Teagan
“WHERE IS IT?” Dad demanded.
“Where’s what?”
“The fake,” he growled.
I bit my lip. My father, Logan “Mack” Reed was the secretary for the Dogs of Fire Motorcycle Club and built like a Mack truck, hence the name. He has been married to my mother for over a quarter of a century, and they are still in love just as much today as yesterday.
He is also a lawyer.
Which meant, us kids (my big sisters Harper and Huxley, and our baby brother, Grayson) got away with nothing. Or next to nothing, anyway.
Like planning my best friend Daisy’s twenty-first birthday party. Our girl group went to a club to celebrate, and Tillie, Ace’s daughter, had procured me a fake I.D.
Which brings me to now.
My father had discovered my little stunt and showed up at the club, dragging me out.
“Fake, what?”
“I swear to Christ, Teagan, if you continue with this sass—”
“What, Dad? Are you going to ground me? I’m twenty years old.”
“Living under my fucking roof while I foot the goddamn bill for your life.”
I huffed. “You’refooting it? I think Mom might have something to say about that.”
His knuckles bleached white as he gripped the steering wheel. “One more word, and I’ll fucking cut you off, kick you out, and drop you off.”
“Drop me off where?”
“The bus stop, the army recruiting center, the nearest convent. You can pick.”
I was currently in law school (having gotten in early because I’d done a fast-track program through high-school), and my parents were allowing me to live at home while they paid my tuition, which was a bone of contention because I wasn’t doing well. I wasn’t failing, but I was close. I also had a job working for my father during summers and breaks, and admittedly, he paid me far more than ‘market value.’
“Don’t be dramatic, big man.”
“You want drama?” he hissed. “I’ll create so much drama for you, you’ll shit out an Oscar.”
“Ew, gross.”
“And an Emmy, and that bitch looks sharp.”
“Daddy, don’t be disgusting.”
“Keep talking and your asshole will be a goddamn EGOT.”
I rolled my eyes. “Mom would never let you cut me off.”
“Try me,” he growled. “Hand it over.”
I dug the phony ID out of my purse and dropped it in the middle console.
“Now the real one.”
“Real what?” I asked.
