“You were a fighter.”
“Drake, you ain’t much fuckin’ older than me, bro,” I retorted.
“Four years, my man! I’m older,” Drake teased and downed his beer. “Hit me.” He tapped the bottle.
“You think four years makes a difference? Let’s take it outside and see who whoops whose ass.”
“Nope. I wanna get laid tonight,” Drake quipped.
“With your ugly mug, you’ll need to pay them.”
“Keep going, asshole,” Drake sniped, and I chuckled. “Did you reach out to the others?” he asked.
“Yeah, they’re aware this is neutral ground. I’ve agreed that issues can be resolved here, but the first sign of blood means I’ll take action,” I replied.
“And after your last message, I guess nobody’s ignoring that.”
“I’ve had pushback, but not from the allies. More around the gangs who think I owe them something—like protection money.”
“Heard some little assholes are attempting to get a foot on the ladder. Seems to be becoming more common,” Drake agreed.
“Yeah, but from what I hear, I ain’t the only one sending messages.”
Drake grinned. Rage MC had just destroyed a gang. But ten more would pop up. Between Rage, the allies and Washington, petty criminals wouldn’t get a hold here. Washington, by all accounts, hated gangs.
“Nope. But they’re a bit slow in understanding the message.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I drawled, amused. Sometimes I felt like I was playing whack-a-mole. Once a month, I had a member in here from one gang or another making threats. They all joined the growing cemetery out back. Nobody messed with me. Not anymore.
Jody – four years later.
“I swear to God!” I cried as I stared at Lars.
My son grinned as I shook my head.
“Not me, Mama,” he stated.
“Lars Jakobsen, are you lying to me?”
Lars pursed his lips as he considered my question.
“Papa!” Laila shrieked as Vulcan untied her. As soon as Laila was free, she wrapped herself around her father and sobbed. Vulcan glowered at Lars, who held his gaze.
Jesus, Lars had a temper, for sure. At times, he reminded me of myself, or Vulcan, but deep down, I knew where Lars’ attitude came from.
“Lars!” I reprimanded sternly as he chewed over his answer.
“You’ve lost your bike for a week,” Vulcan said, and Lars’s jaw dropped open.
“A day,” he wrangled, and I turned away to hide a smile.
“Now it’s two weeks,” Vulcan returned, and Lars frowned.
“That’s more than one week?”
“Yes,” Vulcan replied.
“That’s not fair! Two days.”
