Page 158 of Devil’s Disciples

It was a tremendous amount to digest all at once, but I did my best. I did, however, have several questions.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve got a few.”

“Go ahead.”

“Everyone in your MC goes to church together?”

“No. If I walked into a church, I’d burst into flames,” he said with a laugh. “Church is what we call the MC’s weekly meeting.”

I tried to remember everything he’d said, and then decided it didn’t matter. He’d spilled his guts in an effort to apologize. Everything was out on the table. That, in itself, was enough to convince me he was worth my time.

As much as I wanted to avoid the subject, it was my turn to be equally honest. I inhaled a shallow breath and stood.

I held my head high and looked him in the eyes. “In the spirit of being completely honest, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’m biracial. My father was black.”

I braced myself for him to do what everyone else did when they found out.

He stared at me for a long moment. Then, his lips parted slightly. “Sorry,” he said. “I thought you were going to say something else. Is that it?”

I bit into my lower lip and nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m half Irish. Don’t know what the other half is, because my mom didn’t know much about my dad. My Mom’s from Ireland, though. So, I’m really half Irish.”

“You’re okay with that?” I asked excitedly.

He looked puzzled. “That I’m Irish?”

I shook my head.

“With what?” he asked.

“That I’m half-black.”

“What the fuck’s that got to do with anything?” he asked. “You’re cool as a fan. That’s all that matters.”

“Cool as a fan?” I grinned and then choked on a laugh. “Is that a biker saying?”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s one of ‘em.”

“I’m good with everything if you’re good with everything,” I said.

His eyes narrowed. “You sure?”

I was. Completely. I nodded eagerly. “Yes.”

He glanced around the room, and then looked at me. His mouth twisted into a smirk.

“Wanna fuck?” he asked playfully.

Dressed in his tattered jeans, lace-up boots, and a plain white tee shirt, Cash was strikingly handsome. He was also big, muscular, intimidating, tattooed, and mean-looking. As he stood and anxiously waited for me to respond, he exposed yet another quality about himself.

He was cute.

“I’ve got a few questions first,” I responded. “But I need you to be honest, no matter what.”

“You’ve got my word.”

“Do you have club whores?”