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I give hope to the down and destitute. Show the tired souls within my walls that not only will I promise things will get better, but I’ll make sure they damned well do.
“Minnie’s working hard tonight.” Turnip jerks his chin to where our youngest girl grinds on the lap of a man easily twice her age.
“Sounds like jealously there, brother.” The silence to my left forces a grin. “Fuckin’ with you, man.”
He brought her in—our wee mouse. It was Turnip that Minnie happened across one night. Her lip split and eye bruising from the latest and last run-in with her husband. She married too young, too quick, and—worst of all—without an exit strategy.
The thick-bodied man to my left became her strategy that night.
He scooped her up, rode her here, and then disappeared half the night. Ain’t ever said where he went since, but he came back six hours later with two fewer bullets in his gun and two bags full of her shit.
She hasn’t said any more on it, either.
“Boys still set to head out?” I accept the whiskey that Dolly slides over with a wink for her troubles.
“Minion and Graves scouted the route this mornin’.” Turnip scrubs a roughened palm over his face. “Jamie said she’ll run the truck.”
No fucking doubt she did. “And you said yes?”
“She’s eager, Tyke. And she knows the ins and outs of a run.”
Because of her fucking old man. Seventeen and with a mouth on her to rival the worst of our brethren. The kid was a regular in the clubhouse from before she could walk, no thanks to Minion’s old lady checking out of this life far too early. God, give the man credit. He stepped up and raised that girl while juggling life with the club. Problem is that made herpartof the club.
“I don’t doubt her knowledge,” I grumble against the lip of my glass. “It’s her skill.”
“She can fire her gun good, boss.”
“But can she stay strong when the world turns to hell? That’s what I worry about.”
“You think she’s weak?”
“I think she’s inexperienced.”
He sighs. “Only one way to get her there, ain’t it.”
Damn straight—he has me there. The girl wouldn’t know how to live outside these walls, which is why sending her on a goods run is still the safer option. Much likemygirl.
“You heard anythin’ from Digger?” My brother and VP rode out half an hour ago to clean up Maddie’s latest mess. “Figured he’d be back by now.”
Turnip tugs his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, laying it on the bar. I glance across as he opens the coded app and tracks my brother’s location. “Should be hearin’ him about… now.”
Sure enough, the obtrusive roar of Digger’s exhaust descends as he slows the bike, settling to a rumble when he enters the yard. The lighter notes of my daughter’s ride follow him in.
The remaining whiskey burns a path down my throat, a welcome distraction from the shit that plagues my head while I stride toward the barn door that leads into the yard.
“What the fuck did I say, baby girl?” I holler as Maddie emerges from the garage. “Three weeks you begged me for this date, tellin’ me the man was to be trusted, and yet here we are savin’ your ass from trouble yet again.”
She lifts her hand, shaking her head as she approaches. “Daddy, wait.”
“No, wait nothin’, girl.” I swat her hand from the air. “You made a goddamn promise you wouldn’t start this shit again.”
“Because I didn’t,” she explodes, reminding me far too much of her momma. “If you’d shut up and hear me out, you’d know I was about to say it wasn’t me in trouble.”
I flick my gaze over her shoulder and take note of Digger heading across from the garage. The lazy, dominant stride isn’t anything unusual. It’s the shadow behind his left shoulder. “Who the fuck is that?”
“You remember my friend Rae that I told you about?”
“Vaguely.” Fuck knows I’ve been distracted these past months. “You said much about her?”
