I was still looking down at the town when the bike rambled up the road, heading toward the clubhouse.
I watched it approach.
Then there he was.
Colter.
Climbing off his bike.
“You walked?” he asked.
“I’m driving a moving truck. Would have been weird to show up here in it.”
“Why are you driving a moving truck?” he asked, head cocked to the side.
“Because all I have is a bike. And I couldn’t get out of town with that and Sugar. A moving truck seemed like the best bet. Your president wants me to come back tomorrow at seven,” I told him. “I guess I’ll see you then. What are you doing?” I asked when he fell into step beside me.
“Walking you home,” he said, shrugging.
“I don’t need an escort.”
“Maybe not. That’s not gonna stop me.”
I shot him a sideways look. “What are you, a chivalrous biker?”
“Is that so unheard of?”
“Yes.”
“That was a fast response.”
“I’ve known a lot of bikers,” I reminded him.
“And no good ones?” he asked. “Your old man…”
“My father was a chauvinistic and misogynistic asshole who treated women like shit,” I admitted.
“Even you?”
“I’m a woman, aren’t I?” I asked. “I mean… he was protective of me as a kid. But once I started actually looking like an adult, he was as dismissive of me as he was about the clubwhores.”
“But he left you the club.”
“That might be a generous way of putting it,” I admitted, pausing when Sugar wanted to sniff something a little harder. “He died. I was the next of kin. After probate, it was in my hands. Mortgaged to the fucking hilt. It took a lot of work to get his mess sorted out.”
“He could have been a dick and left it to the next guy in the club.”
“Oh, his club fell apart a few years before he died. Everyone started dipping into the supply.”
“Heroin?”
“Meth. Eventually, there was no product to sell. And they would be too wasted to make any new. Eventually, they just all went their separate ways.”
“And your dad?”
“Meth weakened his heart. Eventually, he had a series of strokes. And then… that was it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
