by Geri Glenn
His eyes narrow and his freckled nose scrunches up. “No thanks. Jimmy isn’t my friend anymore.”
“What? Why not?” Jimmy and Bryce have been friends since kindergarten. They do everything together. His mom’s a nurse too, over at the General Hospital. Through the years, we’ve helped each other out a lot, taking each other’s boys so we could do simple things, like go Christmas shopping, or out to a movie.
“ ‘Cause he’s a dork,” he replies, squinting his eyes, daring me to argue.
“That’s not nice, Bryce. We don’t talk about people that way, especially not our friends. Did you guys get in a fight?”
“No, Mom. He’s just a loser, and I don’t want to be friends with him anymore. Where are you going?”
I ignore the change of subject, thinking it best to drop it and see if the boys work it out for themselves. I don’t like to meddle in his life more than I need to, opting to let him figure things out as he goes. I only offer advice when I feel I need to.
I take a deep breath and decide to just lay it out there. “I’m going on a date.” He blinks back at me. “Remember that man I was talking to out front last week?”
“The biker guy?” he asks, his expression one of disgust.
“Yep. His name is Jase, not biker guy. Anyways, he’s my friend and he asked me out. I said yes, and I’m looking forward to spending some time with him.”
“I don’t like it,” he declares, his chin held high.
“I hate to say it kid, but tough.” I watch as his mouth turns down in a frown. Bryce isn’t used to me making decisions without at least asking his opinion. “I’m your mom, and you’re my kid. It’s my job to make the choices for this family, and it’s yours to accept them. I would never do anything that would be dangerous for you, and you know I love you more than anything, but I have a life to live, so you’re just gonna have to accept that too.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but I hold up my hand. “I know you called your father the last time he was here, and your father said you seemed afraid of Jase, but you need to know that he’s not a scary man—he’s a good man.”
He wrinkles his nose again. “I wasn’t afraid. I told him ‘cause he asked if you have any boyfriends.” I shake my head. Yet another way Paul is manipulating our son so he can win this case against me. “I didn’t like him, but I wasn’t scared.”
“Why didn’t you like him?”
“He was practically making out with you on the sidewalk in the middle of our neighborhood. It was gross.”
“Oh, buddy,” I laugh. “We weren’t even kissing. And you should have told me when I talked to you about the way you treated him.” Bryce just shrugs. Reaching across the table, I place my hand on his. “I’m not going to run out and marry this guy, Bryce. I just want to get to know him, let him get to know me. If things work out, and I decide it’s worth it, then maybe he can get to know you, and you know him. You need to stop worrying so much about this stuff and just be a kid, okay?”
He thinks on it for a moment before he nods. “Good,” I say with a wink. “So, if Brit can babysit, you’ll be hanging out with her for the night. I’ll leave money for pizza.”
Brit is Brittany, a sixteen-year-old girl from down the street who babysits for me from time to time. She’s a good kid, and Bryce always enjoys it when she comes over.
I don’t miss Bryce’s grin as he rinses out his bowl and puts it in the dishwasher. “What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Nothing. I’m just glad it’s Brit coming over and not Mrs. Cameron from down the street.” He wags his eyebrows at me. “Brit’s hot.”
I gasp and shake my head as he hurries out of the room. At what age do you stop having a babysitter take care of your kid? I’m starting to wonder if the answer to that is, when they start thinking they’re hot.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jase
Ryker bangs the gavel down on the long wooden table, causing every man in the room to stop talking and look in his direction. “This fuckin’ sucks,” he declares. “As VP of this club, I knew that being the one to carry on our meetings without the Prez was a duty I’d have to do, but I never once dreamed that it would be for this reason.”
Several of the guys nod their heads, while others lower them sadly. “This club has been shaken harder than it’s ever been shaken before, and now we need to shake it up even more. We need to have a vote, maybe rearrange some positions. So, I’m just gonna dive right in and start at the top and work my way down. Everyone ready?”
Murmurs of agreement fill the room.
“Nominations for chapter president. Call them out now.”
Everyone looks around the room, but no one says a word until Reaper finally breaks the silence. “I nominate you, Ryker.”
Ryker nods. “Thank you, Reap. Anyone else?” His words are met with silence. Every man in this room knows that Ryker is exactly what this club needs—who we need. “All in favor?” One by one, we go around the room, ending in a unanimous round of ‘ayes.’
“All opposed?” Silence.
Ryker stares back at us and lifts his fist to his chest. “Thank you, brothers. Gunner pulled this club out of some pretty heavy shit. He was an amazing president, and I will do everything I can to do him, and all of you, proud.” He’s quiet for a moment before he continues, “So with me moving spots, now we need to elect a VP. Call out your nominations now.”
I open my mouth, ready to call out Tease’s name, when I hear my own name called out three different times. Ryker, Tease, and Slots have all nominated me to be the club VP. I look to Ryker with wide eyes, only to see him smiling. “All in favor?” More ‘ayes.’
“All opposed?” Silence.
“Congratulations, brother.” He reaches up and rips off the VP patch from his own vest, sliding it across the table to me. My fingers wrap around the small piece of material and my heart races. I was just elected vice fucking president of the very club I thought didn’t take me seriously.
I can barely speak, and my words come out strangled, “Thank you, everyone.”
“Reaper is our current Sergeant at Arms. All in favor of keeping him there?” We all ring out with a resounding round of ‘ayes.’
“All opposed?” Silence.
Ryker goes through the same thing with the positions of secretary and treasurer, both members continuing on. Ryker motions for the chair to his left, indicating for me to take the official seat for the vice president of the club. Standing, I walk around the table and sit beside Ryker, who then claps me on the back and turns to face the others.
“Now we need to figure some shit out. I’m not gonna pussyfoot around the issue. We know who killed Gunner and Tess—they left their calling card there to make sure we did, but here’s the deal. The Crips are a huge gang, and much bigger than the Kings. If we go to war with those bastards, it will never end.”
“So we let it slide?” Tease snarls. “Let those fuckers get away with torturing and killing our club president and his old lady?”
Ryker holds up his hand. “That’s not what I said. We will retaliate, and they will pay, but we need to be smart about this. If we enter into a war, none of us will ever be safe in this city—not us, not our women, and not our children. Those bastards are like cockroaches—they’re everywhere, and they’re hard to kill. This fuckin’ city is infested with them, so we need to plan. We need to play this smart, and we need to move fast. They fucked with the wrong club, and they’re about to learn that shit the hard way.” He looks around at us in a way that reminds me so much of Gunner. “So I want to hear your ideas. I know every one of you crazy bastards have secretly been plotting how you want to deal with them, so lay it on me. What’ve ya got?”
We spend the next three hours in discussions. We go around the room, presenting ideas (really fucked up ideas), and break them down, figuring out what will work and what won’t. It’s exhausting, but it makes us all feel like we’re finally going to get some justice for Gunner and Tess.
Watching
Ryker lead the meeting fills me with pride. He settles arguments and keeps the conversation going so that no one feels like they haven’t been heard. My boy is going to kick this job’s ass, and with me by his side, we’ll be unstoppable.
Ellen
I’m sitting in the waiting room of the courthouse, doing my best to avoid Paul’s glare, when the bailiff emerges and announces that the judge would like to speak with both Paul and me. My knees are weak as I stand from the bench and move towards him, pleading with God to make this turn out okay. Why does the judge want to see us this time? Has she reached her decision?
Stella stands behind a long table at the left side of the room, motioning for me to join her. I watch with wide eyes as Paul strides confidently to the table where his lawyer stands, waiting for him. “You okay?” Stella whispers when I reach her.
My entire body shakes, my limbs seeming to have a mind of their own. I look back at her and nod, terrified that if I try to speak, the scream I’m holding back will come bubbling up to the surface.
“You may be seated,” the judge declares, placing a small pair of spectacles low on her nose. “When it comes to the case of Chapman vs. McGrath, I have reached my decision.” I take a deep breath and stare up at her, hot tears forming in my eyes. The next words out of the judge’s mouth are going to affect my son and me for the next seven years.
“Miss McGrath, please stand.” My knees tremble as I stand from the chair with Stella’s assistance, gripping tight to the edge of the table. “You had your child very young. I understand that your family did not help in any way, is this true?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I squeak out.
“I also understand that you had some help from a friend and her family, and that you were able to support your child for ten years without any help from Mr. Chapman. You even put yourself through school to be a nurse in that time. Is this true?”
“Yes.” My heart lifts slightly, and hope starts to bloom deep in my belly.
The judge turns to Paul. “Mr. Chapman, please stand.”
Their chairs scrape across the floor as Paul and his lawyer stand, Paul’s face intent on the judge, but the smug look he once had is gone.
“Mr. Chapman, you were aware of the birth of your son, Bryce. Am I correct in that statement?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“You did not try to contact him or Miss McGrath until after the child’s tenth birthday. Is this also true?”
“Yes, Your Honor, but I—”
“I’m talking, Mr. Chapman. I will thank you to just answer the questions with a yes or a no, unless otherwise instructed. Am I clear?”
“Yes,” he says, his jaw set in a hard line.
“I believe that this is a case of two young children, getting themselves into trouble and creating a child that neither of them were ready for. Mr. Chapman took the cowards way out, and avoided the child entirely, while Miss McGrath worked hard, making sure she could provide a good life for her son.” I take a deep breath, doing my best to hide my growing smile. “That being said, I think that unless the parent is unfit in some way, I see no reason why a child should be kept from them. Mr. Chapman, while I see evidence that you are indeed a difficult man, I see nothing that says you are abusive. On those grounds, I award you visitation rights to your son.”
Conflicting emotions rage war inside my heart. I knew that he would win the right to see Bryce, and it’s much better than him getting full or even joint custody, but knowing that it’s legal now, that I have to comply with a judge’s order and let Bryce see Paul, makes me nauseous.
Paul’s smug face turns to me and smirks, clearly gloating in the fact that he won even this small victory. He continues to smirk at me the entire time the judge lays out the schedule. Every second weekend, every other holiday, and two weeks in the summer, Bryce will be sent to be with Paul.
“Mr. Chapman,” the judge barks. “Your smug attitude is indicative of what I meant when I said you are a difficult man.” Paul stops smirking and looks over at the judge.
“Sorry, Your Honor.”
“During the ten years of your son’s life that you missed, as well as the one you were present for, Miss McGrath has supported your son entirely on her own. That will not do, Mr. Chapman. I find that you owe Miss McGrath eleven years in back child support payments, as well as monthly payments from this day forward. I will get your lawyer to present the paperwork for you to sign.”
Paul’s panicked eyes dart from his lawyer, to the judge, then to me. I almost feel bad for him. That’s a lot of money. But then I remember my enormous student loans, and Bryce’s need for braces. Not to mention his meager college fund that could use some serious beefing up. That makes me feel better.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jase
I ride behind Ryker in our new formation, still trying to get used to my new title and place in the hierarchy of the club. Earlier today, Ryker had sent two of our prospects out, intent on hunting down a couple of low-level Crips. It didn’t take them long to find two young guys, barely out of their teens, walking downtown.
They’d drawn guns on our guys, but thankfully, instead of shooting, they’d listened to what they had to say. Bosco had explained to them that our club prez wanted a meeting with their leader, Face. We wanted to work out an arrangement. Bosco told them to meet us tonight at the same lot we’d shot up their men a few months ago, when fighting against the Devil’s Rejects.
After a quick phone call to their leader, we had ourselves a date.
Reaper and Tease had gone ahead of us, wanting to beat our enemies to the meeting spot. It’s the perfect place because it’s secluded and deserted, and there are lots of places to hide, which is exactly why we sent our two most ruthless men to sweep the place and lie in wait.
As agreed, we pull into the parking lot a full ten minutes after the Crips were due to arrive. There’s a large man standing in front, two directly behind him, and at least thirty more men, forming the rest of their crew. It was agreed there’d be no weapons, but I don’t miss the baseball bats and crowbars in the hands of several of the Crips.
As a group, we park our bikes and form our own group with Ryker in front, facing the Crips’ leader, me and Slots behind him, and the rest of our guys put us at a group of eighteen. I don’t take my eyes off their leader, who cracks his knuckles and sneers at Ryker.
“You got a lot of balls demanding a meeting with me, grease monkey,” Face sneers. My eyes scan the crowd in front of us, watching for any sudden movements. We’re surrounded by ten, very large shipping containers, and I know that directly behind me, Reaper and Tease are camped out on one of them, Reaper’s silenced sniper rifle ready to go when needed. Ryker’s plan is risky at best, but if it works, our war with the Crips will be over, and they’ll know not to fuck with the Kings in the future.
Ryker holds up his hand. “We’re here to talk truce,” he states.
I watch as Face’s expression goes from surprised to amused in an instant. Laughter booms from his throat, the others in his group laughing it up right alongside him. Suddenly, the two men directly behind him, crumple to the ground, with perfect round holes placed directly in the centre of their foreheads.
The laughter stops and every man, Crips and Kings, pull out their pieces, aiming and ready to fire at will. Face shakes with rage, his skin flushed and his eyes wide. “What the fuck are you doing? You call this a truce?” His gun is directed at Ryker. I guess none of us wanted to show up without being strapped.
Ryker’s gun doesn’t waver as it points directly back at him. “We just killed your two best men. You killed our prez and his old lady. A life for a life. I think this could make us about even now, wouldn’t you say?”
Face’s eyes scan the shipping containers behind us, his eyes moving rapidly. “If you’re looking for your men, our guys have got them tied up in the back,” Ryker says matter of factly.
“What are you proposing?”
Ryker lowers his gun, motioning for the rest
of us to do the same. We do, but we don’t put them away, keeping them in our hands and ready. “With Gunner gone, I’m prez now. I want to make some changes—big changes. I wanna go clean.”
Face eyes him up and down before lowering his gun, motioning for the rest of his men to do the same. They do, but I don’t miss the one guy directly across from me who looks more pissed than any of the others. It’s the guy from the Escalade, the one that shot at the sign on the compound. He’s wiry and small, and his handshakes as he grips the butt of the gun tightly in his hand. His knuckles are white as he stares at Ryker.
“I know you’re pissed about what happened with your men a few months ago,” Ryker continues.
“Yeah, you fucking ambushed ‘em,” the angry one yells. I watch as Face turns to him and makes a hand gesture, calming the guy down, but only slightly.
“You’re right,” Ryker says. “We did, but our fight was with the Devil’s Rejects, not the Crips. We just finished our war with them, and we’re not looking for another one with you.”
“I can’t just let that fuckin’ go, man,” Face says. “I can’t forget that you killed a bunch of my boys.”
Ryker sighs. “Part of goin’ clean is gettin’ out of the weed business. We grow it, we transport it, and we sell it. We want out. I’m willing to hand it over to you, sixty percent of our grow ops, and let you have them with the condition that this war is over.”
Face blinks. “And the other forty?”
“The Bloods.” Angry rumbles come from the Crips. Apparently, not all of them like that part at all. “Look, man, the Bloods have been good to us, and they’re getting the rest. I won’t budge on this.”
Face’s jaw clenches as he weighs his options. “What’s the catch?”
Ryker smiles, but his eyes are hard. “We fight.”
Face scoffs. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me, man? You want to fight me?”
