Hell, the prospect’s done good, even though it looks complicated to me, far more difficult than building a simple house. Still, the subject might get Trip’s attention. I beckon to him to pass me the box.
“Trip,” I say gently. “Look what they’ve brought you. You’ll have fun making this.” I put the picture in his line of sight, and then open the box to show all the pieces inside. “You think you can build this before I come home?”
For a moment there’s no reaction, then, at last, he reaches out his hands. I give the box to him. Taking a risk, I let him go, and when he makes no abrupt movement, I stand.
“Why don’t you take it into the kitchen and use the table?” I let out a huge sigh of relief when he does what I suggest.
Then I turn to my visitors. “I’m fuckin’ sorry you had to see him like this.”
“Don’t apologise,” Trixie snaps smartly. “It is what it is. Christ knows how overwhelming his change of circumstances must be to that kid. It would be enough to mess up a normal child, let alone one who’s been brought up like he has, and given his issues. Short, it’s great he understood you were leaving without him, just a shame about his reaction. But hopefully we can make sure he has a great time today, so it might make it easier in the future.” She holds up a bag. “I’ve brought shit to make cookies. Even if he doesn’t want to help bake them, he might enjoy the taste.”
Heathen looks at me, and a look of understanding goes between us. “Might not be your size.” He waves at himself and chuckles. “But I’m still bigger than him. If he needs corralling, I’m sure I’m up to the task. Which reminds me. Bullseye wants you at the club half an hour ago, so you need to get on your bike.”
“I’ll just?—”
Trixie looks thoughtful and stops me. “It might make it worse if you say goodbye. Just go, Short. We’ll take it from here.”
I hate leaving him, but I’ve no option. “Call me, yeah? Call if there’s any problem.”
“Just fucking go, Short,” Trixie instructs me. “We’ve got this.”
“Thank—”
“Just go.” Heathen grins. “We’ve got a motorcycle to build.”
Ifucking goas Trixie had put it, but feel torn as I get my bike out of the garage. Torn between the boy I’m now responsible for, and my loyalty to the Kings. But as I ride, I realise I’m no good to anyone with a foot in each camp. I have to trust Trip’s in good hands, and switch my concentration to the club I swore an oath to protect.
The road disappearing beneath my wheels, and the wind in my face, clears my head. By the time I ride onto the compound, I’m one hundred percent focused on why Doc’s put in an appearance today. But when I enter the clubhouse and head straight for Bullseye’s office, Freak appears and bars my way.
I try to move around him, growling, “Prez told me to come as soon as I can.”
He places his hand on my chest. “And I’m here to ensure you’re in the right headspace.” He shakes his head, and before I can try to get past him again, he quickly informs me, “You’re not going to like some things Doc has to say. Give me your piece and whatever weapons you’re carrying.”
“Fuck that,” I tell him. “I want to kill Doc for what he’s done to my ol’ lady and son.”
“Short!” Bullseye’s voice makes me turn to him. He’s exited his office and closed the door. “Brother, I gotta be able to trust you. I want to put a bullet in that fucker’s head myself, but he’s got intel we need to get out of him.” He gives me an assessing look. “Give your weapons to Freak. I ain’t taking any chances.”
“Prez—”
“No, Short. Bear with me on this.” His face suddenly twists in a lopsided grin. “If it helps, I can assure you Doc won’t be leaving the compound today. Or, not in one piece and breathing.”
Prez has given Doc a death sentence?I stare at him, wondering what’s happened to put Doc’s misdemeanours abovethe service he provides to the club. Must be dire to be prepared to lose our access to no-questions-asked medical treatment.
“You serious?” I ask.
“As a fuckin’ heart attack.”
Reluctantly, I hand my piece and knives over to Freak, acknowledging Prez is probably right. I’m only one step away from putting a bullet in Doc’s head just for the reason of being in the same room as him. One thing they seem to have forgotten, though, I’ve still got my fists. I won’t point it out to them. I don’t want to end up wearing handcuffs.
Tense, wondering what the fuck Doc had to say that has Prez invoking the death sentence, I follow him and the enforcer into Prez’s office.
Saint is perched, leaning against the desk, while Doc sits in a chair in front of it, casually plucking at his suit jacket cuffs. Both look up as Prez, Freak, and I enter.
“Can we get on with this?” Doc states, as calmly as any man who believes he holds all the cards.
Taking his seat behind his desk, Prez settles his stare on the man sitting opposite. “We’ve told you already, we don’t know where your daughter and son are.”
“Know where my fucking daughter is,” he growls. “She’s at the hospital. We’ve already gone over this. I need you to intercept her on her way in or out of work, so I can find out where she’s stashed Trip.”
