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“The Better Lives Foundation, everybody.” Chewy says, tapping another few keys.
Faces of smiling young girls fill the screen with bullshit sounding references on how The Better Lives Foundation saved them.
“Wait, why didn’t we find this before?” Rider frowns.
“Because,” Chewy says, concentrating on unwrapping her candy bar, “his involvement is buried under all sorts of shell companies and so on and so forth.” She waves her hand in the air flippantly. “Remy managed to find it through a grainy picture of him on the interwebs at an event.”
Remy nods excitedly. “Matthew Thompson has been at this event every year since its inception which coincidentally was the same year he was booted from the military. He’s managed to stay away from most photos and publicity stills, but with our sweet Computas skills, we have confirmed his presence.”
“And when-”
“Wednesday after next,” Chewy answers around a mouthful of chocolate. “In Houston. We got tickets.” She stiffens all of a sudden, and we wait for the bad news. Instead, Chewy lets out a burp. “I’m extra gassy. Because the baby takes up too much space. Did you know my stomach is now halfway up my back?”
Marx blinks slowly before turning back to the table and our smirking faces. “We have twelve days before the charity ball and I want to use those days to smoke out this new MC. If they’re bringing their shit into our town I want to know about it.” He turns to Jules, “Think your homeless network know anything?”
Jules tilts his head slightly, clicking his tongue. “I can find out.”
“I’ll get the boys to pull any new arrests that look likely to tie in,” Moss adds, looking fairly relaxed for a man who could have an MC war on his hands.
“Good. Nothing else to cover?”
We all sit in silence and Marx takes that as a sign to beat his fist against the wall, before telling us to piss off.
I take a moment to sit a little longer. Looking around at what is now our church.
“Something on your mind, old man?” Marx asks, planting his ass in a chair nearer to where I’m sitting. Not surprised when Rhodie pulls up another.
“Nah. Just thinking about how far we’ve come.” Lean back, taking in my boys.
“Shit, you talk as if we’ve had a rags to riches story,” Rhodie snorts.
“I dunno, son. Was pretty rough in parts.”
Marx leans back, resting his forearm on the table. “Yeah, it was. But the one true constant was you.”
I stare at him. I’m proud as hell of my boys. Both of them lost their mothers too young and it damaged them in different ways. Ways that I couldn’t help them with. Shit, I couldn’t even help myself for a long time there. I always thought the type of love I had with Rhodie’s mom Molly was a once in a lifetime thing. The fact that Willa causes my gut to dip and soar like Molly did, well, it fucks me up.
“We’re here because of you, old man. We’ve got our Ol Ladies and our babies, the club. It’s time for you to put yourself first for a while, and if that means being friends with a woman who put her life on the line for us, well, we ain’t gonna stand in your way.”
Rhodie nods in agreement with his older brother, and I smile. Willa and what she could represent scares the shit outta me so the thought of being friends? Well, that unpuckers my asshole a little and I feel just that bit lighter.
“See? Shit always gets sorted out in Church.” Rhodie grins.
“Let's go get you some warm milk and put you to bed, old man.”
“Marx, I swear to god I’ll put my foot up your ass.”
Willa
I have no idea what the actual hell I was thinking friend zoning Mad Dog. If I could kick Past Willa’s ass I would. Ugh. For a man his age he is in freakishly fantastic condition.
“A lick of paint and you’ll never even know I shoved my size 10 boot through your door,” Mad Dog says. His eyes crinkle as he throws me a panty melting crooked smile. Past Willa owes me big time. “You good?” Mad Dog asks, that damned eyebrow raised in question.
“Yeah, no, all good.” I scuttle away as if my ass is on fire.
If I stay for a moment longer I’m sure I’ll have a terrible accident. Like fall onto Mad Dog’s dick or something.
“What are you doing?”
