Page 57 of Jasper
As I step off the last stair and look around, the scent of coffee and bacon is so strong it makes my stomach growl.
My body still hums from what just happened upstairs. Sex with the woman I’m hoping to make my old lady was fuckin’ amazing. She’s beautiful in her own way, all long hair and delicate features. I like every fuckin’ thing about her, right down to the way her taste still lingers on my tongue. The way she looked at me when I left convinced me this is the real thing.
And for some godforsaken reason, I gave her the first Harley shirt my old man ever bought for me. It’s one of my most prized keepsakes, from back when I was a skinny runt. I’ve taken reallygood care of it, so it looks almost new. It fit her though. Seeing it hugging her curves was satisfying in a way I can’t explain.
Two of the brothers nod as I pass through the main room. Garret’s got a cigarette tucked behind his ear, half-distracted playing darts. His breakfast is growing cold on a nearby table. Onyx’s big body is parked at a table in the back. He’s picking at his breakfast with that half-feral look he gets when he’s hungover. Neither of them says a word, but I catch the quick glance they trade. They know where I’ve been. Neither’s dumb enough to make a joke about me moving Tessa into my suite.
I walk into our meeting room and Striker and two other guys I don’t recognize are standing around the drone, which is sitting on a long fold-up table. They’ve got a dozen or so tools laid out and are in the process of taking it apart.
My old man is sitting at the end of the table with a phone in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other. He nods when he sees me, and I slide in across from him. “You know our women folk are goin’ out today, right?” he asks me.
“Yeah, I already texted the prospects that I want a full escort on them every step of the way.”
Striker hears my voice and pops his head up. “Hey Jasper, we’re trying to unfuck this drone enough to get to the SIM card. It would have been helpful if you’d shot it with something less than a .45-caliber weapon.”
“Don’t tell me how to do my job, brother.”
“If you want our help, you should take our advice,” one of the men poking around the drone’s innards says.
I rise to my feet and stare him down. “Are you speaking for everyone or just yourself today?”
Both of the techs murmur, “Not me.”
Striker just shrugs his shoulders. “They’re just telling it like it is.”
“I didn’t ask for their opinion, though, did I? Who are they, anyway? And when did we let strangers into our office?”
“Sounds like someone got out of bed the wrong side today,” Striker mutters. “Donnie and Mitch have been vouched for, and your old man okayed it.”
I run my hand through my hair as I watch the tech gremlins work. Dunno why I’m being so grouchy today considering I was in such a good mood. Maybe it’s because I’d prefer to be in bed with Tessa rather than dealing with the reality of our life as outlaw bikers.
I can’t resist getting the last word in though, “That drone might have had weapons on board. My main concern was keeping me and my woman safe.”
My old man watches me for a second, then sets his phone down. “You sleep last night?”
“Yeah, I did. We got a shower and hit the sack right after you and Ma left last night.”
“Did Tessa get settled in?”
“Yeah, she got settled right into my bed where she belongs.”
He knows that means I’m keepin’ her. I see the flicker in his eyes. It’s something akin to approval. “Queenie likes her.”
“Ma should like her. Tessa’s carrying our family’s first grandchild.”
He takes a drink of his coffee and leans back in his chair.
I glance back at the IT guys. Striker’s older, ex-military like me and he joined Sons of Rage after he left the Army. Donnie and Mitch look out of place but seeing them work together tells me that this probably won’t be their last job for us. They seem to know what they’re doing.
Mitch gives me a nod. “You really emptied a .45-caliber handgun into this thing?”
“Yeah, of course I did. The damn thing was stalking me and my woman late at night. I wanted it to stop, and the only weapon I had was my trusty fuckin’ .45.”
“Oh, that makes more sense,” Donnie says, shoving his glasses up onto his nose.
“I’m pretty sure the drone didn’t transmit anything in real time, or else we’d have had the Hyenas all over us last night, so I figured it’s running onboard storage,” I say.
They continue to work. Striker flips the drone over and starts checking the casing for screws. Mitch opens his laptop, boots up into something that looks more black ops than Geek Squad.
