Page 26 of Mex

“Thirty-eight?”

He takes a shot.

“Well damn, you’re old!”

He scowls at me.

“My turn,” his voice is gruff. “How old are you? I’m guessin’ twenty-five.”

I roll my eyes. “Now you’re flattering me.”

He tips his head to the side. “Twenty-seven.”

I take a shot. “Spot on, biker.”

I ponder my next question. “How long have you been part of the club? Let me guess, since you were eighteen?”

He doesn’t drink.

“It wouldn’t be younger,” I say out loud. “Okay, somewhere in your twenties?”

He takes a drink.

“Interesting,” I murmur.

“Tell me about your family,” he goes on. “How many people are in it? I’m guessin’ ... four.”

I snort.

“Okay.” He studies me. “Two.”

“That really depends on what you consider family ...”

“Someone that shares your blood is family.”

In that case, I guess it is just me, and my mom.

I don’t drink.

“Three,” he goes on.

I wait.

He narrows his eyes. “It’s not possible for it to be any less, considerin’ it takes two to make a child.”

“My father is dead, he doesn’t count,” I shrug.

“So, it’s just you and your mother?”

“Ding ding ding!” I say, taking a shot.

He scowls at me.

It’s hot.

Now, it’s my turn for another question. Hmmm, let’s get this a little deeper.

“What does your biker club want with Marek? Did he do you dirty?”

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