“No, there’s at least three in one of the boxes in the closet,” Wilder says.
We tried our best to clean, set things up, and then hide our mess. It’s not perfect, but better than you’d expect from three nomadic bikers.
“Okay, I’ll be back,” I murmur, feeling nervous. “Do you think she’ll be upset that we’ll have to leave town soon?”
Ace called me today to tell me there’s a hiccup with one of the deliveries. I need to figure it out, make sure the club who paid for the parts gets what he wants, and avoid any further issues. If it’s a supplier that’s getting greedy, then I need to nip that shit in the bud.
I have a good reputation with the Knotted Anarchy charters, I don’t want that to change.
“Soon as in tonight?” Wilder snorts. “I doubt Marie will like it. I did my best to explain that we should pay for our mistakes. Instead of her punishing us forever.”
“Do you think she’ll be pissed we bought her a car?” I ask, feeling a bit smug. “Ace’s uncle told me he could sell the car for scraps if Marie agrees. She shouldn’t be driving it. He keeps finding things that are wrong with the car and is beginning to feel guilty about taking her money to fix it.”
“He definitely feels protective over Marie,” Storm says, walking to the closet to find the blankets. “She will definitely be pissed about the car. I suggest giving her lots of orgasms so she’ll just think we’re wonderful.”
“Good plan,” I mutter, walking to the door. Pulling on my boots, I tie the laces and make sure I have what I need. “See ya later.”
I can feel the nerves in the room skyrocket, and my hand stills on the door handle as I begin to open it.
“I’m armed, and I’m just going up the street,” I remind them.
“We know,” Storm says quickly, jogging up the stairs to the roof. “It’ll be fine.”
Years of never letting me go anywhere alone are hard to break. Pulling open the door, I walk through it and lock up behind me before I head down the steps to my bike. We’ve been parked in front of the brownstone for roughly the past two days, and no one has batted an eye. It’s an upper middle classneighborhood, so it’s nice to see that we’ll be able to settle in here.
Granted, it’s still early days yet. It’s a Saturday, and the quiet neighborhood is buzzing with activity for how early in the morning it is.
“Hey, mister!” a little boy yells. “Watch out!”
I jump back as I look around, finding a ball flying in my direction. Reaching out, I catch the football, looking down at the eight year old as he comes running with wide eyes.
“Wow, that was a great catch,” he breathes. “I’m really sorry about that. I’m not supposed to throw the ball like that. We’re going down to the park.”
“You and what army?” I tease him, leaning down to hand him the ball. It’s a little before five in the morning, and I have no idea why they’re all up so early.
A group of boys surround him, making me realize that there’s a lot more kids in the area than I originally thought.
“Our parents won’t let us go alone,” another boy says. “Mom says it’s not safe. We’re planning a game of touch football. This is the best time to stake our claim on the park before it gets busy.”
“She’s not wrong,” I murmur, straightening to my full height. “Stay together, yeah? Maybe avoid strangers.”
“Like you?” the boy who threw the ball asks, a grin on his lips.
“Meh, I’m pretty safe,” I shrug. “I gotta go pick up my girl before I’m late. Have fun.”
“My mom always says there’s nothing worse than being late,” one of the kids says with a shudder.
“She’s right,” I chuckle, walking to my bike. They watch as I pull out my helmet and put it on, and their jaws drop as they hear the engine roar. I’m not exactly quiet, and I’m sure one of their parents will grumble about it in the future.
Oh well, I can't keep everyone happy. They apparently have children that are involved in turf wars for the best time to playat the park so I’m sure it’ll be fine. Walking the bike out of the parking space, I gun the engine to merge into traffic. I only get lost once as I drive to the hospital, and find Marie walking out as I cruise up to the doors.
“Hey, gorgeous,” I say, taking in her tired smile. “Come give me a hug.”
Her feet are slow to move, but it’s because she’s exhausted. Worried, I message Wilder quickly that he should make her a smoothie as well. It might take less effort to suck on a straw.
Me:
She’s fucking dead on her feet. I vote for a nap on the roof.
