Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“You Dakota?” he asks, glancing at the inside of my car.
“Hi, um, yeah. I’m here to pick up my son? Should I park on the street or…?”
“Park over there. Bones’ll show you where they are.” He backs away as they open the gate and waves me inside.
Okay, that’s normal enough, for now at least.
The church is on my right, and there’s an old parking lot and a field on the left. I pull onto the cracked asphalt next to a van and get out. There’s a house behind the church, and a couple of bikers are standing around. One takes a long drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke billow out slowly.
I tug at the edges of my jacket, wrapping it tighter and wishing I wasn’t still wearing my uniform: a dark blue, button-up cotton tunic and matching pants. My hair’s pulled back in a practical bun, my makeup is minimal at best, and I’m wearing black, orthopedic sneakers. It’s not like I want to impress anyone here, but looking nice can be its own sort of armor, and right now I’m feeling more than a little vulnerable.
The biker who was with Savage jogs over. His head is shaved, and dark stubble frames his square jaw. “Hey. Follow me, they’re in the garage with your boy.”
I give him a tight-lipped smile and nod. “Thanks. I really appre—” Three tight gunshots crack through the air. Pure instinct sends me to the ground, crouching low and searching for the source.
He laughs. “You’re good, relax. It’s just the firing range around the back. Bonnie’s crew are doing some target practice.”
Right. Obviously. I glare up at him, standing slowly.
“Sorry. I guess you kinda get used to it after a while,” Bones says with a shrug. “Are you a nurse?”
“No. Just an aide. I came straight from work.”
“Cool. I’m an EMT. Don’t worry, inside these walls is usually the safest place you can be.”
The ‘usually’ worries me.
We walk between the church and the house with the bikers, and into a courtyard. There’s a second house on the other side of the church, with a staircase leading to the second floor, and across from it is what looks like an old school. Straight ahead is a massive, high ceilinged building that’s open on one side. Inside are more bikers, some just hanging out and others working on their bikes. The low thrum of rock music filters out, broken up by the occasional thunder of an engine. Gunshots still occasionally punctuate the scene, coming from somewhere behind the school, I think.
Bones leads me into the garage. “Lash!” he shouts when we’re inside.
“Back here!” a deep voice answers.
We wind our way through the maze of boxes, tools and bikes. All the while, I can feel curious eyes watching, but I’m not brave enough to look back. Then ahead of me, I see three big men in jeans and leather jackets with MC patches on the back of them. They’re standing around a deep red motorcycle with orange flames detailed on the body, and perched on the seat with his arms stretched as far as they can go is a little boy that I'd recognize anywhere.
“Lo!”
Logan’s head swivels when he hears me, and his big hazel eyes light up. He nearly falls off the bike in an attempt to get to me, but one of the men, with short, dark blond hair and heavily pierced ears snatches him up before he leans too far. For a second Logan’s legs swing in the air but as soon as he’s on the ground, he runs straight to me.
“Mommy!”
I meet him halfway, and he stumbles right into my arms, clinging like a baby monkey. I pull him into a tight hug, squeezing him like I haven't seen him in months. The strawberry scent of his favorite shampoo fills my lungs, and for the first time since I got Stiff’s call, I feel like I can breathe again.
I bury my face in his brown curls and let out the sob that’s been building since I got the call. “I was so worried about you!”
“I was scared, but the motorcycle men kept me safe, just like Auntie Georgia said.” Logan curls in a little on himself, hiding. “She’s not in trouble, right?” he asks guiltily.
Oh, Georgia. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. We always do, right, buddy?”
He nods against the breaking heart in my chest.
When Logan was a baby, I was sure my sister just needed a break. She’d done so well getting her life together before he was born, so I knew she’d do the right thing if I could give her a little time. I was careful to call myself Auntie Dakota, and when I talked about Georgia, I said that Mommy was sick and she had to go away for a while. He didn’t understand, but all he needed was safety, a full belly and all the love I could give. I don’t even remember the exact day when he started calling me Mommy ‘Kota, or when it just turned to Mommy, and even Georgia agreed that it made life less complicated.