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Fast forward to two evenings later when Reaper pulled his sled through the gates of what Zeke liked to call the “retirement community,” AKA the DAMC compound.
What he expected was not even close to what he saw as they leisurely rode through the quiet, well-maintained neighborhood.
When she tapped his arm and pointed to a house, he pulled into the driveway and parked.
He stared at the two-story home as Vi dismounted.
There was no fucking way that big ass biker Diesel lived in a normal-looking upscale family home. This had to be a damn prank.
He shut off his sled and threw a leg over. “Your parents live here?”
“Yep. I grew up in this house.”
He glanced around. “This neighborhood is…something else.”
“Right? At first appearances it looks like an upper middle-class neighborhood. But in reality, the residents are all tattooed bikers, their ol’ ladies, and former special forces turned mercenaries. There was no chance of any of us kids being snatched from our yards or off the street. If someone got into the neighborhood to cause trouble, they’d never leave. Well, they would. Just not in the same condition they came in.”
No fucking doubt. “It has to be the safest neighborhood in the state. No security guards needed.” Though despite that, the club was smart enough to build concrete block walls and an electric gate to enclose the compound.
Anyone entering the neighborhood needed to have either a remote, a code, or be buzzed in.
“Just so you know, this is the first time I’ve ever been invited over for dinner at a woman’s parents’ house.”
Her eyes went wide and her voice actually squeaked when she asked, “Ever?”
“Yeah, Vi.”
She rested her chin on the back of her interlocked fingers and batted her eyelashes. “What I hear you saying is that I’m special?”
He snorted. “Yeah, you’re special all right.”
He shook his head when she laughed and skipped like a goofball toward the front porch.
The house had an actual porch. And colorful flower beds. A lush, green lawn. Not one inch of peeling paint. Even a three-car garage.
He was waiting for someone like Indie to jump out of the shrubbery, yelling, “Gotcha!”
But obviously, this truly was her childhood home when Vi punched a code into the front door keypad and the deadbolt unlocked. She paused and pulled in an audible breath. “Ready?”
“I was until you asked me that. If he punches me, can I punch him back?”
“Good luck with that,” she said on a laugh as she opened the door and stepped over the threshold.
Great.
Once in the foyer—a fucking foyer!—the only sounds he could hear were coming from the back of the very neat, well-kept house.
All this had to be Jewel’s doing. He couldn’t imagine Diesel browsing for paint colors and decor, or strolling through Home Goods looking for the right couch.
Reaper kept his head on a swivel as he followed Vi toward what sounded like the kitchen.
He’d been ambushed twice recently, he didn’t need it to happen a third time. If it did, he wasn’t sure he’d survive. Why was a pissed off father scarier than the fucking Mafia or a Triad?
Diesel needed to remember his oldest daughter was in her thirties and certainly hadn’t been a virgin the first time they fucked on her back porch.
Hopefully, the former DAMC enforcer didn’t have a shitty memory.
As Reaper trailed Vi into the very large, modern kitchen, he immediately spotted her mother working at the sink.
