And if I was taking responsibility for her, I’d be doing that across the board. Dragon would have to hand over the fucking reins—because she wasn’t going to be crying to her papa when shit went sideways, which I knew would happen at some point.
I was surprised by the fist that slammed into my face.
What was it about that family that made them fucking punch me without warning?
“The fuck?” I asked, turning my face back toward Dragon.
“Had to get at least one in,” Dragon said calmly, watching to see if I’d hit him back.
“It is tradition,” Grease agreed.
“Nobody hit me when I got with Far—” Casper started to argue before taking a shot to the face.
“Yeah, ’cause Slider didn’t wanna piss her off,” Grease said, shaking out his hand before pointing at Casper. “You had that comin’.”
Casper punched Grease back, splitting his lip, then followed it with a hard blow to his stomach. “You fucked my sister—think you had it comin,’ too.”
I stepped down from my stool as Grease tried to catch his breath. While I knew they had each other’s backs, Grease was a fuck of a lot bigger than my dad, and any fight between the two would not go well.
“Jesus Christ,” Slider called out, walking toward us with a scowl on his face. “Knock it off, you idiots. We got enough on our plates.”
“You get a hold of Eastwood?” Poet asked as he made his way to the bar. Mark Eastwood, or Woody, was the son of one of the original members. Doc hadn’t had a medical degree, but he’d patched up Aces until the day he died of old age. Most of us hadn’t even known Woody existed until after Doc died and the boys had stepped in to support him. He’d grown up in Salem with his mother, and he’d rarely been around the club until he was already half grown—but he’d sure as hell fit in.
We were hoping that he’d heard something around his hometown, but the little fucker wasn’t answering his phone.
“Nah. Hasn’t called back yet,” Grease said, wiping the blood off his lips with a dirty rag from his pocket. “I’ll call Sherry in a couple hours—see if she’s seen him.”
“Make sure he’s not been an asshole to his mum,” Poet ordered. “Last time I checked, boy was in trouble again at school.”
“Leo’s doin’ the same shit,” Dragon said, shaking his head.
“Not the same. Leo’s got a pop and a gramps to knock sense into him. Sherry’s got no man to keep the kid in line,” Poet reminded him.
“I gotta run for some parts,” I finally said, bored with the conversation.
I didn’t give a shit what Woody was doing. The kid was cool, but he was still young and he acted like it. Eventually, he’d get his shit together or he wouldn’t. I didn’t give a fuck either way, though I knew that Poet and Slider felt a responsibility to their old friend’s kid.
“I’ll head to Trix’s place,” Dragon told me with a chin lift. “Give her a bit of warnin’ before ya show up.”
“Tell her I’ll be there around—nah, just let her know I’ll be by.”
“Will do.”
I smacked Casper on the shoulder and nodded to the boys before spinning toward the door.
“Good luck!” Grease sang out.
I flipped him off, but didn’t pause. I had shit to do.
* * *
“Hell, no,” Trix snapped, glancing down at the duffle in my hand.
I’d finally stopped working on an older Ford Taurus when it started getting dark, packed my shit, and headed straight for her apartment. She’d moved into the sweet two bedroom place the year before. It was in the same complex my adoptive parents had lived in when I’d met them, but in the past five years, the owner had given the place a hell of a facelift. New windows, wood floors, appliances that weren’t purchased during the Reagan administration, and countertops that weren’t scratched to shit meant that the place always looked clean and inviting.
Like a home.
Not that I’d been there enough to get a good look at it. When Trix’s stepdad died before Brenna had divorced him, all his money had gone to her. It wasn’t something anyone talked about, but I knew that Dragon hadn’t wanted to touch it—so they hadn’t. Instead, they’d put it into a college fund for Trix, so she wouldn’t have to work during the school year. Trix didn’t seem to have any problems with using the dead fucker’s money. I guess she figured they deserved it after what he’d put her mom through. I’d helped when she’d moved in and I’d only been let in twice since then. Once when she bought a new couch, and the second time when she’d bought a new bed.
I’d been having dreams about that bed for the better part of a year.