“Yeah.”
“You ride Angel’s bike back to the club.”
“What about him?”
“He’s gonna ride bitch.” It’s a chore getting him settled but once on, I assure him, “Don’t worry, darlin’, I’ll get you home safe.”
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he mumbles, leaning against me.
We ride the backstreets, keeping out of sight of the police. I take each corner with care making sure Angel doesn’t fall off.
Darius helps me carry him into the club and I call for Rudi.
“Here,” Warren offers, clearing the bar.
The three of us lay him down. Rudi runs down the stairs and debates whether to freak out or kick into nurse mode. I help her out. “He’ll be fine, but you need your kit.”
It helps and she moves into action. Dashing into the kitchen, she returns with a box and moves Darius and Warren out of her way.
“Where were you hit, babe? Or is it just your neck?”
Before he can answer, I tell her, “Just his neck.”
While she does her thing, I face the rest of the brothers. “Anyone hurt?”
Most are unscathed, apart from King. He’s holding his arm while drinking his beer.
“Feels like a through and through.”
I nod. “See Rudes when she’s done with Angel.”
“Sure.”
Darius helps himself to a shot of whiskey and holds it up. “We got ‘em.” He shoots his shot back and goes on to pour another.
We fucking did it. I fall onto the nearest chair and exhale the weeks of uncertainty. What I wouldn’t give for a celebratory cigarette right now.
Darius joins me and the lucky prick lights up.
“With two of yours dead, the police are gonna come knocking on your door.”
“I’ll handle it.”
Now everyone has their wounds fixed up, I head upstairs. Tor is fast asleep, her leg poking out of the sheets inviting me to wake her and kiss my way up her thigh. Yet my son has other plans for me. He’s sat up in his cot, wide awake.
“Look at you, sitting up.”
Reaching for him, I pick him up and though it should be illegal to walk past my wife, I take my son downstairs so he doesn’t wake her. The bar is empty, and I walk into the kitchen to find the prospect on the phone. Keeping my back to him, I take out a bottle of milk and warm it ready for River.
“I’ve got him where we want him. He asked me to move in earlier tonight, I told him I could never live in sin, that I would need a ring.”
While the bottle warms in the microwave, I lean against the counter, and me and my son watch the prospect on his call.
“Okay, call me tomorrow.”
He ends the call and focuses on me.
“I take it that was your mom?”
