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Rose jumps down from her chair and rushes past all of us to meet her brother at the door before they both disappear outside.
“Chickens?” I ask Kaiya with a raised eyebrow.
“Only two.”
“Where are Gunner and Tatum?” I ask.
“They stayed with Beast and Justice,” Mad Dog answers.
“Hell, no.”
“What do you mean, no?” Kaiya asks.
“I mean…” I look directly at her making sure she will hear what I’m saying. “I won’t have your boys kicked out of their home so I can sleep in their room. I’ll find a motel.”
I don’t wait for her reply as I walk back down the hall. In the room, I grab my handbag, cell phone, and charger. Turning to leave, I run into a solid wall of muscle and almost fall flat on my ass. Luckily, Mad Dog catches me in the nick of time.
“Kaiya will have my ass if I let you stay at a motel,” he says as he releases me. “If you’re okay with it, you can use my old room at the clubhouse. It isn’t much but she’ll know you’re safe, and the guys won’t bother you.”
He watches me carefully as he speaks, looking for some kind of reaction that tells him I’m not going to be happy with his suggestion. What he doesn’t know is I don’t plan on returning to Louisiana, ever. Staying anywhere I don’t have to pay rent is going to be a godsend until I can find a job and a place of my own.
“That sounds great,” I reply with a smile. “But please stop looking at me like I’m going to have a breakdown at any moment.”
“Sure thing,” he replies with a nod before walking out.
Chapter Seven
Keeping Other People’s Kids Alive
Beast
Having the kids over is actually more fun than I was expecting. I never realized how quiet the house became after Trinity went off to college. Gunner and Tatum are always talking or laughing, and there is always some form of game being played in the lounge. But it didn’t last long. Mad Dog let me know I could drop them off before I headed to the club and now the house is cloaked in silence again.
I have no idea where Irene went but she isn’t staying at Mad Dog’s anymore. Not for the first time, I wonder what happened to her. Did she go back home? Is she in danger? If she is still here, will her problems follow her?
Shaking those thoughts off, I grab my cut and head out to my bike. She is no concern of mine. I don’t know the woman from Adam, and I’m not going to get involved in someone else’s business. Especially not the type of business that gets women beat to a pulp.
Cruising through town I stay vigilant even though we aren’t currently having problems with anyone in particular. That doesn’t mean there isn’t shit brewing in the background. King still wants to get his hands on Hadley, so that means the Iron Disciples are out there somewhere waiting for their chance to get us when we least expect it. I’m sure the death of Riot doesn’t help matters in any way.
And even though it’s been a year, the police are still sniffing around the disappearance of the vice principal at the local school along with Mad Dog’s psycho ex-wife. If they find those bodies for some ungodly reason, Kaiya will be so far up shit’s creek nothing could save her.
So, instead of enjoying my ride through our little town, I keep an eye out. Watching. Waiting for shit to hit the fan. When I make it to the compound where the clubhouse is located, I let out a sigh of relief. Another safe ride. Doing what we do, and being who we are, I’m thankful every time I can safely stop my bike at my destination.
Pulling a joint from the inner pocket of my cut, I make my way across the gravel and into the clubhouse. Although it’s five on a Saturday afternoon it should be quiet here. Most of the guys are still hungover or spending quality time with their families and will only be in much later tonight. But that isn’t the case. Angry rap metal is raging through the speaker system.
Viking is seated at the bar smiling like a loon and I can’t figure out why. Looking down at my joint, I see that I haven’t even smoked half yet so it’s not like I could be stoned.
“What are you smiling about?” I ask loudly when I finally reach him. “And why is the damn music so loud?”
“Thank God,” a feminine voice says from behind the bar, lifting my joint from between my fingers.
Turning, I’m about to lose my shit on some piece of club ass. You can’t just take a man’s joint without his fucking permission. But the sight that greats me has me holding my tongue. Irene is behind the bar in a fitted light-pink shirt, enough buttons undone to show off her black lace bra and stunning cleavage. She takes two deep drags before passing the joint back.
After holding the smoke in her lungs for some time, she exhales and smiles brightly at me.
“I haven’t had a joint in over two years. God knows I missed that.”
I nod, not knowing what to say as she turns around to change the song. She is wearing a pair of dark cutoff jeans that hug her peach-shaped ass like it’s been hand-painted onto her. Seeing what looks like a boot mark on the back of her thigh has my anger spiking.
