Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 93698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
A chill ran through him. The Jamisons had been bikers going all the way back to 1974. That wasn’t going to end with his generation. Fuck no. It would continue on with the next. And the one after that.
“He’s gonna be whoever the fuck he wants to be. He don’t wanna be an Angel, gonna accept that. He does, you gotta accept that, too.”
She combed her shaky fingers through her messy blonde hair in an attempt to tame it back into place. “I just want him to grow up to be a good person.”
His chest tightened. “You sayin’ if I help raise him, he won’t be?”
“I don’t know, Zeke, but he now knows you’re his father. He’s going to watch what you do, good or bad. Wouldn’t you be pissed if he ended up in jail or prison? I know your father was. He raised you and Zane to be more like him, rather than the previous Angels who were one-percenters.”
“Right. Zane’s more like my old man and I ain’t,” Zeke concluded. “Got it.”
“I don’t have to tell you that. You know it. But what I just witnessed here looks like a good start to you being more level-headed and not popping off at every little slight.”
If she only knew what a fucking struggle it had been. “Gave your brother this one shot. He does it again, though…”
“He was in the wrong. He shouldn’t have hit you.”
“Nah, babe, he shoulda. Never said I didn’t deserve it. But gonna repeat, he tries that shit again…”
“Thank you for not hitting him back. I’ll give you some credit, it seems like you are trying to do better.”
“Yeah, babe. For you and Ledger.”
She sniffled and swiped a finger under her nose. Maybe he should be a fucking gentleman and offer her his T-shirt again.
“I’m not sure where we go from here.”
That part was easy. “Gonna drop my sled off at the body shop so Badger can fix what Rob fucked up. Then takin’ you and my boy to Bangin’ Burgers. After that, who the fuck knows. We can take it day by day. Good with that?”
It took too many fucking heartbeats before she answered, “I’m good with that.”
Thank fuck.
That answer had been worth the wait.
Chapter Twenty-One
Last night, while grabbing a beer at the club’s private bar, Zane had come up to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. “They don’t wanna meet,” he announced under his breath.
Zeke turned toward his younger brother. “Who don’t?”
“Twisted Souls. Reached out to their prez. He pretty much blew me the fuck off.”
That wasn’t fucking good. If anything, it was sus. “You shittin’ me?”
“No, brother. Wish I could say I was. Makes me think they might be up to somethin’.”
“No fuckin’ shit. You give Rage a heads up?”
“Yeah. He’s gonna meet with Romeo ‘bout the situation.”
Zeke’s head jerked back. “My fuckin’ sergeant at arms is gonna meet with the Knights’ prez without me?”
“Sounds like it. Talk to Rage.”
Fuck that shit. “Last I checked”—he glanced down at this officer patch to make sure it was still there—“I’m still the fuckin’ president of this damn club. Rage should be talkin’ to me.”
So instead of having dinner with his kid and his woman—or the woman he hoped would soon be wearing his cut again—he was sitting in a dark corner at Dirty Dick’s, the bar the Dark Knights owned. Despite it also being open to the public, it doubled as their clubhouse since all the Knights hung out there and their officers met in the basement.
Wasn’t fancy, but it worked for them.
Their former sergeant at arms, Magnum, had claimed a table in the back corner and no one had ever dared sit at it but him. Romeo, the current prez of the all-Black MC, had taken ownership of that table after Magnum retired his officer’s patch.
The wood table was scarred, stained and had seen a lot of shit.
Zeke sat across from Romeo. Opposite Rage, sat Voodoo, the Knights’ latest sergeant at arms.
Voodoo was a big, scary motherfucker. Bigger than Romeo, but not much smaller than Magnum. The man was so damn tatted up, it was hard to tell where his black ink ended and his dark skin began.
But no matter what, just his appearance screamed “don’t fuck with me.”
Zeke side-eyed Rage. At six-foot-three, Hawk’s son was a shit-load bigger than Zeke, but not as bulky as Voodoo.
He was just glad the OGs from both the Angels and Knights had the foresight to become allies over thirty years ago. Along with the Blood Fury up north, the three clubs had become a powerhouse and were usually never fucked with.
But tonight, he wasn’t liking what he was hearing.
By the Kings of Anarchy MC chasing the Twisted Souls out of their former territory, now the “biker army of the west” would have to deal with them instead.