Page 5 of Found Through Fire

“Anyways, let’s finish this. Your mom left you a few boxes of items, and I’m assuming letters. No one has looked in the boxes marked for you, so we’re not sure.” My tone’s curt as I nod to the four boxes stacked on the chair next to me.

I pass a large, sealed envelope over the top of the table, thankful this is almost over. “Here is what you’ll need to access the trust that was set up for you, and any information for the other things you were left from her will.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise before he is able to mask it. He looks at the envelope cautiously, like he is trying to see through it. Clearly, some paper holding other papers is a threat.I swear, boys are ridiculous. I just held it with ungloved hands. If it was a nefarious plot to kill him, I feel like I would’ve given it a lot more of a dramatic effect.

But he doesn’t know me, so I can’t judge him too much for his strange behavior. I stand up to end this stupid interaction before I stick my foot in my mouth or go along with the stabbing thing. That isn’t totally off the table yet.

“That is all I have to give you. Have a nice life.” I start to walk away, but he says something, ruining my super smooth escape plan…Dick.

“After all this time, she dies and gives all of this to some stranger from a law office. Fucking cunt couldn’t even face me when she was dying.”

He speaks in a low, monotone voice that’s almost a whisper. I’m not sure if he is speaking to me or himself, not wanting a reply. Too bad for him, I can never read these situations, so of course I’m going to bite back. I look down at him from where I stand next to my empty chair—only able to because he’s still sitting, and I’m wearing my cute three-inch heels. It does feel like a sort of a power move. Annoying fucking giant.

My voice is deathly calm as I say, “I’m done listening to you spew your bullshit about a woman you don’t even remember. This is what you were left. She wanted you to have it. Read it, throw it away, burn it, I don’t give a fuck. But you should definitely take your mommy issues and shove them up your ass.”

I start walking away and realize I’m not done. I turn around and speak to the back of his stupid head, because he’sstillsitting.

“And I’m not from a law office, you idiot. Always ask for ID. She asked me personally to give this to you while she was on her deathbed. No one in their right mind would let me handle legal shit!”

This is not what I pictured. I mean, I wasn’t expecting a slow-motion-run-and-hug situation—seeing as I don’t like strangers touching me and the fact that I am too uncoordinated—but I was expecting something better than that clusterfuck.

How is it possible this asshat is the brother my mom spoke about at every family holiday and event? She made sure us kids knew about our brother and her love for him. We even had a framed baby picture of him in our family photos my mom made us take every year! I know that logically, he doesn’t know me or even Mom, so I can’t really be mad at his reaction to all of this. But I can’t just ignore the way this entire conversation feels like the biggest betrayal to my family.

I finally turn around and walk out of the coffee shop, passing a sign that’s advertising the “Poison Apple Cider,” and I’m even more pissed because I didn’t see it earlier. Now I can’t have it, because if I stop and get in line, it’ll mess up my badass exit! I hate him even more now. “I knew I should have fucking stabbed him,” I fume, stomping out the door.

CHAPTER 2

JACKSON

The ride back to the clubhouse was quiet. I even turned off my music so I can hear myself think. Riding my bike would’ve cleared my mind better, but I’m glad I had the foresight to take my truck to this meeting instead. I had no idea that I would have to bring home so much shit. If I had my bike, I would have had to call a prospect to pick everything up, and that would have gotten back to my dad. We don’t see eye to eye on the best day, but I knew if he found out I was doing anything that had to do with my birth mom, he would blow the fuck up and either order me not to go, or worse, tag along. I was not down for that bullshit.

He needs to retire soon. His mood’s been all over the place in the last few years, and it’s not a good look for the VP. He’s been the same distant, cold asshole my entire life, raising me more as a “Brother” for the MC than a son. But in the last few years, he has started trying to get to know me, and he walks around like he’s got feelings. It’s weird as fuck. The same bastard that acted like I was a guest in his house that wouldn’t fuckin’ leave is trying to start conversations with me about random shit.

Red, the current President of the MC, and the closest thing I have had to an actual father figure, says that he’s pretty muchhaving a mid-life crisis. He’s been looking back at his life since he’s planning to retire soon, and is trying to fix what he broke. In my opinion, we are way past that point. He can ride off to retire in Florida with the other old timers that only ride back here once a year in summer, to relive the “old days.” He can take the Step-cunt and the Bitch from Hell, otherwise known as Maggie, my half-sister, with him.

A few miles away from the clubhouse, I can’t stop replaying the entire meeting in my head. I wasn’t even going to go. A week ago, I got an email and letter from a law office saying there were papers my mother left for me. I never wanted to hear from that bitch again after she left me with my dad and the Step-cunt—or Andrea, as others know her.

I tried to ignore it at first—pushed down my feelings, put up a wall, and kept to myself. But deep down, it hurt. I cried for weeks after that. My dad didn’t care enough to notice; he just left me with my mother’s replacement and went back to “club business” since he was just voted into the VP position.

Not even two days in, and that bitch decided she was my mom and I should start treating her like it, even if she was a stranger. She had my half-sister six months after she married my dad. As I got older and figured out that timeline, I went back to calling her by her first name.

She acted like I was a monster for messing up her “perfect family” at first, but now the only communication I have with her is a look of disgust whenever I see her patrolling the clubhouse to stalk my father. My father never got into the middle of it, because he’d have to care about someone other than himself to take a side.

That chick from earlier—who apparently isn’t a lawyer—was a dick. I mean, she has no idea about my history with my mother, and yet, she’s going to judge how I react to the news that she’sdead? I thought I recognized her from somewhere, but I couldn’t figure it out in the short interaction that we had.

She was tiny, and had a mane of curly, dirty blonde hair, like mine if I’d ever let it grow out. She had it down, and I know how much of a pain in the ass it is to manage. According to the Brothers, curls made you look young and like a douche, so I kept my hair short to keep them at bay. Just like my dad used to. But with the midlife crisis he has going on, he’s started growing it out.

She had light blue eyes that looked awkwardly big for her small face. One singular, semi-forceful gust of wind could take her out. You’d think she would be intimidated by a guy my size walking up to her with my cut on, but she seemed like she was sizing me up to fight.

I should have known that she wasn’t a lawyer, though. She looked too uncomfortable in her clothes and kept fidgeting with them. There’s also the fact that she looked to be in her late teens, maybe early twenties, but that could just be because of her elfish features and height.

What shocked me about this entire thing was when she mentioned the trust my mother had for me. I hadn’t opened the envelope yet; I wanted to be in my own space before I started digging up the past. My father never really spoke about my mother, and the Step-cunt only said that she was trash that my father tried to save, but he wanted “something better.” I knew that story was bullshit, because ifshewas supposed to be the “something better,” I knew it was a lie.

One time I asked Red about her, figuring that he was Dad’s best friend and would have known her. All he told me was it was my dad’s story to tell, and that in that situation, the club came before her. I stopped asking after that, because my dad and Step-cunt started getting pissed off that I wanted to know about a mom that left me. I just assumed my mother was a junkie or aclub girl that got knocked up and left. No one ever corrected my guess, so I just went with that story.

Now after the meeting, I realize that I could be way off base if she was able to leave me a trust. All I knew about trusts were that they were for fucking rich kids and snobs. I need to go through everything, and maybe I can finally get some answers.

The clubhouse gate slowly comes into view. I wait for the prospect on guard duty to open it, and start my drive down the long road leading to the clubhouse. The club has about a hundred acres that were originally bought forty years ago, back when land in Texas was cheap. It was just wooded land back then, and they built a secluded clubhouse surrounded by trees. We even had a swamp that we had to use regularly for disposal—I guess the gators that came free with the property were a selling point for the founders. The clubhouse was in the middle of the property and had a paved road leading to it. It used to be gravel, but that started to wear on a bike’s paint job if you took it faster than a crawl.