Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“He could have been a dick and left it to the next guy in the club.”
“Oh, his club fell apart a few years before he died. Everyone started dipping into the supply.”
“Heroin?”
“Meth. Eventually, there was no product to sell. And they would be too wasted to make any new. Eventually, they just all went their separate ways.”
“And your dad?”
“Meth weakened his heart. Eventually, he had a series of strokes. And then… that was it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
I shrugged a shoulder.
I wasn’t ambivalent to his passing. It had been a weird and confusing time, considering we hadn’t ever been close, but I had been loyal to him. But it had been years.
“So, that’s my story. How’d you become a biker? Did you grow up in the world?”
“Not at all. I didn’t really even know much about bike clubs until I got an offer to join.”
“Why would you get an offer?” That wasn’t really how things worked. You hung around the club. If they liked you, you got to prospect, then join. Clubs weren’t out there recruiting. At least not that I heard.
“I guess they liked my past.”
“Are you being intentionally cryptic?”
“The club pays attention to who is getting out of the prison. If they like your history, they make an offer.”
“You were in prison?” I asked, dubious.
“Didn’t mean to be. I was in the service for years. When I got back from my last deployment, I found out my best friend had been fucking my wife. He learned how I felt about that.”
“You went away for assault.”
“Yeah.”
I could see that. I mean, it was bad enough to be cheated on, but to have your best friend be the one your spouse cheated with? That was the ultimate betrayal.
I couldn’t even commit to a man for a month. I couldn’t imagine promising your whole future to someone only to have them screw you over.
“Seems like he had it coming.”
“He did.”
“What about your wife?”
“I don’t hit women.”
“I meant… what happened to her after you went away?”
“Last I heard, she and my ex-best friend have two kids and a house in the Bay Area.”
“That sucks. That they got a happily ever after even though they screwed you over.”
“I wouldn’t have reacted that way if they’d fallen in love without the betrayal. Shit happens. Sometimes you choose the wrong person. I get it. It was the fucking around behind my back part I took issue with.”
“That’s kind of generous. I would still be raging to this day if my husband fucked my best friend. Of course, that would mean I would have a husband. Or a best friend. I’m not sure which one of those is less likely.”
“You had a whole sisterhood,” he reminded me.
“True. So it was just the husband part that is wildly improbable. Why did you get married?”
“High school girlfriend. We thought we were pregnant. Our parents pushed us to get married. We did. Then… she wasn’t pregnant.”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen when we got married. I joined the service right out of high school.”
“Why?”
“Because I had a wife to provide for then.”
“Ew,” I said, my nose scrunching up.
“Don’t like the idea of being provided for?”
“God, no.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to rely on someone. Ever. That’s a power imbalance. I don’t like that.”
“I think maybe in a healthy relationship, there aren’t power dynamics you have to worry about.”
“That’s a fantasy.”
“Not a romantic, huh?”
“I think romantic love is just a silly little story people tell themselves. Like Santa Claus.”
“You think love is like… Santa Claus,” he repeated, shooting me a smirk that suggested he thought I was being absurd.
“No. Actually, I think love is the sillier of the two. I mean, at least we all grow out of our belief in Santa when we’re, like, eight.”
“Were you always such a cynic?” he asked.
“Growing up in the club kinda squashed any Disney princess fairy tales,” I said, shrugging.
I had distinct memories of watching those movies at friends’ houses and scoffing at how ridiculous they were. Even at that age, I felt my father’s over-the-top action movies were closer to reality than love stories.
I still believed that.
“So, I’m assuming you’re not a rom-com kind of girl.”
“Are you a rom-com guy?”
“I don’t mind them.”
“Really? With the cold heroines with resting-bitch-face who end up with the super sweet hero? That’s some fantasy right there.”
“I dunno. Think there might be something to them.”
“To what?”
“Cold women with great resting-bitch-face,” he said, his gaze on me.
“I’m nobody’s heroine,” I told him. “I’m a big girl. I can walk myself across the street,” I said as we reached the side of the road that would lead to the motel.
“I’m sure you can. Still gonna cross it with you.”
“That’s annoying, by the way,” I told him as we waited for a car to pass then crossed.
“What is?”
“Good manners?”
“Not listening when a woman tells you to shove off. Would you be following me to the motel if I were a man?”