my hair. “You’ve got to be shitting me?”

“I am not, Prez. Every single member’s cut was accounted for. No sign of damage or a patch job. I’m sorry.”

“Fuck,” I growl under my breath. Can nothing be clear-cut anymore? Why does everything have to be an impossible jigsaw puzzle? I thought this could give me the answers I need, but yet again, I’m back to square one.

“I know it’s not the news you wanted, but there’s another angle we haven’t considered.”

“Tell me,” I demand. “I’m willing to hear any other ideas because I have none fucking left right now.”

“Follow me on this one. Who would stand to gain the most from fucking with Papa Midnight Customs business? Normally, I would say our club, but there’s someone else you’re not thinking about. Someone who, until recently, wore our colors.”

“Monte.”

“Nope,” Tex fires back. “He joined after Wolff. He doesn’t have an old-school cut, remember? Think older and with more reason to hate us and Remy?”

Fuck. It can’t be. He’s long gone, or so I thought.

Tex’s words hang in the air, a revelation that sends a chill down my spine.

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