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“Sorry, brother, but we’re leaving you to it!” I shouted as the prez and I fled out the front door.
***
I spent the rest of the morning and afternoon going around town to check in with some of the MC businesses. Most of them ran smoothly with the help of a few non-MC members, but each business was overseen by at least one brother. It was too early for the bar, Skid Row, and the nightclub, Leather & Chrome, to be open, so I left those for later, checking in and collecting cash from the dispensaries, the brothels, and Demon Head Guns, one of our most lucrative businesses.
The gun range was busy as it usually was. No matter what time of day, nearly all the lanes—inside and out—were occupied, which was good for business. There were our regulars made up of retired law enforcement, old timers, and lifelong gun enthusiasts, while the outer lanes were filled with bachelor parties and newly legal gun owners. The place was loud enough to drown out thoughts of Peyton, which I was fucking grateful for as I made my way to the back office.
“Hawk,” I said, “didn’t know you were here today.”
The MC secretary didn’t usually work at any of our businesses because his job was to keep the books on all of them.
He looked up and shrugged. “I go where I’m needed, brother. You here for the bank drop?”
“Yep.” I dropped down in the chair on the other side of the desk he sat at, and crossed one ankle over my knee. “This is my last stop today, so take your time.”
Hawk grinned and handed me a thick bank envelope. “Sorry, but it’s boring as fuck here. The gunshots are kinda soothing, so I caught the books up for the past three months.”
“Fucker.”
Hawk threw his head back and laughed. “Avoiding work or your pretty little house guest?”
“I plead the fifth.”
He roared with more laughter. “Feel free to sit a while. I don’t mind.”
“Nah, I still gotta get to the bank. Catch you later, brother.” I grabbed the envelope and stuffed it in my bag.
I made it through the tedious process in under an hour. It was as close to victory as you could get when it came to the bank.
By the time I made it back to the clubhouse, I was ready to head home. To go back to Peyton, to her scent, sweet smile, and those skimpy outfits she wore not to tempt me, but to torture me.
“Dad!” I heard Nolo’s voice call out to me as I crossed the parking lot. “You got a minute?”
I stopped and turned to him, surprised to see him as I waited for him to jog over from his car. “Of course. What’s up?”
“I need some advice.” He never came to me for advice about anything.
“Sure, buddy.” I clapped him on the shoulder and steered him inside, pausing momentarily at the threshold just in case Chopper was still around and letting it rip. But the main hub was cleared of bulldog, and I steered us towards one of the worn leather booths and sat us down. “How can your old man be of service?”
Nolo grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Remember the girl I told you about, Peyton?”
I froze, but I managed a nod. “Yeah. The one who broke up with you?”
His shoulders sagged. “Yeah, her. I want her back and I need some advice. She keeps calling me a friend.”
I sighed heavily. “Sounds like she wants to be friends.”
“Ha-ha, Dad.” Nolo gave me a half-amused, half-annoyed look. “Be serious.”
“I am.” Jesus fucking fuck. How the hell was I supposed to handle this situation? I shifted in my seat, and scrunched my nose. “I mean, she made herself clear, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, but I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s been weeks and she’s still on my mind, no matter how hard I try to get her off.”
Well, I guess I could relate to that. Like father, like son?
Fuck me.
“I’ve messaged her a few times, but she isn’t responding.”
