by April Lust
“Sell you?” Her father’s shoulders rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath. “I’m tired of you acting this way, Amelia May Stratton! Your drinking, your partying, your whining, your determination to run away from all your responsibilities to me, even at the expense of my career!”
“What?” Amelia began indignantly. “I--”
He held up his hand. “I’m not going to pay for you to behave this way anymore. And I’m certainly not going to fund you while you drag my name through the mud. This election has been hard enough!”
“Dad, I’m not--”
He cut her off brutally. “Get yourself together or pay your own way, Amelia. I’m done.”
She laughed, trying not to show the fear that was rising inside her. “And what exactly should I do, Dad? How do I prove I’ve gotten myself together?”
“Find a good man, marry him, and have some kids. Maybe help him with his career when you can. Keep your mind off of the stupid things you do when you’re alone.”
“Stupid things like enjoy myself with my friends?” she asked, furious that her voice was wavering.
Tears were beginning to sting her eyes. None of the people at the party were really her friends and her stomach was already beginning to twist from drinking too much. She didn’t enjoy herself away from home any more than she enjoyed herself when she was safe in the confines of her gated community.
“Or start paying your own bills,” he repeated. “I won’t pay you to flush your life, or my career, away.”
She opened her mouth to respond, then clapped her hand over it and ran up the stairs to the sanctuary of her ensuite bathroom. Showed what her father knew. She, Amelia Stratton, didn’t have a life of her own to flush away. She never had.
Chapter 2
Ethan
Ethan eyed the bike with a grin of pride and satisfaction that most people would have reserved for a wedding day or the birth of a child. Most people wouldn’t have directed it at the 1936 Flathead Harley Davidson in front of him. Surface rust covered the dilapidated bike from handlebars to tailpipe and it was missing a few pieces. The paint, which had been army green, was flaking off.
He loved it. He’d seen it on the poker run The Angel’s Keepers had done two weeks ago and he just had to have it. In his head, it was sleek and the chrome shone. In his head, it purred like a kitten and rode like a dream. In reality, it was going to take a shit ton of work.
He’d just started taking her apart when the garage door slid up and Taylor and Ryan walked in.
“Hey,” Ethan said, looking up quickly to acknowledge his road captain and his treasurer and then putting all his effort back into loosening rusted bolts. “Glad you stopped by, actually. Been meaning to talk to you about that ride out to the canyon and back.” It was getting close, but he hadn’t heard any final confirmations and that wasn’t like either of them. The wrench slipped from the pressure he was putting on the stubborn bolt and he skinned his knuckles on the engine. He switched hands and wiped the blood on his jeans.
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “We need to talk to you about that, too.”
Ethan finally pried his eyes away from his new bike long enough to notice how serious his road captain looked. His eyes flashed to Taylor, who was the treasurer for The Angel’s Keepers, and he saw pretty much the same expression. That wasn’t good.
Taylor laid a folder down on the sheet Ethan had spread out under the bike and opened it to find a long column of numbers. “The numbers are shit,” Taylor said bluntly. “And the ride ain’t happening. There’s no way we can afford it.”
Ethan leafed through the paperwork. There was a big withdrawal just a few days ago.
“What’s this?” he asked, indicating it with a greasy finger. “I don’t remember anything that should have cost that much from the last meeting.”
“Building taxes,” Taylor answered, his voice tight with anger.
Ethan’s brows drew together as he looked at the spreadsheet. Numbers weren’t exactly his strong suit, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen the prices that high before. “They aren’t usually like this, are they?”
Taylor shook his head. “No, not by a long shot. When I went down to pay it, I asked. It’s part of Stratton’s new safety act.”
“Right, because how much I pay in taxes makes me safer,” Ethan said sarcastically.
A shadow fell over the spreadsheet and Ethan glanced up to see his Sergeant at Arms standing in the garage doorway, blocking out the late afternoon sun. William’s massive arms were crossed over his chest and he was scowling hard. “It ain’t your safety he’s worried about, dumbass.”
“Who pissed in your cornflakes?” Ethan asked, going back to the numbers. There had to be some way to finagle them so they could still take the ride. Although, if there was, Taylor would have been the best man to find it.
“State Representative Gregory Stratton,” William growled. He stomped into the room and gestured for Taylor to get up off of the rolling stool he was currently occupying. Taylor stood quickly and without complaining. The Sergeant took no shit on a good day. No one in his right mind would argue with him when he looked like a thunderstorm.
“The taxes guy?” Ethan asked, turning away from the bike completely now. “Ryan, turn down the radio.” It looked like he wasn’t going to get any work done, and it looked like he had a damn good reason.
“Yeah,” William said, getting comfortable on the stool and lighting a cigarette. “This is gettin’ to be a serious problem.”
“How serious could building taxes be?” Ethan asked, looking at William questioningly. It seemed like a small thing for everyone to be so concerned about. Expensive, sure. But the only thing more certain than taxes was death, and they’d find a way to pay for it. “I mean, it sucks, but we can--”
“Nah, it’s more than that now.” William took a deep drag and exhaled smoke, looking like a pissed off dragon. “Ran into Rogers. Guy’s this close to gettin’ his colors.” He held up his thumb and forefinger a scant millimeter apart. “Tells me today that he’s backin’ out.”
“What?” Ryan demanded, standing up straight from his leaning position and looking surprised. “He sure as hell didn’t say anything to me when I asked him about the ride last week.”
William nodded. “Yeah. Asked him about that. He said his wife’s gettin’ real antsy about the bad spin in the press. They’ve got a kid on the way. I ask him what spin and he hands me this.” William lifted himself up, pulled a folded and creased newspaper out of his back pocket and handed it to Ethan.
“Motorcycle Club or Biker Gang? Nevada State Representative Gregory Stratton Questions the Difference.”
Ethan snorted. “Are you kidding me?” He tossed the clipping down onto the sheet beside the folder. “This isn’t exactly news anyway. We’ve never had a totally clean reputation.”
“No,” Taylor agreed. “The reputation might not be new, but the fees are. It’s not just the building taxes, Ethan. He’s upping the taxes on our dues and our colors.”
“And he’s pushing like hell to limit where and when we can all ride,” Ryan added, his face darkening with anger. “Something about us being a danger to responsible motorists.”
Ethan stood up, anger flooding him with sudden adrenaline. “What?”
“Have you had your head up your ass these past few months?” William demanded. “This has been everywhere.”
Ryan and Taylor took a few steps back, eyeing the two of them warily. Ethan felt his jaw clench and he had to resist the urge to step forward. He stopped himself though. He respected William too much to say any of the things that ran through his mind. William had been his father’s best friend. He’d been an honorary uncle from the time that Ethan had arrived in Nevada at the age of fifteen. He was a founding member of The Angel’s Keepers and he knew the club inside and out. Because of those things, Ethan counted to ten before he spoke again.
“Okay,” Ethan said when he’d stopped seeing red.
He pushed his han
ds down into his pockets and glanced at the Flathead. Getting it had taken up a lot of his time. And he’d gone on the poker run out to Lovelock. His schedule at the mechanic shop he worked at had been tight since two guys had quit right when the summer rush started. He’d been working a lot of overtime.
And then there’d been Rachel. And Carey. And Brittany. Too bad she’d moved on to someone else; he could have used some stress relief right about now. He had to admit that he hadn’t put as much into being the president as he should have lately.
“Get me up to speed.”
“Things are shit,” William said, lighting another cigarette.
“Specifics,” Ethan snapped. He liked William, but if he was going to give respect, he was damn well going to get it back in return.
“Anything related to motorcycle clubs that Representative Stratton can tax, he’s taxing,” Ryan said with a shrug. “It’s pretty much that simple.”
“So what are you gonna do?” William asked.
Ethan was momentarily at a loss. Then something that had been at the back of his mind for a while rose to the front. “What if we got a tax-exempt status?”
“Not sure we could.” Taylor answered readily. So his treasurer had already thought of it. It didn’t surprise Ethan, but it was disheartening. If Taylor couldn’t work it out, there probably wasn’t anyone who could. “It’s part of the umbrella we fall under,” the treasurer went on. “We fall under social and recreational clubs. He argues that we’re gangs and not a social club, the idiots higher up believe him, and there you go. No tax breaks for gang members.”
Ethan rubbed his chin. “Okay. So we just have to be a more charitable group of bikers, I guess.” Everyone looked at him suspiciously. “Hell, I’m not planning force you guys to make cupcakes,” he said with a grin. “The ride’s cancelled. We’ll have plenty of time to get something good and charitable together.”
“Not talking about any charities ’til I’ve had some beer,” William said gruffly, pushing himself up from the stool and looking just as pissed off as he had when he’d walked in. Well, Ethan thought, looking at Taylor and Ryan’s more hopeful expressions. You can’t please all of the people all of the time. “Get up with Kenny and Jimmy and tell them to meet us at The Hole. We’ll have a real meeting.”
Ethan didn’t think they were likely to get anything done at the bar, or even be able to hear each other clearly, but William was clearly not going to be talked out of this. He nodded in reply to the other man’s request. “Sure thing.”
“This shit was a lot easier when your old man was in charge,” William muttered as he turned to the door.
Ethan didn’t answer that. It had been easier. Easier on him, too. He’d only been a Road Captain then. Organizing the rides and poker runs and keeping the members’ bikes maintained had been a hell of a lot more fun than running the whole damn club. And Marcus Billings hadn’t had a State Rep with a pointless vendetta breathing down his neck.
He watched them leave and then sent a text to Kenny, his Vice President, and to Jimmy, the club secretary and most organized man on the face of the earth. While he waited for their answers, he started packing up his tools. There wasn’t going to be time to work on the Flathead today after all.
Chapter 3
Amelia
Amelia woke up with her head pounding. She’d forgotten to close the blinds and the bright morning sun that poured into her room from her large balcony window felt like an insult. She sat up slowly, putting one hand over her eyes and rubbing her temple with the other. Then she began to piece last night together. Lauren’s party, about a thousand shots, a blur of a cab ride and then...her father threatening to cut her off? One of those things was not like the other, but it felt right.
She replayed the evening again, adding details slowly but surely. Yep. He’d definitely accused her of trying to flush his career away. There had been tension between them since she’d graduated from college the year before, but nothing like this. He’d never been so obviously ashamed of her. Sure, coming home stumbling drunk wasn’t something any parent would really love to see their child do, but he’d been harsher on her for ditching Anthony than he had been for the drinking.
They would have to talk. Maybe today he would be calmer, more rational. Amelia vowed to do her best to be as logical as she could. There was no way she could keep living this way. She needed to find a way out of the walls that closed in around her every day. If he would help her with an apartment and a car, she could find work and slowly distance herself from him. If she presented it the right way, surely he’d say yes. She didn’t want anything crazy. Just a life of her own.
Amelia got up slowly, testing her balance. She wanted to take a shower, but she knew her father would be leaving soon, so she settled for brushing her hair and putting it up in a tight bun. Then she dressed in clothes that were casual, but that at least didn’t smell like cigarettes, spilled alcohol, and chlorine.
When she was satisfied that she looked fairly respectable, she walked downstairs. The smell of breakfast greeted her and twisted her stomach, but she sat down at the table beside her father. He was reading over some papers with a pen in one hand, his coffee going cold in front of him. It was his usual pose. The word relax wasn’t found in Gregory Stratton’s vocabulary.
Amelia poured a glass of juice and looked at the bacon thoughtfully. It smelled pretty good. Maybe she could eat something after all. A rumble from her stomach contradicted her and she took a cautious sip of juice instead. When it stayed where it was supposed to, she took a longer one.
“Have you thought about what I said?” Gregory asked without looking up from his notes.
She tried for some levity. Her father did have a sense of humor buried somewhere under his professional exterior. It couldn’t hurt to start with a smile. “About how you won’t buy me pretty things anymore if I’m not perfect?”
The glance he gave her was pained. So much for her attempt at humor. She glanced down at her plate and sighed.
“You should be prepared to take this seriously, Amelia. I am.”
“Why the sudden interest in my behavior?” She’d seen that look in his eyes before and it meant there was no talking him out of what was about to happen. Amelia was suddenly a little afraid that her logical approach wasn’t going to do the trick. She remembered that he’d mentioned setting her up with Anthony as part of the plan. A life of stilted conversations and boredom.
“Have you been payingany attention to my campaign?” he asked, his voice already tight with annoyance. “The last thing I need right now is you creating headlines!”
“What could they say?” Amelia demanded, hurt by the fact that he was more concerned about his campaign than he was with their already strained relationship splitting at the seams. “State Representative’s Daughter Does What Most People Do and Enjoys a Night Out With Friends? Where’s the scandal? Look at what Lauren Dorfman does in her spare time!”
“Her father isn’t a politician and I’m not taking any chances!” Gregory dug through the stack of papers beside him and pulled out a newspaper. “Look at this.”
A young man smiled out at her confidently. The headline over him asked if it was time for Gregory Stratton to exit Nevada’s political arena and let new blood take over. The opinion piece that followed pointed out that Stratton might be a little out of touch with today’s voters. Given his “war on drugs” party last night, Amelia was inclined to agree, but she knew better than to point it out.
“They’d rather have youth than experience,” her father said flatly. “But I’m not going down without a fight and I don’t need any distractions.”
“My life counts as a distraction?”
He looked at her steadily. “Yes.”
“It might make you look young and hip,” she said bitterly. “Having a daughter on the party circuit.”
“And how will it make me look when she comes home pregnant?”
Amelia rolled her eyes. “Times have changed, dad. They wo
n’t stone me for it anymore.”
Gregory yanked the paper back across the table and slammed it down on top of the stack so hard Amelia winced slightly. The plates and cutlery rattled. “I’m not discussing this,” he hissed. “Either you play by the rules or you find your own way. I’m sure I don’t need to point out howuseful your degree in human services will be in getting a job.”
Amelia’s hand clenched on her glass and she put it down with a loud thump. Her father wasn’t the only one who could abuse dinnerware to make a point. “I could get a job with that degree right now!”
Gregory laughed. “Sure you could, honey. And where would you live with your minimum wage salary?”
“Wouldn’t it make you look better if I did something like that?” she demanded, trying to remember what she’d originally planned and bring the conversation around in a way that would satisfy him and get her the hell out of this house. “Selfless Gregory Stratton and his selfless daughter, helping the poor. Dad, it couldn’t possibly make you look bad.”
