Refuge (Riot MC Book 1)

by Emily Minton

  Passing by the Pres’s office, it sounds like he’s having a hell of a day, too. He and Mom are going at it. Even after all these years together, all they do is fight. The only thing that surprises me is the fact her ass is even at the clubhouse. She never comes here. She used to, but Tito put a stop to that a long damn time ago.

  Hell, they haven’t lived together in years. He stays here at the clubhouse, and she stays at his house, only coming by every now and then to cause trouble. Why he stays with her, I’ll never know, but it’s not my problem anymore. I hauled ass as soon as I could, taking a room at the clubhouse when I turned sixteen. I finally got my own place after Cline was born. Still, I spend more nights here than there.

  I continue to ignore what’s going on with the two of them. As we walk into the common room, we head straight to the bar. As soon as the prospect sees Brass and me, he walks over with a bottle of Jack and two shot glasses.

  “Looks like you two could use a drink. The baby momma giving you a hard time?” Jerimiah asks, and I don’t even try to hide the sneer on my face.

  There is something about this jackass that just gets on my last nerve. I didn’t want to take him on, didn’t think he was worthy of even a Riot MC prospect cut. If it hadn’t been for his uncle, a respected member of the club, he would be out on his ass. Even so, if he doesn’t shape up, he’ll be cut. As Vice President, I can boot a prospect without calling a vote. I’d hate to do that, knowing how much it would piss off his uncle Rio, but I’ll do it if needed.

  Picking up the bottle, I bark out my order. “Bring us a couple of beers to the table and keep your fucking mouth shut.”

  Holding his hands up in the air, he backs away. “No disrespect meant.”

  Brass slams his fist on the bar top and growls, “Did you not understand the part about keeping your fucking mouth shut?”

  I look over at Brass and see he has the same look of revulsion that I’m sure my own face is wearing. We’ve talked about the prospect more than once. Neither of us feels like he fits into the club. We’ve had guys like him here before, and they never last. He’s too clean-cut, too much of a pussy to ever be a member of Riot MC. That’s not what is bothering us, though. The problem is that both of us have a gut feeling like the asshole has some other motivation for being here.

  I don’t think he’s smart enough to be a rat. Even the boys in blue are not dumb enough to place such a dumbass inside the club and expect to get information. No, I think he is just dumb enough to think this is the life he wants, and that could get him hurt. Not to mention, it could get one of the brothers hurt.

  Shaking off my thoughts, I head to an empty table and take a seat. Taking the top off the bottle, I pour some in the shot glass and quickly down the fiery liquid. I pour another for myself first, before I even consider handing it over to Brass. I’ve downed my second before he can even pour his first.

  We both stay quiet until Jerimiah brings us our beers. I watch him walk away, stopping to talk to some of the brothers on his way. I see the same look of disgust on all their faces. I keep my eyes on him until he reaches the bar, wondering what the fuck I’m going to do about this shit. The answer is clear; he’s got to go.

  “We need to get rid of that kid,” Brass states, finally picking up his shot. “Rio’s nephew or not, we need to cut him.”

  I nod my head in agreement before grabbing the bottle. “I’m gonna talk to Tito about it, see if he’s feeling the same way. If so, his ass is gone.”

  Brass, like me, is a lifer to the club. All he knows is Riot MC, and more than likely, that is all he will ever know. Brass grew up as a club brat, just like me. His dad was a member, and his mom an old lady. We grew up together, becoming friends before either of us even knew what the real meaning of that word was. That friendship has only grown over the years, and I couldn’t ask for a better man to have my back.

  His dad was once the Sergeant at Arms, a role that Brass took over after his death. About three years ago, Brass and his dad were doing a run to New Jersey. I’m not sure what happened, but they totaled the truck. Thankfully, it was after the drugs had been dropped off. Unfortunately, we lost a good brother that day, and Brass lost his father. Even worse, he was the one behind the wheel. Getting the officer’s patch was all my friend had ever wanted, but I know the way he got it still haunts him.

  “Looks like you’re gonna get your chance to talk to him now,” Brass says, pulling me away from my thoughts.

  Looking over my shoulder, I see Tito stomping my way. His face is as dark as a thundercloud, letting me know he is pissed as fuck. I’m sure it has something to do with my mom. Normally, I’d listen to him bitch about her. As my President, I don’t have much choice. As the only father I ever really knew, I wouldn’t feel right turning my back on him anyway. Today, though, I don’t think I can handle hearing their bullshit.

  “That mother of yours is going to drive me fucking crazy. I’m about done with putting up with her shit,” he states as he plops down in a chair and grabs the bottle.

  “What’s her problem now?” Brass asks, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

  Brass hates my mother. He fucking can’t stand her. If she comes into the room, he walks out. It wasn’t always like that. At one time, I thought he had a crush—nothing serious, just kid shit. The puppy dog look he used to give her made me sick to my stomach. Then, when he was about twelve or thirteen, he just quit coming around. When I asked him what was up, he said he couldn’t stand to be around my mom any longer. I never asked him why. The truth is, I really didn’t want to know. With my mom, there’s no telling what she did.

  “She’s just being a bitch, nothing new,” he replies before downing a drink right from the bottle. “She’s always riding my ass.”

  Not wanting to hear more, I change the subject. “I want to talk to you about Rio’s nephew. I think we need to cut him.”

  The words are barely out of my mouth before he starts shaking his head. He doesn’t respond, just lifts his hand and motions for the dickhead to bring him a beer. When I start to say something, he shakes his head at me to keep my mouth shut. We all stay quiet until his beer is in front of him and the prospect is back behind the bar.

  “We’ll talk about that later,” Tito states, taking a pull from his beer. “Right now, there’s more important shit to discuss. Veronica’s mom died last night, along with her stepdad.”

  “Damn.” I let out a deep breath as his words sink it. “What the hell happened? Did they get in an accident or something?”

  I haven’t seen Ronni in years, not since the summer she wrecked her bike. Once I told Tito how Mom was treating her, he swore that his daughter would never have to be around her again. He still always saw Ronni, every Christmas and a couple of weeks during the summer, but he never brought her here again. Instead, they traveled all over the fucking country. Even when she grew up, she still didn’t come around. I guess, growing up the way she did, she thinks she’s too good to hang out with a bunch of bikers. She and Tito still see each other, more now than before. They just don’t do it in Indiana.

  “Not really sure. Something about a gas leak and carbon monoxide poisoning,” he explains, bringing the Jack to his lips again. “I’m gonna catch the next flight into Houston. I gotta get down there and make sure she’s safe. The way she explained what happened doesn’t make much sense.”

  He takes a deep breath then looks over at me. “She was supposed to be staying at the house with them. I guess they pissed her off, so she packed up and went to a hotel. If she had stayed, she’d be gone, too.”

  The look on his face is one I'm not used to. It’s a look of anguish, but knowing how he feels about his daughter, I understand it. I’m always worried that something will happen to Cline. Every time she climbs the stairs or rides her bike, I freak the fuck out, thinking about everything that could happen. If she came that close to losing her life, I’d be completely fucked. I wouldn’t know what to d
o.

  The look of anguish fades as he pours himself another shot. “It’s gonna be tough on her. Veronica likes to pretend she’s tough, but she not. No matter how much they butted heads, or how much distance she’s had from her mother over the years, shit like this is gonna be hard. I can’t let my baby girl do this shit on her own. Not to mention, I want to watch as they lower that bitch’s coffin in the ground.”

  There was no love lost between Tito and Ronni’s mom. When Ronni was a kid, he had to fight tooth and nail just to see her. At the time, I didn’t understand it. Not seeing my own dad, other than visits to the prison, I didn’t understand how important it was. Now that I have Cline, I understand why Tito fought so hard to be in Ronni’s life.

  “Please don’t tell me that bitch was pissed off because you’re going to Texas to be with your kid,” Brass says, not caring that he just insulted my mother and Tito’s old lady.

  “She’s whacked in the head, and I’m even more fucked up for keeping her around,” Tito explains with a shrug then looks back at me. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I need you to be in charge while I’m gone.”

  “I’ve got you covered.” I nod, knowing what is expected. “You go do what you’ve gotta do and don’t worry about the club.”

  Chapter Three

  Veronica

  The preacher rambles on and on about how wonderful Timothy and my mother were, even though what he really means is their money was wonderful. He didn’t really know them. Neither of them went to church; at least, not more than a time or two a year. Still, my stepfather sent a check in every week to the biggest Methodist church in Houston. He gave them enough money that his name was listed as a benefactor, even though he didn’t attend. The preacher won’t miss either Mom or Timothy, but he is definitely going to miss their weekly donations.

  When he finally winds down, he waves his hands toward the crowd of mourners and quietly says, “Let’s bow our heads and pray.”

  I lower my head as he says, but I can’t focus on the prayer. Instead, my mind is whirling with a million questions. How did this happen? Why did it happen? Most of all, I’m wondering why I don’t hurt more. I’ve tried to feel anguish at the loss of my mother, but it’s just not there. I didn’t know her enough to be feeling any real sense of loss. What I did know, I didn’t really like.

  My mind finally focuses when I hear the words of the Lord’s Prayer. “… forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory. For ever and ever.”

  “Amen,” I whisper as he finishes.

  Dad tightens his arms around me as the coffins are lowered down. I lean into him, soaking up his warmth, feeling grateful that he’s here with me. My eyes stay trained on my mother’s casket until it is no longer visible. When it’s gone, I feel nothing—no loss, no pain, just a sense of hollowness that I can’t quite explain.

  “You doing okay, baby girl?” Dad whispers, placing a kiss on the top of my head. “It’s okay to cry if you want to.”

  Before I can even respond, Miles is at my side talking. “You need to get back to the house. Dad’s lawyer is already there. We’re gonna have the reading of the will before everyone shows up for the reception.”

  I blink in surprise, not quite believing he would bring up such a thing right here at his father’s graveside. People are all around us; anyone could hear. Even me, who my mother always claimed as uncouth as a person can be, knows this is not the place to be talking about things like that. I don’t know why I’m surprised, though. I haven’t believed half of the things Miles has done over the last few days.

  “You need to back the fuck off,” Dad growls, holding me close to his side. “She doesn’t need to deal with that shit right now.”

  Miles starts to say something, but I cut him off, knowing whatever he says will probably cause Dad to lose his shit. “I’m heading that way now.”

  Dad grumbles under his breath but doesn’t say anything. He simply pulls me across the graveyard, weaving around all the people standing around. We walk straight past the limo that Miles insisted I ride in and head for Dad’s rental car. Once there, he opens the door and helps me inside. My eyes never leave his as he walks around the front of the car and climbs in on the driver’s side.

  As soon as the door is shut, he looks over to me. “That stepbrother of yours is a real piece of work. If you weren’t going through so damn much, I would have knocked the fuck out of him and enjoyed the hell out of doing it.”

  My lips tip up as I try to make light of the situation. “It wouldn’t bother me. You’re more than welcome to beat on him all you want, but if you decide to lay him out, let me know in advance. I need time to pull out my phone. I’ll have to catch that shit on video, play it back when I have a bad day.”

  He chuckles and says, “I’ll do my best to give you warning.”

  We stay quiet as we drive across town, both lost in our own thoughts. I study my dad’s profile, trying to see if he is hurting at the loss of my mother. I know the two of them never got along, not for as long as I can remember anyway, but at one time he must have felt something for her. Studying him now, I see no loss on his face. I see worry and sadness, but both of those are for me.

  Turning away, I stare out the window and watch the city pass by. Again, I try to find a little sadness within my soul. When I still can’t find any, I start to worry. What does that say about me? What kind of person am I that I don’t even mourn the death of my own mother. By the time we pull up in front of the monstrosity my mother called home, I feel like the world is sitting on my shoulders.

  When Dad cuts off the car, he reaches over and grabs my hand. “You’re gonna be okay. I’ll be right by your side the entire time.”

  I smile at him and give him a nod. “I know.”

  He gets out and walks around the car, opening my door and helping me out. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and keeps them there the entire way. By the time we get inside, Miles is pacing back and forth in the foyer.

  “Took you long enough. I’ve been here for nearly five minutes,” he states, his arms crossed over his scrawny chest.

  I ignore him and start making demands of my own. “My dad’s going back there with me, or I’m not going in there at all.”

  “I don’t care who you bring, just hurry up,” he whines, turning away and heading down the hall to Timothy’s office.

  Dad grumbles again but stays quiet as he leads me down the hallway. When we finally step into the office, I see a man wearing glasses sitting at Timothy’s desk. He is looking over some papers spread across the desk.

  “Veronica’s finally here, so can we get started now?” Miles asks, taking a seat across from the desk.

  The man, I assume my father’s lawyer, looks at my stepbrother. “I really don’t feel comfortable with this. There are other people included in the will that should be here. At the very least, they should be made aware that they are in the will first.”

  They argue back and forth while Dad leads me to the sofa at the far end of the room. We sit down, me leaning into his side, and I try to keep myself focused on the heated conversation they are having. Instead, I get lost looking at the flames in the fireplace. It runs off natural gas, just like every other fireplace in the house. Looking at it now, it looks beautiful. I can’t believe something that can create such beauty can lead to such tragedy.

  “As long as you know we will have to do this again when everyone is available,” the lawyer says before looking at me. “Timothy updated his will six years ago. At that time, he also made a videotape that he wanted to be played for just you and Miles. I am going to play that first.”

  “All right.” I nod, not sure of what else to say.

  A minute or two later, my stepfather’s cultured voice fills the room. My heart skips a beat, realizing this will probably be the last time I ever hear his voice. I st
are at the television, hanging above the fireplace, and watch as Timothy talks. He starts with Miles, of course, listing all of the businesses and properties first. Then, he goes on to bequeath him more money than I will make in a lifetime.

  “Son, I’m leaving you my life’s work. I hope you don’t disappoint me,” Timothy says, not even bothering to tell his only child he loved him.

  “What about the rest of the money?” Miles shouts, jumping up from his chair with so much force that it tips over and bangs against the mahogany covered floor.

  The television pauses just before they start to argue again. I raise my head enough to look up at Dad. I shake my head, letting him know that shit is fucked up. Miles just inherited millions of dollars, an oil business that brings in millions more every year, and homes all over the world. Why he’s complaining, I just don’t know.

  Dad leans down and whispers, “Told you, the bastard’s a real piece of work.”

  When Miles finally settles down, the lawyer starts the video again. My stepfather starts talking to me this time, his eyes full of disapproval. He rambles off an insane amount of money, more than I ever thought he would consider leaving to me. I immediately know I don’t want a penny of it. As soon as I get home, I’ll start looking for a charity, maybe multiple charities, to give it to.

  “If your mother and I should happen to die before you turn twenty-five, your inheritance will be held in a trust until your birthday. Hopefully, you will have matured enough by then to handle the responsibility. The only way that will happen is if you finally leave your humble beginnings behind you. Your mother has grown into a worthy woman. If you would cut contact with your disgraceful father, I believe you will be able to do the same thing.”