Page 68 of Choices

“Yep. Made you a pretty penny.” Dodger laughs, deep and throaty.

My phone buzzes against my leg. I tap the roof of the truck, pulling the device from my pocket. “Get going. See you back at the club.”

Claire’s mother’s name blares across the small screen.Fuck my life.

“Edith, everything okay?” I force my tone to be light, pushing a hand through my hair.

“Liam, I can’t get ahold of Claire, and it’s awfully late for Rocco to still be up. Is he staying here tonight?” Monster holds a hand out the window, signaling their departure.

“She was supposed to pick him up hours ago.”

“Well, I know that. That’s why I’m calling.” Scratching my forehead, I pace the street as the truck lights fade into the night.

“She’s probably at home. The pain meds they have her on are strong. Maybe she fell asleep. Please keep Rocco for the night. Tell him we’ll see him tomorrow.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Edith. Bye.” Ending the call, I curse, bringing up Claire’s number.

After five rings, she answers. “Hello?”

“You couldn’t pick up your kid? You had a fucking stitch in your boob. What’s the issue?”

Music drones down the line. “He’s with my mom,” she shouts over other voices.

“Where the fuck are you?” I bite out.

“Out. I needed a girls’ night.”

Is she fucking kidding?

“Lately, you have more nights away from that kid than you have with him.”

An incoming text alert sounds in my ear. Pulling the phone away but keeping her on the line, I open it to find a picture of Claire cuddling up with some club sluts.

“You at the clubhouse?”

“No. Twenty-Four-Carat Gold.” Static scrambles my brain. The Carnells’ club. More to the point, Michael’s favorite fucking club where he can be found every weekend.

“I’m coming to get you. Meet me outside in ten minutes.”

She murmurs her acknowledgement and disconnects.

Turning, I frown, seeing Wheels still hanging around, watching me with calculated eyes.

“You need to be dismissed or something?” I mock.

Knitting his brow, he says, “We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.” My feet eat up the asphalt to my bike.

“I ain’t asking.”

I ignore the urge to pull my blade and grit out through clenched teeth, “Be very careful.” I take a measured step toward him.

We stare at each other, hostility teeming in our eyes. “I don’t want to fight you, asshole.”

“’Cause you’ll fucking lose,” I inform him.

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