“Does it ever lessen, the weight on your shoulders?”
“Nope.” Cross laughed and shook his head as he took a pull of the beer. “Sorry to say, kid, that is a weight that never goes away and it shouldn’t. The minute you stop feeling the gravity and weight of your responsibility, it’s time to get the fuck out of the game.”
“Is that what happened to you?”
“Fuck no. I love Moon and now that Beau is off fulfilling his dreams, I promised her we would have some time for ourselves. You know, travel and shit.” He shrugged. “She brought me back to life, and I owe her. Now it’s time to pay up.”
“But you could’ve led the Bastards for another few years.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I could have, but the next Prez needed time to adjust, and that means I need to be around to guide you, teach you everything I know. I didn’t want to leave it too long. So, what’s on your mind?”
I leaned back and sighed to the ceiling before I could look at him. “Nothing. Everything.”
“Oh, is that all?” Cross laughed and gripped my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “We all have confidence in you, Charlie. That’s why we voted you in. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t,” I said, but soaked in his new attitude. He was the same Cross and yet in a way he wasn’t. This version of our old Prez was relaxed, with a take it as it comes persona instead of sitting on the edge of his seat, ready to beat the shit out of someone.
Would I ever get there?
A probie rushed in, bouncing his wide brown eyes between me and Cross. “There’s a fire at Get Ink’d, I just heard it on the scanner.”
Cross and I looked at each other. “Quinn,” we said in unison with the same note of alarm. Golden Boy’s daughter.
We both pushed off the bar stools and moved quickly toward our bikes. “Grab Stitch. Tell him to find a partner and meet us there. Nobody travels alone.”
Cross and I hauled ass to one of our oldest businesses that had become not just a town staple, but a big ass draw for tourists, making the drive in under five minutes.
Lights flashed down the side alley, and I followed the voices while Cross headed inside. “Quinn?” I said when I saw her at the desk. “Everything all right?”
Quinn nodded, her blonde hair was shaved on one side and braided on the other. She looked exactly like the kind of biker chick everyone hoped would tattoo them. The guys would shit themselves if they knew her father, Golden Boy, was not just a biker but a man who spent hard time in prison. Her brows dipped in confusion.
“Charlie? Everything is good. What are you doing here?”
“One of the guys reported a fire.”
She nodded knowingly. “Yeah, I called it in but it was a small dumpster fire. Probably dumbass kids or fucking junkies.” She nodded toward a firefighter visible through the window overlooking the alley and shrugged. “See for yourself. It’s a small fire and insurance will cover the damage.”
Insurance? “So, you’re good?”
Quinn folded her arms and nodded. “Yep. Pissed off and inconvenienced, but I’m good. And now curious about why you and Cross are sniffing around and now Stitch and New Guy.” She nodded, and I turned to them walking up behind me.
“You know how it is, Quinn. Just making sure everybody is safe. That’s all.”
Quinn’s story didn’t make any sense, and I turned to the probie. “What exactly did you hear?”
He shrugged, suddenly full of fear. “I actually didn’t hear it myself. One of the Bitches, Sherri, said it came through on the scanner, and that I should report it directly to you. Did I fuck up? I mean, it’s Golden Boy’s daughter, so I figured you should know.”
“You did the right thing. Stay here until the blue and reds clear out?” Stitch nodded his agreement, and I headed back to my bike where Cross waited. “This seem strange to you?”
Cross’ dark brows dipped into a low vee, hands on his hips as his blue gaze scanned up and down the street. “Seems like a diversion.”
As soon as the word left his mouth, I knew. “Shit. I gotta go.”
“You mean we gotta go.” Cross hopped on his bike and gunned it, at my side the whole time while we rushed home to Savannah.
“Holy fuck,” I said when I pulled into my driveway. Cross grabbed my arm when I hopped off my bike and rushed forward.
“Look at this shit,’ he said, pointing to the broken glass and shards of wood on the lawn. “Who did you piss off?”
I was too worried about Savannah to answer questions, so I hitched my shoulder for Cross to follow me. “Let me make sure Savannah is all right.”
“And shut off that damn alarm,” he called behind me. “I’m surprised your neighbors haven’t called the cops yet.” The words had barely left Cross’ mouth before a patrol car pulled up.