Rhythm of the Road (Lost Kings MC 16)

“You thinking of finding Dawson and pounding on his door?” Jigsaw asks.

This fucker knows me too well. “No. What are you, eight?”

“More like nine, nine and a half inches.”

I roll my eyes. That ride in the car is looking better by the second. “Shut up.”

We stop at our vehicles and I check my phone. “Texting Murphy to let him know we’re on our way back. See where he wants to meet up before we head to Zips.”

Dex takes out his phone, flips through a few screens. “We should hit Exit 28 in about three hours. Four if we stop for breakfast somewhere. Have him meet us at the gas station right off the exit.”

“Sounds good.”

“How’d you leave it?” Jigsaw asks.

I finish sending the text before glancing up. “Leave what?”

“Things with Shelby.”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Seriously?”

I blow out a breath and squeeze my eyes shut. Why am I even bothering? “We’re gonna meet up in Virginia next week. Z’s got a few charters he wants me to visit and that one was on top of the list.” I lift my shoulders. “So, it works out.”

“Aw, fuck.” Dex groans. “Priest’s still poking around?”

“Apparently.”

Jigsaw frowns at me. “You can’t go alone.”

“Why not? It’s one of our charters.”

“Yeah, but unless you’re planning to take some long way around, you’ll go right through Viper territory.”

“And having you with me will help? Pass. I’ll go through Harrisburg. Done it before. Only adds an hour or so.”

“You still need someone to help you out backstage. Fuck, I’m surprised you let her go as it is, knowing the shit she puts up with.”

“He’s got a point,” Dex adds.

“You think I’m an asshole too?”

“No, brother. Just sayin’. It would drive me nuts thinking she’d be unprotected at those shows.”

“Her schedule says she only has one meet and greet coming up.” I take out my phone and scan the schedule Shelby sent me.

“She really does need a security team,” Dex says.

“Can’t afford it yet. Fucking pisses me off no one will do shit for her.” I hold one hand about chest level. “She gets to this point of fame but she ain’t making this level of money yet to afford the shit she needs to stay at that level or go any higher.”

Jigsaw bounces up and down in a circle. “That’s where knowing some bikers will come in handy.”

I aim a cool look his way. “Some bikers?”

“Sounds like Jiggy’s itching to hit the highway,” Dex says.

“Fuck yeah.” Jigsaw punches his fist in the air. “We used to have the most epic time on the road back in the day.”

“This is my girlfriend’s tour, not a road trip.”

“Close enough.” Jigsaw stops his manic dancing around and shrugs. “Just has a stricter schedule than we used to keep.”

“Bro, it’s fucked up for me to ask you to do that.”

“Why? You like Shelby?”

I tilt my head. As if I need to answer that.

“You thinking you might patch her one day?” Dex asks.

Patch Shelby? I can’t fathom what that would look like.

Fuck, who am I kidding? I’ve been picturing Property of Rooster on her back since the first time she hung out with my club.

“Maybe.”

“Coming from you, that’s as good as a yes.” Jigsaw grins.Chapter Thirty-TwoRooster

The ride east drags. Maybe it’s because my body knows I’m moving away from Shelby. No amount of internal rationalization that I’ll see her soon seems to lessen the nagging pull.

As promised, Murphy’s waiting for us by the gas station off Exit 28. I signal to Dex and Jigsaw as I change lanes. Murphy nods at me as I roll up next to him.

“’Sup, brother?” he asks, clutching my hand and pulling me in. “How’d it go?”

“Good.” Although, I doubt Murphy would make a joke about it, I’m not in the mood to whine to him—or anyone else—about how much I’m already missing Shelby.

After a quick run inside, we pull out of the parking lot and head to Zips. I’ve only been to the racetrack Eraser owns a handful of times. Racing doesn’t interest me all that much. Seems more like an excuse to piss away money on car parts and betting to make a guy feel better about his dick size. Since I’m pretty confident in the dick department, the whole posturing, trash-talking, and gambling scene bores the shit out of me.

Beyond my lack of interest in racing, I’m not as convinced as Murphy and Z that we even need a support club. Support clubs have always been more trouble than they’re worth in my experience. The thought of having to ride out here on a regular basis to “mentor” these little punks couldn’t be more unappealing when there’s a certain little sassy singer on the road I’d rather visit.

But I’m here to observe and assist my brothers, so I’ll keep my opinions to myself. For now.

When the time comes, though, what’s right for the club will have to be my priority whether it fucks up my plans or not.