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Ford stares at me and then finally his tense body relaxes ever so slightly. He stretches out, leaning back against his chair. He lights a cigarette and after taking a deep draw from it, he lifts his hand up to muss up his long hair. I watch him and wait. I can tell what he’s thinking, but for now at least, we’ve said our peace.
“This might work to our advantage. You can use her to get Gabby to come to us,” Ford says with a grin, but I immediately shake my head no.
“I don’t want to use Jasmine in this shit storm, Ford. She’s my property. We can deal with the fucker who hurt Lyla another way.”
“Your property. Fuck, are you claiming her as your old lady?” Ford asks, and there’s shock reflected on his face.
Hell, he’s no more surprised than me. How many times have the two of us had the conversation where we swore we’d never get tangled up over a woman? We’d both seen too many good men end up with their asses in a sling—or worse. Shit, I never knew a woman like Jasmine existed, but I sure as fuck refuse to walk away. If having her gets me killed? We all fucking die sometime, at least my ride will be sweet.
“Yeah. Which makes her part of this club and under our protection,” I grouse, making a split-second decision. It feels right though, and as it settles inside of me, as I understand the step I just took, I like it even more.
“That’s fine. Claim your woman, but that doesn’t preclude her from being valuable to us. You’ve made it clear how you feel about this shit, Grunt, but I’m going to find out who this asshole is and if I have to use your woman to do it? So be it.”
“You’re going to cause World War III, over some young punk that doesn’t deserve to breathe Lyla’s air, Ford.” He just stares at me, and then I see the pain behind the anger.
“She’s pregnant, Grunt. My little girl is knocked up and some fucker not only broke her heart, he turned his back on her after leaving his bastard inside of her. I want him torn apart limb by limb. I want to cause the asshole so much pain he begs for mercy and even then, I won’t give it to him.”
“Christ,” I exhale, thinking things just got a lot more complicated. Before, this was just about bringing the kid before Lyla and letting her spit on him, maybe beating the shit out of the kid. Now? Fuck, there’s going to be blood. There’s no way to get around it. “I’m not going to use Red,” I mutter. “At least not directly, but if she invites the girl down and she’s on our turf,” I mumble, trailing off with a shrug. I realize I’m splitting hairs and I also know that Jasmine is going to hate me if her girl gets hurt during all of this. The club comes first and even if I don’t like dealing with all of this shit, Lyla is one of our own. I may not like how Ford is going about all of this, but I understand, especially now.
“Lyla’s too damn young to be having a baby,” Ford rumbles, scrunching his hair and suddenly looking older than he should.
“You were only twenty when you had Lyla,” I remind him.
“Lyla is barely eighteen. She had plans, Grunt. Hell, my baby was innocent before this asshole came along.”
I don’t argue. He’s right. Lyla was. Then again, with most of the club watching her, she didn’t have a choice but to be innocent. This asshole would have never got to her if she hadn’t been spending the summer at her mom’s.
“So, what’s the plan?” I ask, not really wanting to know.
“You make sure Gabby and your old lady keep in touch. For now, we’ll sit back and watch.” I let out a breath, because we both know what that means. I also know that Jasmine isn’t going to like it. “I know what you’re thinking, but we only have one other play.”
“Forget all of this shit?” I suggest.
“Get Jasmine talking about her friend’s man. You get his name or any other shit about him and I’ll leave the girls out of it.”
Fuck…
He smiles because he knows that’s what I’m doing. I get up and leave, because I know that Jasmine may never forgive me when she finds out I’m using her to get information.
Motherfucker.14Ford“What were you and Grunt talking about, Daddy?” Lyla asks, coming into my office a mere minute after Grunt disappeared.
“Club business, Princess.”
“Don’t hand me that bullshit. You were talking about me. I heard you.”
“Eavesdropping on your old man?” I grumble, looking at my daughter.
I’ve not done much in this world to be proud of. I have two things that fall into those categories. One is the club and the other is my daughter. My father always said that I didn’t have enough good in me to amount to a hill of beans.
