Reckless Truths (Lost Kings MC)

“I know,” she says in a soothing voice. “You’re a big girl. About to go out into the big bad world.”

Sheesh, no respect from anyone.

“All right.” I push her away.

“Rock, you sure this is a good idea?” Trinity asks.

“I’m having second thoughts every minute, Trinny,” he answers.

“You guys are the worst,” I mutter.

Someone knocks on our front door and pushes it open without waiting for an answer. My big brother strides into the living room and I rush toward him. “Marcel, please be the voice of reason.”

He takes one look at all the assembled members of our family. “What’s wrong?”

“Grace thinks I give a crap about whatever dumb stuff she and Alexa want to do while we’re on tour,” Chance answers.

“Watch your mouth. Your permission can be revoked at any time too,” Z warns his son.

Chance shoots a crap-laced grin at his dad. “No, it can’t.”

“See! I knew it!” I explode, throwing my arms in the air.

“Where are Charlotte and the kids?” my dad asks Marcel.

“Charlotte and Ivy are still at the house. Ivan stopped at the clubhouse to talk to Lincoln.”

“When’d Grinder get up here?” Dad stands.

“How should I know?” Marcel shrugs.

Dad mutters something at my brother that isn’t kid appropriate.

“Come here, kid.” Marcel wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me outside onto the deck.

“Marcel, it’s not fair.” I hurry to explain my side of the story. “Alexa and I are the ones who came up with the plan to work for Aunt Shelby and—”

“If you think there’s any way you two are going on this tour without someone else looking out for you, you’re out of your mind.”

“But Uncle Jiggy will be there and—”

“Doesn’t matter. Be thankful we’re all not riding along.”

Oh, yikes. That would be worse. “Grrr.”

“Quit being a brat.” Geez, he sounds just like Dad when he uses that tone.

This is the problem with having a much older brother. He sides with my parents way too often.

I blow out an exasperated breath.

Shaking his head, he pulls an envelope out of his cut. “Take this.”

I peek inside. “What’s that?”

“Cash. People used that in the olden days to buy things,” he explains in a slow, mocking tone.

I roll my eyes at him. “I know that. Dad already gave me some.”