Page 6 of Renegade

I moaned in response, feeling completely delirious. The tree vibrated as Grey’s boots connected with the trunk. He let out little bursts of air as he worked his way up to me.

I turned my head away from him as he settled on the branch next to mine.

“Look at me, Mikey,” he commanded. I reluctantly moved my head back until I was facing him. “What you saw—”

I grimaced as her face popped into my mind, afraid I was going to hurl again. “Yes, sir. It’s part of being a man, right? If I want to be a man, I have to be okay with stuff like that.”

It was Grey’s turn to make a sour face. “You think that’s part of being a man? Hunting people down like animals? Jesus Christ, kid. That’s not even close.”

“But he did it to protect your club—or whatever this is. Doesn’t that make you proud?” I wanted him to say no; to deny that he was like Michael Sullivan, Sr. I needed to know that there was still some good in the man I considered my hero.

Grey shifted his foot against another branch, pushing himself closer to me. “I ain’t gonna sit here and lie to you—not after what you’ve seen tonight. I’ve taken lives to keep the club intact as has most every man that rides with me. What we do here has to come before everything else—but what we do here provides for everything else. You get me?”

I shook my head, so he continued. “This club is my job; just like your old man runs the auto shop over on Broadway, I run this. It’s on my shoulders to provide for all those guys. If I let my guard down, it could be over in a second. Guys hauled off to prison and families ripped apart. Your mama doesn’t have to work because of what we do,” He grabbed onto his leather vest, “This kutte? These patches? They were earned and they come with a hell of a lot of responsibility.”

His voice trailed off and we sat in silence for a few minutes as I considered his words. He hadn’t outright admitted that he was a bad guy, but he hadn’t exactly denied it either.

My father had often told me I could patch into the club when I got older, but I didn’t think I’d ever be capable of killing another person. I sort of thought I’d round up the bad guys and haul them off to the county jail.

“I don’t want this life.” I didn’t realize I’d spoken the words aloud until Grey’s eyes met mine.

He nodded. “I don’t want this life for you either, kid. I know your old man wants you to prospect when you get a little older, but I think you should go after what you want.”

I thought about it and realized that no matter what Grey said, my father would never let me go off on my own. He’d expect me to be a mechanic or a biker just like him.

Grey eventually helped me and we climbed back down the tree before heading for his truck. I risked one last look toward the clearing where the bikers were moving the bodies.

I could still hear her screaming inside my head.

Lauren

Denver, Colorado 2004

“So, here we are yet again, Ms. McGuire. As much as I enjoy our weekly chats, I’m sure your teachers would prefer to see you in class every once in a while.” Mr. Santiago sat back in his desk chair, resting his arms behind his head. With his dark slicked back hair, he might’ve passed for attractive were it not for his obvious affinity for Budweiser.

I rolled my eyes. Mr. Santiago was the guidance counselor for Thomas Jefferson HS and probably the least intimidating person I’d ever met. If the school was hoping to scare me straight, they really should’ve reconsidered sending me here.

“Always a pleasure, Joshua,” I offered as I stared past him and focused on the motivational posters adorning the cinderblock wall behind him. It was like being inside a prison.

He shook his head in frustration. “It’s Mr. Santiago to you, Ms. McGuire. Are you just going to sit there and completely ignore the fact that you were caught slamming another student’s head into a gym locker?”

I pursed my lips as if I were debating it; earning me yet another glare from across the desk. “That doesn’t ring a bell. Get it? Ring a bell?”

He inhaled a sharp breath. “Lauren, I can’t protect you from the consequences of your actions any longer. The girl’s parents are considering pressing charges—at the very least, you’re going to be expelled. Can you give me anything, any reason that might convince the school to let you stay? You’re an excellent student, but your behavior makes you a liability.”

What could I say—that Becca Graves had caught on to the fact that I showered every morning in the girl’s locker room, so she and her posse of bitches decided to confront me over it?

Nope.

It would probably just make things worse for me. So, I turned my lips up into a smirk and replied icily, “I heard that she’s been talking about getting a nose job, so I saved her parents some money and took care of it myself.”

If I left now, I could be gone before they pressed charges.

The chair groaned loudly as he stood up. His belly bumped up against the side of the desk, sending papers flying, and I wondered how many times a day he knocked things over like this.

He finally made it around the desk and placed a light hand on my shoulder. “We tried calling your mother, but the number was disconnected. When we called the work number listed in our records, they said she hadn’t worked there in months. Can you tell me where we can find her?”

In a bar?

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