Chapter Seven:
1988
Laney
I had sworn to my mom on her deathbed that I would never get involved with a biker. Yet there I was, living with one, working for a club, and fantasizing about another.
Sure, one was my dad—if you could call him that—and the job part was just while I saved the cash to help me through college, even though Gauge said I didn’t need to worry about that.
But the fantasizing part, that one was all on me.
“Sorry, Mom,” I muttered, swinging my hips as I followed Gauge through the clubhouse.
“You say something, Laney?” Gauge asked, looking back over his shoulder, his dark eyes moving over my face. I could see what my mom had loved about him so much—thick dark hair, dark brooding eyes, and a body made of steel—what wasn’t to like? Of course, I could just as easily see why she hated him too: he was a selfish, womanizing asshole, who only thought with two parts of his body—the hand that was shooting, and his dick that was fucking.
My mom’s heart never stood a chance against him.
I scowled at him. “Yeah, I said ‘fuck off and die,’” I snapped and stalked away from Gauge.
“Fucking bitch!” he called as I stormed away.
“Eat shit, asshole!” I yelled back. I held up my middle finger to him without bothering to turn around, and I could barely contain my grin when I heard some of his club brothers laughing at him.
Good.
I hated him. I still had no idea why my mom had thought I would be better off living with him than with any of her friends. I was a capable woman, and I’d once been a capable child. I could handle my own, and what I couldn’t handle, her friends had always helped me with. Sure, they were all prostitutes, but they were people too—good people—and they loved me like a daughter.
Gauge mumbled something in return, but he’d backed down—which was good, because I was lucky in that I got both my mom’s and my dad’s stubbornness, and Gauge never won a fight against me. Ever. Stubborn genes and the perks of living with a group of strong, independent women: I wasn’t afraid to stick up for myself.
I passed by Pops at the bar and gave him a little wave. He was looking sick, I realized. Not just old, but actually sick. His paper-thin skin was sallow and pale, and his eyes didn’t hold that spark like they once had.
“Everything okay?” I asked him, pausing before I went through to the kitchen.
Pops raised a beer bottle in my direction. “Never been better.” He grinned, but it was obvious he was full of shit and not feeling good at all.
“Maybe hold back on the beer today, and let me grab you a coffee instead, huh?” I asked, genuinely concerned.
He scowled at me. “Next you’ll be offering me some green tea and some brown fucking rice to help keep my blood pressure down! I’m fine, girl, now leave me to my beer!”
I rolled my eyes. “All right! No need to be a dick about it, Pops!” I snapped back and pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. No point in arguing with a man intent on killing himself. Because that’s what was happening, though no one else seemed to notice. Either that or they weren’t too concerned by it. But I’d seen that type of thing once before. I was little—real little—but the image still haunted me even now.
The kitchen was a hive of noise when I walked inside. Some of the old ladies were already there working on fixing a large meal for everyone. Gauge had said that there was a big meet that night—a couple of different clubs meeting up to party and discuss business. He said he’d be getting a prospect to drop me off at home later, before the party started, but for the time being he wanted to know exactly where I was and what I was up to. The safest place for me was apparently there.
Silvie—Hardy’s girlfriend—looked up and smiled. “Get your skinny butt over here and help me out, Laney.”
I smiled back, because I liked her—always had—and I really hoped that Hardy intended on keeping her around. He hadn’t made her his official old lady yet, but all the men knew to keep their hands off of her or they’d lose them to one of Hardy’s butcher knives. That man did not like people messing with his stuff, and whether Silvie was wearing Hardy’s patch or not, she was definitely something of his.
I made my way over to her, shrugging out of my black hoodie and dropping it onto an empty work surface before taking the knife she handed me. I continued chopping up the steaks she was prepping, while she seasoned them and put them on a big plate ready to be barbequed later that night.
She leaned in and kissed the side of my face, and I blushed. “How you doing, sweetheart? We haven’t seen you for a while,” she asked, walking to one of the cupboards and opening it.
Silvie was a beautiful woman, in a classical sense. She didn’t wear much makeup because she didn’t need it. She had thick long dark hair, and dark brown eyes which were always practically covered by her thick bangs.
“I’m good,” I replied, really not wanting to go into details. My life was pretty much an open book, thanks to the club. It was like being part of a small town, and everyone knew everyone else’s business. And of course, everyone always had an opinion. The only things private were the things I kept locked up inside my head, and I was certain that Gauge wanted to know those thoughts too. As I’d gotten older, he’d got worse, always stating that I needed to cover up because he’d end up going to prison for murder due to the way other men were looking at me.
River and Charlie, two of the other old ladies, came out of the big walk-in pantry giggling. Their eyes lit up when they saw me and I smiled over at them.
“That dad of yours still riding your ass about school?” Silvie asked.
