“My father was never mean or cruel. Just didn’t have good judgment, and no matter how many times he was proven wrong, he always thought his fortune was just around the corner.” I mash my lips together. “He was a perpetual dreamer.”
“Some guys never grow up, while I had to grow up way too fuckin’ fast.”
Interesting how he skirts the issues of his childhood without giving too much information.
“My mother always felt it was her job to save my father, and after she died . . .” My throat tightens. “I took on the responsibility even though I knew deep down I couldn’t change him or help him.”
“It’s tough when the roles of a kid and a parent are reversed.” His voice holds regret with a strong dose of anger.
I stare into Deuce’s dark eyes. I never would’ve expected such insight from an outlaw.
Embarrassed by my scrutiny, he shrugs. “Just some more bullshit I got from the prison shrink.”
“Very perceptive.” Even more intriguing that he actually listened to what his therapist said. My experience with most outlaw bikers was they didn’t listen to anybody, no less someone trying to analyze them.
Deuce finishes off the last of his coffee, and I take the cup from him to refill it. “There is something else we should discuss.”
When I return to the living room with a fresh cup for both of us, he takes his and waits.
“The money. Or the money that might be hidden somewhere in this building.” I sip at the hot brew. “How do I know if, during the renovations, one of your guys finds it and keeps it for himself?”
“That money, if it’s here, is yours.”
“As simple as that?”
“Yup, ‘cause I’ll put the word out that anything found in the floorboards or walls is yours.”
“And you think they’ll agree?”
“They will if they wanna keep breathing. I’m their prez, what I say goes, and anybody who refuses has to answer to me.”
“Sounds good in theory, but . . .”
“Our loyalty stays right here.” He taps the one-percent patch on his cut. “Brothers and club above all. Including a shit-ton of money.”
I stick out my hand. “I still want the contract that lays out the work you’re going to do, the amount of rent paid me, and that I’m allowed to stay here.” I point to my ankle bracelet. “Since I don’t have too much of a choice on that.”
We shake on my words, and his hand lingers, then he squeezes my palm and releases my hand.
He nods to the monitor. “How much longer you gotta wear that shit?”
I follow his gaze. Normally, I hide the device at all costs, but I didn’t mind being exposed in front of him. “Another two months.”
He reaches out, his thumb brushing the edge of the monitor. “May.”
My first instinct is to pull my leg away from his touch, but I don’t. “The exact date is May fifteenth.”
“At least you’ll have it off before the summer.”
“I’m not worried about my tan.” I huff out a humorless laugh.
“Just sayin’, some nice beach days in May and June before the summer crowd.”
I stay silent as those dark eyes of his pierce through me, but I refuse to look away.
“Spent most of my adult life at the shore, and I’ve always thought the best days of the whole fuckin’ summer are the beginning of June. Days are not too hot, and the nights are still cool.”
Is he trying to wow me with his knowledge of weather at the Jersey Shore?
