Making of Them (Beating the Biker 3)

“Of course. I understand. If you can, I’ll be at the Hades Spawn clubhouse. You know where that is?”

“No.”

“Behind Luke’s shop, Central Valley Bike Repair.”

“Okay,” she whispered, afraid of agreeing to anything more. Up on her toes, she softly kissed his cheek before forcing herself to leave him behind. Again. Steady as a metronome were the clicks of her heels on the floor, the sound giving her something to focus on that wasn’t the heat that clung to her lips. Just ahead, Gloria grinned widely.

“’Bye, Saks,” Gloria said, waving.

“Stop that,” Chrissy hissed.

“I'll catch you later, Chrissy” Saks said. The elevator opened and then he left. But Gloria’s smirk didn’t.

“So, you hooked up with tall, dark, and forbidden,” Gloria said, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Stop. Just stop. He was on the elevator, is all.”

“Really? Why is he here?”

“I don’t know,” Chrissy replied in annoyance. “Probably visiting a sick friend.”

“And how is he doing?”

“What?”

“Chrissy, you mean to tell me you didn’t ask the man who took a bullet in the shoulder for you how he’s doing?”

“Gloria,” Chrissy scoffed. “You’re ridiculous. He didn’t take a bullet for me. We arrived after that happened.”

“No. It’s only because our grandfather and his uncle made a move that made someone nervous enough to send those two goons.”

Chrissy had to admit that Gloria had a point. The idea of the Roccos and the Serafini joining forces with a marriage between Saks and her upset some criminal. But who? That was the big question.

“Does Grandfather know any more about that?”

“No. There are a lot of theories, the most prominent one being the Rojos.”

“The Rojos? That biker gang?”

“Yeah.”

“But why would they do that? That doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t. That’s why no one knows for sure. But someone wants the Roccos and Serafini at war, and they almost accomplished it.”

Chrissy grumbled as she followed her sister.

“We’re here,” Gloria said. She knocked on a half-shut door.

“Come in,” their mother called.

“Mom,” Chrissy greeted. Her eyes swept the spare hospital room and studied her father still on his bed. Tubes and wires snaked to him. Her mother, Rose, jumped up from a visitor’s chair and Chrissy reached out and hugged her. “How are you doing?”

“I’m just fine.”

Her mother pulled away and Chrissy glanced at her father, who lay still with his eyes closed. Chrissy pursed her lips and crossed her arms. In her mind her father was an invisible force, and witnessing his frailty made her uneasy.

“And Dad?”