If you want to keep your identity a secret you better not send someone in a cut
Nero:
Don’t be a little bitch, it doesn’t suit you
Jesse:
Just following the rules
Nero:
How is he?
Jesse:
Changing the subject. Now who’s the bitch…
Jesse:
He’s fine
He won’t say anything more. Even though our phones are encrypted, thanks to Blaze my tech guy, we never discuss Oscar by name. I don’t know what I would do without him helping me out right now.
Part of me wants to text back telling him we need a serious talk. I mean, he’s the CEO of an international finance company, and he’s hanging out with a two-year-old.
Whether he wants to hear it or not, I’m still worried about this latest visit to the diabetes clinic.
One thing is for sure, he’s right about not showing up there with a huge identifier as to who we are.
I can send a Prospect. It’s what I should do…
Nero:
I’ll sort it
From the buzzing I know he’s replied and sent another two texts for good measure. I ignore them all and head downstairs. Stryker is leaning against the wall in the rec area next to the TV that is almost as large as the wall it’s hanging on.
I don’t know how Blaze got it, and I don’t want to know but it entertains the guys and keeps things quiet here. They want to get rowdy, they go to the bar next door. I lift my chin at Stryker and head for the door. He follows me without a word, or even a microscopic change in his facial structure.
Rebel is leaning over his sister talking quietly. He spots me heading out, but I wave it off. Raven gives me a look that makes her brother bitch at her until she looks away. I’d never go there. Raven is beautiful, with her dark hair and eyes, but she is trouble I can do without.
Hell, the one and only time I messed around with one of the guy’s sisters, I got her pregnant.
She said it was a faulty condom. It wasn’t a way to control me or get something from me. It was a genuine mistake on both our parts, one with lifelong repercussions forcing us to remain attached.
Sheridan doesn’t want anything from me. She only wants what Oscar is rightfully owed, a dad, and financial support.
“We need a cage,” I tell Stryker. “I’ve got to do a pickup.”
Stryker nods. He’s a quiet guy, keeps to himself mostly. Except when he’s fighting. He’s been making his way up the ranks in an underground statewide cage fighting circuit. He’s good enough to go professional and is a star attraction when he does fight, but he will never do it. To him, the fighting is a release, a way to pass time and get out all the rage bottled up inside of him.
I’m not worried he’s going to leave the club anytime soon. Stryker is as loyal as they come. I’m only mildly concerned he wants to talk. He disappears back inside to find the keys to one of the cars we keep around when taking the bikes isn’t possible.
When he comes back, we head to the warehouse next to the bar and get into a black soft top jeep that officially belongs to Beast. We share all the cages, the name we give cars amongst the MC, because that is exactly what it feels like when you’re riding around in one, instead of on a bike.
The clinic isn’t too far from my house in Fairmount, but it takes about twenty minutes to get there from the clubhouse. Plenty of time for Stryker to tell me why he needed to talk. I let him get to it in his own time, my mind occupied with my own thoughts.
What exactly am I doing? Taylor isn’t going to be thrilled to see me. That kind of makes me feel better about doing this. She’s a firecracker for sure. Not even my most menacing glare or my shitty behavior stopped her from speaking her mind and calling me out. It was in defense of Jesse, so I can let it pass. Maybe.
