Page 20 of The Gentleness of Rage

I was tempted to jump in but didn’t own a costume. Heading back inside, I picked up the wad of cash Slate had given me.

My brows shot up. There was about one thousand bucks present. I’d been raking in the tips, but not this amount. Then I remembered Slate saying about the strip joint. This obviously included my pay and tips for that night.

Not wanting to spend all of it, I searched for a hiding place to put the money. I hid five hundred dollars in a pasta box and picked up the two sets of keys on the kitchen island. One set was obviously the house, and the other was the car. Checking everything was locked, I headed to the vehicle.

Jared had been right when he said I shouldn’t need any further groceries. He’d bought everything imaginable to cook with. Before leaving, I’d pulled out two large pork chops, and I planned to make a potato salad and homemade fries with them.

But I did require bedding and towels. Maybe the thrift shop might have something. Carefully driving into Rapid City, I spotted a closing-down sale and stopped. Happily, I bought three sets of quality towels and two sets of pretty bedding. Then, I also got a rug, pillows, and a duvet for less than one hundred and fifty bucks. Parking up, I noticed a sign for a bookstore and wandered down the street.

I paused when I saw a huge placard announcing Rage MC Custom Bike Design and Garage. Rage MC was the motorbike club that Slate belonged to. As I hugged the shadows, I saw men working in busy bays, three women gossiping near an office, and two other buildings.

For a few moments, I watched but didn’t spot Slate. Though I did see the bookstore.

Heading inside, I stopped as yelling reached me.

“You’re fucking dead. So dead, Jett. Asshole, I’m going to castrate you myself!” a woman shrieked. A crowd had gathered, some clearly enjoying the spectacle.

“Fuck, I love this place, there’s always drama,” a lady said to a friend.

“What’s the betting Sin is pregnant again!” someone else added.

“She can’t be. Jett had the operation!” a third replied.

“Only you can get a fucking vasectomy and still knock me up!” the screech reached epic proportions.

“Told ya!” The third chuckled.

“Damn, Jett had the op at Christmas, and he’s knocked Sin up?” the first said, awed.

“Ain’t no stopping Jett’s swimmers!”

A man rushed past me, looking completely panicked. He wore a cut like Slate, and I guessed he was a brother of Rage. He was incredibly handsome; however, the expression of terror detracted a little from that.

“How could I know I’d still get you pregnant?” he yelled as he reached the door and clearly thought he was safe. This was Jett, then.

“Husband, I hate you! I’m not a damn brood mare! How the hell can we use condoms and the pill, and I get pregnant, you have the snip, and I’m knocked up? What type of freak are you?” a beautiful woman screamed, appearing from behind a tall bookshelf.

“No fucking way!” A lady at the food counter gasped. “Sin, he’s never got you pregnant again?”

“Penny, I’m five weeks!” Sin wailed, throwing her hands in the air.

Jett appeared panicked.

“Did you lie about the operation?” Penny demanded.

Honestly, I felt kind of sorry for Jett. He looked boxed in and thoroughly scared.

“No! I had the op. Ask Sin, I sat with my balls in a cold bowl of water for three days!” he yelled.

“Dude, TMI,” an English guy said, watching from an armchair.

“Shut up, Reid!” Jett snapped.

“Stop knocking my sister up!” Reid retorted, entertained.

“You’re never getting sex again. Not even a fuckin’ blow job. Knowing me, I’d swallow, and you’d impregnate me that way!” Sin hissed.

Penny began cackling with laughter, and Reid blanched.

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