Page 17 of Misadventures of a Biker

“Pretty much,” I replied. “I keep waiting for her to apologize, but she hasn’t. Not yet, at least.”

“If she treated me like that, I’d have told that bitch to go fuck a goat.”

“Just dive right into a bestiality conversation right there in the meeting?” I chuckled at the thought. “In front of all those other women? That would have gotten me some points for originality, I suppose.”

He gave me a contemptuous look. “I was being facetious.”

I raised my cup in a toast. “I was being a smartass.”

“Comes natural, doesn’t it?”

“More or less.”

“Your dad was a smartass,” he said, laughing as if recalling my father’s lack of a filter. “Mouth got him in trouble on numerous occasions. Son of a bitch had a temper, too. When he built that house for me on the south end of town, he punched the stonemason right in the cocksucker. Dropped him like a sack of shit, right there in the kitchen.”

Following a long bout with breast cancer, my mother passed away when I was in high school. My father died of a heart attack fourteen years later, nearly three years before I went to prison. Losing him caused a downward spiral of my emotions. My life soon followed. Hoping to save myself from complete destruction, I joined a motorcycle club.

Being in the club gave me a sense of belonging. The men I rode with were the siblings I never had. The MC soon became my family—one I was prohibited from returning to until my federally mandated supervised release was over.

“My father’s high blood pressure cost him his life,” I said. “I’m trying to keep my temper at bay.”

His wiry brows pinched together. “Biting your lower lip doesn’t change your DNA. You are who you are.”

He was right. Despite my desire to refrain from losing my temper, it seemed to eventually rear its ugly head. I’d used sex as an outlet in the past, but my options in that respect were currently nonexistent.

I carried my plate to the sink. “While we’re on that subject, do you know any of the other girls who work for Teddi?”

“Are we done talking about that inconsiderate bitch you’re working for?”

I rinsed my plate and put it in the dishwasher before turning to face him. “For now, I suppose.”

“You want to know if I know one of those gals?”

“Katelyn Winslow. She’s one of the agents. She goes by Kate.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Winslow?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

He lowered his gaze. He rubbed the backs of his sun-spotted hands. “Can’t say I do. Why?”

“The guy she was seeing punched her in the face. Guess he lives here in—”

He spun around. “He did what?”

I didn’t like it any more than he did. “You heard me,” I said, taking my seat. “He smacked her in the face.”

“Sounds like there’s someone besides your employer who needs to be taught a lesson on the difference between right and wrong. If I find that cocksucker, I tell you what. I’ll butt-fuck him.”

“You’re out of your mind, old man.”

He glared. “According to who?”

“Me.” I shook my head in disbelief. “You’re going to fuck a guy in the butt?”

“Sounds like that prick needs it.”

“While you’re talking about sticking your cock in a guy’s poop shoot, your wife’s turning over in her grave.”