Page 8 of Jacob

The silent stare down lasted several uncomfortable seconds. Neither of her parents moved. The weight of it bore down on Sparrow. She had to do something. Scanning the ledger, she spotted something. “Dad, you missed something,” she pointed to a red line. “You added instead of subtracted.” He’d taught her a while ago the code they’d used with the different color pens.

It only took a moment longer for her father to tear his gaze away and look to the book. He squinted at the page, got closer to it, and then pulled back. “Filho da puta,” he muttered under his breath before covering his permanently bronzed features, another trait she’d gotten from him, with his thick hands.

“Maybe, if you upgraded your system, and got into the twenty-first century with your bookkeeping, you wouldn’t be up all hours of the night doing this bullshit and we could be at the clubhouse doing fun shit,” her mother sniped as she grabbed the open beer bottle and stormed out of the room.

Running his fingers through his thick hair, her father’s dark eyes scanned the lines and lines of entries he’d made since the error. It’d all have to be undone to correct it. After a heavy sigh, he turned to Sparrow, and his expression softened, turning to one filled with affection.

“You’re old enough now, I can tell you some things,” he began as he tilted the book toward her so she could get a better look.

He’d shown her the book before, mostly to help him with math. He was terrible at math, but she looked it over as she always had when he offered it to her.

“You’re so smart, menina. The maths, it is so easy for you. I knew, since you were little, you could do this. So, I tell Bowie, I take the books. I do them. But I bring them home—for you,” he said, his accent growing thicker the more he spoke.

Stunned, she peered up at him. Her brows furrowed in confusion, not quite comprehending what he meant beyond he thought she was smart. Who didn’t like hearing that from their father? At fourteen, she still idolized her dad, even if she had started her rebellion years.

He glanced toward the kitchen entrance before leaning back in toward her. “Your mãe, she not smart in the same way.” He smiled when he spoke of her mother.

There was affection between them, and a hell of a lot of passion. Her parents couldn’t keep their hands off one another. On more than one occasion it embarrassed Sparrow, but they also fought with the same fire.

“She is cunning with men, and knows how to get what she wants, but you, you’re smart in books and maths.” He tapped his temple. “Much better to have your smarts. You can learn her smarts in time when you older.”

Again, her father pushed the book toward her. Her gaze went down to it.

“I teach you this to give you a better place in the club, in life.” He reached for a paper and put it in front of her. It was a receipt for liquor delivery to the strip club. “You do this, you have a place with the Roughneck Riders always.”

Her chest heaved. Her throat ached. A snort mixed with the tears ruining the makeup she’d done for her shift at The Spoke.Fuck. Her shift. She wassolate. Tut would chew her ass out for sure. Sniffling, she peeled herself off the closet floor. The cut in her hand needed a home. It didn’t belong in a box. It should be displayed in the clubhouse, honoring him and all he sacrificed for the club. However, for now, until she got to talk to Bowie, it would live on her side of the closet. Taking a wooden hanger, she draped it over, then stuck it on the rod.

As she walked out of the closet, she caught a glimpse of her tear-stained face in the mirror. Two black lines ran down her face, meeting beneath her chin. Blotchy skin and swollen eyes. She couldn’t go in like this. Checking her phone, she groaned. She was already fifteen minutes late. What was another twenty to make herself presentable?

Grabbing her sneakers, she stuffed her feet in as the phone rang. She sent the call to voicemail before rushing into the bathroom. She fired off a text to her coworker, lying about an argument with her neighbor over parking spaces before she splashed her face with water to clean up the makeup mess. Without time to do a decent job, she opted for simple eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss.

She frowned at her reflection. Her Brazilian father gave her a permanent tan, forever sun-kissed skin, and wild, curly, multi-toned brown hair, which she’d given up on attempting to tame, and generous hips. Her Irish mother gave her green eyes and an obnoxious amount of freckles. There were days she embraced them—thought them a unique thing of beauty. Then there were others when people stared, gawked at her, and she felt like a pariah because of them.

Shaking it off, she didn’t have time for introspection or self-loathing, or admiration for that matter. She had to get to work before there was no work to get to. Her father had once been a member of the Roughneck Riders, which didn’t grant her any damn favors—not anymore.

Chapter 5

Jacob

He hated it. He hated the way the floor crunched as he walked over fuck knows what. He hated the music on the jukebox—who the hell listened to Audioslave, anyway? They were a bunch of whiny fuck nuggets. But most of all, he hated the stale ass beer Dash urged him to try. All these years later and he still succumbed to his sponsor’s peer pressure.

Taking another swig, he gagged over the craft beer. “One of these days I’m going to stop trying things you suggest.”

Pulling the backup cigarette from behind his ear, his sponsor stuck it between his lips. With a dip of his head and a spark of the lighter, he lit it. Smoke puffed from his mouth before he took a long drag and laughed. “You just want to be me, brother.” His cocky grin matched his tone.

Jacob rolled his eyes. The truth in that statement was years old. There was a time that he’d thought the sun rose and set on Dash. He was the coolest motherfucker he knew, a goddamn biker who actually paid attention to him for more than just a pat on the head. But that was his youth. Now, they were equals—sort of.

As VP of the club, his father was in high demand and pretty busy—which meant he wasn’t around a lot for baseball games and other kid shit. So, he sent a prospect in his place. That prospect had been Dash. He’d been Jacob’s babysitter, and all around bad influence, through his formative years. So while Jacob wanted to live up to his father’s expectations and legacy, Dash was his role model of sorts.

Over the years they’d known each other since the older of the two began with the club, he’d risen in ranks. From prospect to member, and now Enforcer. Since the club had rules against blood sponsoring blood, it was Dash who sponsored Jacob when the time came. Jacob may only be a member, but they wore the same colors. They were brothers. Dash, however, continued to out-rank Jacob—VP’s son or not.

One day that would change. Jacob had Fury in his veins. He was destined to rise in the ranks. He’d be an officer—he’d run the club one day. He had to do his time. It wouldn’t be handed to him—he knew that. He had to prove himself, and Ohio would be that opportunity, the first of many.

They’d arrived early at the dive bar. Eight o’clock and they were two of maybe ten people drinking. Besides the few men working, they were the only ones wearing cuts. Then again, the few who had leather had prospect rockers. So, they were the only ones with true colors.

Seeing as they were in friendly territory meant they could keep their colors visible. Showing up in another club’s bar, in another club’s domain showing your colors would, at the very least, stir trouble, if not be a death sentence—depending on how bad the blood was between the two clubs. Odin’s Fury had enemies. They were a national club with chapters throughout the country. This meant they had competition everywhere. Some men didn’t like competition. Some got downright ornery in the face of it. Alliances, deals gone bad, betrayals, turf wars, all sorts of reasons for club beefs.

Thankfully, in Ohio, none of that was the case. They were a direct line to Ontario. The only thing between the Canadian province and Ohio was Lake Erie. Odin’s Fury wanted access to Ontario. This is why Monty was so agreeable to this patch over.

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