She looks up from DJ’s face, more confused than I’ve ever seen her. It’s like the thought genuinely never crossed her mind. Fucking mother of the year.
“Let me get this straight, Dylan. You want me to celebrate my child's first birthday and the anniversary of becoming a mom by having a joint party with you and your wife, the woman you started cheating on me with a few months after I gave birth? That’s the love fest you had in mind?”
Shit. I should’ve known she’d bring it back around to that.
“Fine. I’ll organize my own celebration for my son.”
“As you should,” she says with a shrug. “Maybe one day we’ll be in a place where we can all celebrate together, once DJ is old enough to detect animosity or to express that he wants both of us there, but right now I want to celebrate surviving everything that happened to me in the last year, and I want to do it my way with people who care about me.”
“Fine. See you next week,” I say icily and stalk off to my car.
I can throw my own damn party. I was trying to be nice, but I should’ve known it was pointless.
The only thing binding us is a court-mandated agreement because we share a son. I’d do well to remember that in the future.
On the drive back, I decide I’m gonna hire the people who catered our wedding party at the club. I’ll tell them to decorate the whole place with cool boy stuff like cars and excavators. Andwolf pup pictures, cause my boy is a future Gray Wolf, despite living with those pathetic losers.
The woman’s name was Sheila, but that’s about all that I can remember. I call Bell to ask, but she doesn’t pick up. She’s probably busy playing with Ryder or yapping with Angie.
It’s nothing urgent, but I’m so worked up after Marissa’s lecture that planning this fucking party is the only thing I can think about.
I decide to go to the clubhouse first.
One moment, I’m discussing the party with Angie and Rebel.
“Not at the house,” Rebel tells us sharply. “The backyard hasn’t been properly cared for in years, and we don’t have time to fix it up for the party. We’ll have it here, at the clubhouse.”
The next, there are several loud bangs, a cloud of smoke, and dozens of SWAT agents decked out in full gear swarming the common room, yelling, “DEA! FBI!”
My ears are ringing.
It’s like something out of a movie.
There’s a lot of, “Down on the ground!”
“Get down!”
“Show me your hands!”
My body is quick to catch up. I’m lying on my stomach with my fingers intertwined on the back of my head before I know it.
My mind, on the other hand, is none the wiser.
“What the fuck is happening?” I whisper to Rebel.
“It’s a raid,” she says grimly.
“Don’t move!” One of the agents yells at someone.
“Shut up and call our lawyer!” Prez shouts as they’re dragging him away.
Chapter 27
Slim
“Hello?” Marissa answers the phone apprehensively, like she’s worried I’m calling from the supermarket again.
Two weeks ago, I unthinkingly called her to ask which garbage bags we usually get, and it was beyond awkward for both of us. I returned home without any.
