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Josephine huffs. It’s her trademark gesture when she’s pissed off. “You expect me to plan a wedding in two months’ time, and work on house drafts, all while continuing my regular job? And don’t you dare tell me to quit my job.”
I snap my mouth shut because it’s exactly what I was going to suggest, and I would be a damn fool if I let it slip. Josephine’s job is important to her and of course I want her to keep working if it pleases her.
Part of me wants to make her aware she doesn’t need to work anymore if she chooses. I’m set for life with the work I do, and she and our future kids will be well taken care of if anything were to happen to me. Best to keep it to myself until another, more appropriate time comes along.
“I would like to have our house done before we bring our babies into this world. I deserve it, as do our children. I want our memories to be in our own home and not the headquarters,” she adds.
Annoyed, I chew on the inside of my cheek. I hate to admit I agree with her. I want our kids’ first steps, first words, first everything to be in our forever home. I groan and look up at the early morning sky. “Fine,” I concede, begrudgingly.
She squeezes me tightly. “Thank you, hubby,” she says sweetly.
I smile hearing her say ‘hubby’ a second time and turn to look at her. “I like my new pet name, you know.”
She giggles and her eyes sparkle. “I do too. Now hurry up and get me to work.”
Eager for her to crack the whip and finish our build, I start my bike and pull away at a more controlled pace than what I thought myself possible of earlier.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, we’re pulling onto the property. None of the other workers have arrived yet, which is exactly the way Josephine likes it. Her routine involves using the next thirty minutes to go over everything, helping the day to run smoothly.
And that was the plan until we come to the trailer where she keeps her office on-site. The door is partially open and beat to shit. I climb off the bike and grab my gun from my ankle holster.
“Stay outside. Call Gauge,” I tell her and make my way to the trailer. I push the door wide open and stare in shock.
The whole place has been tossed. Blueprints and drafts are ripped and thrown about. The desks and chairs are on their sides. The filing cabinet’s drawers have been yanked out and its contents are scattered on the trailer floor. Jared’s computer looks like it was bashed with something substantial, like a hammer or something bigger. Good thing Josephine takes hers home every night, otherwise hers would be in as bad of shape.
But none of this bothers me as much as what I see spray painted across the wall. My heart drops in my stomach and I have to count down from ten before I fly into a rage.
“Maceo, what’s going on?” Josephine asks behind me. She gasps as she reads the words on the wall.
BIKER WHORE.
