I’m awake with my eyes closed, lying in bed, thinking about the way things turned out. Sean got lucky in more ways than one. Sure, he fucked up when he killed Lamond, but that sent him to Beth Trent, and that’s where he got lucky. If he’d stayed here, chances are it would’ve been easier for the Senator to have taken him out. A truck, a car, a fucking oil spill while he was on his bike, and I wouldn’t have thought it was foul play. Things happen when you ride, and sometimes your number is up.
The alarm on my phones goes off, and I groan. It’s Sunday morning, and it’s my turn to take Annie Farrow to church. My granddad was sweet on her, and it’s something I’ve done since he died.
“I’ll go,” says Lola.
I crack open an eye, she’s dressed in black pants and a light pink shirt, hovering over me next to our bed.
“What are you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” Lola leans down and kisses me lightly. “Stay, sleep in. I’ll be back soon.”
“How’d I get so lucky?”
“Nah, I’m the lucky one. Love you.” Lola kisses my lips and heads for the door.
Smiling, I close my eyes and fall back asleep quickly.
Hours later, I finally crawl out of bed.
There are the usual suspects in the compound this morning. The club whores all smile at me, but they know Lola will beat them senseless if they so much as speak to me. I acknowledge them with a nod and keep walking. She’s one hell of a woman, Lola. It’s been four years of good times, and not a moment of hardship, save for her family.
That mother of hers? Yeah, she’s a piece of work.
Lola recently went home to care for her while she recovered from a mystery illness. Lola didn’t want me to know her mother’s a recovering drug addict, and she was helping her get clean. Again.
I had Diesel run a background check on Lola when she first turned up in the compound. Her family is a nightmare, one I’m surprised she survived. Lola doesn’t talk about them often, but if they call, she’s loyal and helps out in any way she’s able.
Stepping out into the bright sunshine, I walk over to the shed where we keep the basket cases. These are either parts of bikes or whole ones in pieces that need to be put back together. The boys and I have created a business for ourselves—rebuilding custom Harleys and cars and selling them for a profit. I’ve been working on a Frankenstein—it’s a mishmash of different models with huge ape hangers. It’s nearly finished, and I believe I know which buyer will want it. It only needs a little tweaking, a paint job, and then I will send him the photographs. If he doesn’t like it, I’m pretty sure it’ll sell quickly.
“Hey, Prez, need some help?”
“Is Rudy around?”
“Yeah, he’s working over there on the old forty-six Knucklehead,” replies Tango, one of the men in my MC.
“Still?”
“Keeps saying the old girl needs a soft hand or some shit.”
I chuckle. “Sounds like him.”
“You want him to do the paintwork?”
“Yeah.”
Tango glances at Rudy, then back to me. “I could prime it for him. Do you know what design you want on this?”
“Needs to be something striking. It’s a bit of a mishmash. So, it needs to take ownership of that, you feel me?”
Tango grins and nods. “Yeah, whoever buys this will stand out. Maybe not in a good way.”
“You don’t like what I’ve done?”
Tango holds up his hands. “I’m a purist.”
“Fuck you, and yeah, it’s ready to be painted. We only need to order a seat, and she’s done.”
“I thought Rudy had already ordered you a seat,” replies Tango.
“Yeah?” Tango nods. “Cool. Let’s get it over to the paint shed then. You can prime it while I think about design and colors.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Three hours later, the bike’s in pieces drying while Tango and I have sketched out a design and have color samples lined up.
“Yo, Prez!” yells Cutter from the clubhouse.
“Yeah?”
“Phone call for Lola. Have you seen her?”
I walk toward him and glance at my cell. It’s two o’clock. “She went to take Annie to church. She should be back by now. Who’s looking for her?”
“Her mother.”
And from the way his mouth is turned down, Lola’s mother is in one of her moods.
“Has she tried her cell?”
“Claims Lola’s ignoring her.”
With a shake of my head, I dial Lola. Her cell rings out, and I get her voice mail.
“Yo, babe, ring me back… and ring your mother.”
Taking the steps two at a time into the clubhouse, I walk toward the telephone and pick it up. “Mrs. Cartland, this is Kyle MacKenny, Lola’s boyfriend.”
