Page 4 of Live Love Steal
Sketch stifled a laugh and turned it into a cough.
Meanwhile, the SWAT officers clustered around, and a dog sniffed all my clothing, bags, and the electronics now in the stupid cases, which had locks on them.
“You may keep these with you, but you must return here to get the locks removed.”
Begrudgingly, I gritted out, “Fine.” No one seemed in any kind of hurry, and I was constantly checking my watch, prompting them to ask me to remove it and put it in with my cell phone.
With that last vestige of technology stripped from me, I wouldn’t know if I was late or not.
I rushed to the elevator.
Surprisingly, people were bypassing it. But I didn’t have time. The courtroom was on the top floor of the building. I wanted to get there intact. But carrying all the various cases, and my bags and coat, up multiple flights of stairs, with no idea whether the doors would open at the top? No fucking way.
Sketch jumped in the car just as the doors were finally sliding shut. He glanced down at the neon green suitcase on the floor.
“The bag of shame.”
“Shut up.”
He pressed his lips together and pushed the same illuminated floor number that I’d selected.
The car lurched into motion.
Finally, something going my way.
2
Not my type - Sketch
She was cute, but not my type. I’d sworn off of any chick who had colored hair. That had been my downfall the last time. I fell for a pretty party girl with big tits and purple hair. Within a year, she got pregnant, and I put a ring on it.
Mistake number something or other.
What wasn’t a mistake was my son. He was seven now, and smart. Also super talented and inquisitive. Perfect.
And not living with me. I waited for the floor lights to tick upward so I could finally get custody of him. My ex was threatening to move out of state. Her latest conquest lived in Delaware.
Fucking Delaware.
Nothing against the state. It was just too damn far away for me to visit my son. And, if I did, it was in enemy territory. I couldn’t ride my motorcycle there. I’d be sure to run into the Demons, who claimed the entire eastern coastline from South Carolina to Maine.
Sure, we had some Destroyer chapters in New York and Maine, but that was only because of a careful truce between the clubs. Me buzzing into the heart of their territory every other weekend would be a problem with someone eventually, which meant I couldn’t do it.
And my ex definitely wasn’t planning on bringing him here every other weekend.
I’d let my lawyer know about the delay at the security gates. We’d expected that, and she prompted me on what to bring and what not to. How to dress, and what to cover up.
But she hadn’t factored in the ditz in the elevator with me.
The visible top layer of her hair was dyed raven black. But under it and peeking out from the layered cut was a horrible, faded pink.
Never trust a girl with pink hair. Ever.
They were guaranteed to be weird. I tried ignoring her glances.
“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding at the gate.”
“Yeah.”
