“About?” Trip prodded.
“A woman checked into the motel Saturday mornin’. Long story short, we got to talkin’.”
“Talkin’ or fuckin’?” Sig asked with a grin. “Knowin’ The Great Oz, it was the second one.”
Ozzy ignored the club’s VP. “Turns out, she recognized my cut, began to ask a few questions.”
“Think she’s a fed or somethin’?” Judge leaned forward so he could get a better view of Ozzy.
And Ozzy could get a better look at Judge’s concerned expression. “Nah, don’t think so. Asked if I knew her pop.”
Silence filled the room.
“And that needs a fuckin’ meetin’ for what reason?” Trip finally asked with one eyebrow cocked.
“The name Marshall Graham familiar to anyone?” Ozzy asked.
“Should it be?” Cage asked, frowning.
“That’s the name of Shay’s pop,” Ozzy answered him.
“You wanna get to the damn point before I rip off my fuckin’ jeans so you can cool off my boilin’ balls by whisperin’ sweet nothin’s on them?” Deacon bitched.
Sig snorted. “Yeah, blow on ‘em and make a fuckin’ wish.”
Trip shook his head, trying to ignore them. “Don’t remember that name but why would I?”
Ozzy shrugged. “She said back in the day when she lived here, he rode a hog, and hung out at Crazy Pete’s. Was gone a lot, too.”
“Yeah, and?” Judge asked.
“And he disappeared around the same time when the shit went down with the club.”
After a few moments, Trip broke the silence that had once again encompassed the long table. “She never saw him wear a cut?”
“No.”
“She ever hear him talk about the Fury?” the prez asked next.
“Only to warn her to stay away.”
Trip sat back in his chair at the head of the table, flipped his baseball cap off his head, raked his fingers through the longer hair at the top, then slammed it back on. “You think he got caught up in that mess?”
“Dunno. I don’t remember the name—”
“But no one used their real names,” Judge finished for Ozzy. “She don’t know if he had a road name?”
“No.”
“And you just think ‘cause he rode a sled and disappeared around the same time shit was goin’ down with the Originals, that he was one?” the enforcer asked.
Ozzy tipped his head. “Thinkin’ it’s possible.”
“If he was, then he sheltered his daughter from that life pretty fuckin’ well. How old was she when he disappeared?” the prez asked.
“Like fifteen or sixteen.”
“Old enough to know if he was in a club,” Trip concluded, but then added, “Unless he was hidin’ it for a reason.”
“Not sure if you guys remember, but a coupla guys lived two fuckin’ lives,” Ozzy reminded them. “The Fury wasn’t the only club I belonged to that had some members do that.”
Judge pulled on his beard. “Yeah, I kinda remember my pop bitchin’ one night about that. He didn’t like it. Thought it could cause more problems for the Fury.”
“Yeah, remember my pop bitchin’ about the same shit,” Trip said. “Exactly why that shit better not go on in our club. No hidin’ shit. We need to be an MC that’s got no reason for a member to keep two separate lives. And, fuck me, I agree with Ox, it could—and did—cause problems. I remember a wife bustin’ into the warehouse one night and causin’ a shitload of drama, then havin’ to be dumped at the ER ‘cause of the cat fight she got into with her husband’s ol’ lady.”
“Remember that, too,” Ozzy muttered. “It got ugly.”
“Yeah, remember that night,” Judge said. “Wife was scarred for fuckin’ life.”
Sig nodded, probably remembering the same shit as the rest of them. It was one night hard to forget. “Sure that wasn’t him? This Marshall Graham?”
“Doubt it. Shay didn’t say shit about her momma gettin’ into some bitch fight and gettin’ scarred. She definitely would’ve mentioned it.” Ozzy couldn’t imagine Shay would’ve held back that info.
Unless her parents lied to her about why her mother was suddenly in the hospital with a slashed face and broken bones. Ozzy guessed saying she was in a car crash might cover that, but still…
And if her mother confronted some ol’ lady, he doubted that Shay’s mother would’ve been worried about where her husband went once he disappeared. Most women would’ve kicked their man’s ass to the curb, or thanked the gods when someone took out the trash for her.
She certainly wouldn’t head down to the pig pen and file a missing person’s report. She’d be heading to the bakery for a cake to celebrate.
But then, Ozzy had seen some crazy-assed shit in his life and anything was possible. Especially when it came to women.
He didn’t think he’d ever understand them.
“So, why the fuck should we care if her missin’ pop was an Original?” Cage asked.
“Could mean she has Fury blood runnin’ in her veins,” Trip murmured, staring at the Fury insignia carved into the center of the large table, while tapping the tip of his left index finger on the table.