Page 27 of Sweet Pea

“Every foster home and hospital we went to, he was the first one in the door. He wore that fuckin’ elf suit every time and never complained once.”

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to add ‘Santa’s Helper’ to his resume.” I chuckled.

“Minus says everything’s been quiet here,” Cowboy said, changing the subject from budding love to potential war.

“So far,” I replied. “Maybe even a little too quiet.”

“How so?”

“Wolf and I have history. I know him probably better than anyone, and he’s never this quiet for this long.”

“His silence making you nervous?”

“Itchy as fuck. Wolf is impulsive and loud. He’s never restrained and rarely unpredictable, so the fact that he and the Spiders have gone underground since our standoff can only mean bad news.”

“We have your backs if shit jumps off,” Cowboy said.

“The Saints know and appreciate that, brother.”

I shook Cowboy’s hand and made my way to Doozer and Trouble, clearing my throat as I neared the happy couple.”

“Hey, Sweet Pea,” Doozer said, straightening up his posture as I approached. “You remember Trouble, don’t you?”

“Of course,” I replied, turning to her. “This guy isn’t giving you a hard time, is he?”

“I’d kick his ass if he tried,” she replied, and although she was smirking while she said it, I believed her.

Bikers for Kids was a unique club, in that its members shared a singular goal of caring for children suffering from abuse. Their club did everything from fund raising to physically protecting families from their abusers. BFK was not afraid to confront their enemies, and the Gresham Spiders, a club notorious for trafficking, prostitution, and dealing drugs in schools, were certainly on its list.

Not surprising, many of the BFK’s members had suffered their own forms of trauma and abuse as children. It was something I had in common with them, but not a fact that I chose to disclose. Besides, I’d dealt with my past and was more than happy to leave it where it was, far the fuck behind me.

“Cowboy said the run went well.”

“Those kids, man.” Doozer said with a sad smile. “Some of their stories really tore me up, ya know? I can’t believe how brave those kids are after all the shit they’ve gone through.”

“I’m glad you went,” I said and patted Doozer on the back. I meant what I said too.

Doozer was almost as tall as me. Way leaner, but just as tough. Yet, despite his rough exterior, he had a good heart. It’s what I valued the most in him. He reminded me of a younger, less jaded version of myself. Not that I was a grumpy old man or anything. Hell, I was only four or five years older than my soldiers but had already ridden or been dragged down some rough roads.

“Where are Spike and Tacky?” Doozer asked, looking around.

“Out on patrol, but they should be back any time now,” I replied.

“Hey, I wanna talk to you about something if you’ve got a second,” Doozer said.

“Church in five!” Minus called out.

“I’m all yours, but can we talk after church?” I asked. “I need to get something in my tank before the meeting starts.”

“No problem,” he said.

I left the two lovebirds alone and headed to the kitchen where I found Ropes and Clutch engaged in a lively conversation at the coffee maker.

“What the fuck was I supposed to say?” Ropes asked.

“I don’t know, but something better than ‘oops.’ I mean, you’re the fucking writer,” Clutch replied.

“Exactly! I’m a writer. I need some time to formulate my words. I had zero time to process what the hell was happening. I walked into the room and there she was on the bed, naked, covered in oil.”

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