Lady & The Biker (Royal Bastards MC: Charleston, WV 2)

I look to Pam, massaging the rough pads of my fingers over my temple. “You got any aspirin?”

“Nope. Sorry.” She shrugs, loving every minute of my misery. I’m being punished. For what? Who the fuck knows? But I’ve somehow landed in hell.

I scarf down my toast, thankful that the clubhouse is quiet and most of my brothers are still in bed, so I don’t have to catch hell for having a kid with me even if it was Prez’s orders. “You done eating yet?” I look over to Wylla Mae who has egg yolk dripping down her chin. “Ever heard of a napkin?” I shake my head and hand her mine. “Can you keep an eye on her for like ten minutes?”

Pam rolls her eyes. “Ten minutes. That’s it, East. I mean it. You aren’t sticking me with your problems.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I wave her off. “I’ll be back.” I point at Wylla Mae and she shoots me a dirty look all pinched faced. “You better behave.”

“Where are you going? I don’t want to stay with her. She doesn’t even like me.”

“Neither do I,” I tell her gruffly and her face falls.

Her bottom lip juts out into a pout.

“Stop that. Shit doesn’t work on me.”

Those big doe eyes gaze up at me filled with unshed tears threatening to breach the brims. “Do you truly not like me, East?”

“Shit, kid. I was only kidding.”

“You owe me another quarter.”

I pull my wallet out of my back pocket. I thumb through the bills until I find the one I want. “Here.” I hand her a ten-dollar bill. “That should cover it.”

She smiles big eyeing the money. “Oooh. Can you take me shopping?” Those tears faded away awful fast. She’s a damn natural. Bet her mother taught her how to get what she wants.

“Shopping?” I grunt. “Hell no.”

She pouts again, but I’m not falling for that shit.

“I’ll be back. Listen to Pam and take your medicine.”

Wylla Mae’s lips part, her pink tongue darting out between them directed at me. Fucking brat. I shove off my stool and go in search of Grudge.

I find him outside tinkering with the driver’s side door of Pam’s car. It’s a four-door sedan that needs towed and turned into scrap metal. The bottom of the driver’s side door is rusting out. “Hey, man. You have a minute?”

“Just trying to unlock this piece of shit car for Pam. Locked the damn keys in it. What’d you need?”

“You still have that kid’s helmet you kept for Tempest?”

“Should be in the garage. What you want with it?”

“Fucking Murder gave me a babysitting detail. Got an eight-year-old by the name of Wylla Mae I’m charged with.”

Grudge strokes his chin, running his fingers over his graying beard. “Wylla Mae you say. That’s Alexa’s girl. Blonde hair. Pretty little thing.” His weathered face brightens.

“Smart mouth.”

He chuckles. “Shit. Alexa always was bad news. Yeah you can use it.”

“What’s your opinion about this Alexa?” I question, following him to the garage that sits behind the clubhouse.

“She was always best friends with Prez’s daughter.”

“Rochelle?” Her picture hangs in the clubhouse in the hallway by Prez’s office. Rochelle was a beautiful girl. Long light brown hair, big brown eyes. Freckles on the bridge of her nose. Bet I’ve looked at her photo a hundred times. Pass by it often enough. Such a shame a young life gone too soon.

“Yeah. God rest her soul. Alexa was with her. In the car with her. Nearly killed her too but she walked away. Murder’s always had a soft spot for her, but girl was always wild and needing him to come rescue her. Has a habit of getting with losers who show their love with their fists. Has issues. They call it survivor’s guilt.”