Chapter 7—Bass
Chapter 7— Bass
“W oman has jokes.” I force a laugh, even if nothing is funny in what she said.
“Do I look like the type to make fun of something like this?” Her neck does this back-and-forth thing that reminds me of a chicken a bit. If she weren’t holding her hands so tightly in fists, I bet she’d be swinging.
I take the invitation, even if she didn’t mean it like that, and scan every inch of her body that I can see. I’m sitting far enough away from the table that I can see more than just her top half, and I take my time taking her in. Her jeans are dark and tight on her, as is her black shirt, not that she’s showing much skin. It’s not a plunging neckline, just a U-shape to give a hint of cleavage as she cages in her girls. And they ain’t little based on the stretch of the material over them. She might not be trying to entice, but she sure is doing a good job of it. She’s also showing that she was waiting, ready for the attack. Dressed in dark colors to blend in with the shadows. Hair pulled back to keep it away from her face so it didn’t obstruct her view. Nothing about her says victim, but I don’t think I would call her a soldier either.
“You look like a lot of things.” I draw out the pause, looking her over again, and earn a cocked eyebrow from her that I secretly love getting. “But you sure don’t look like you’re from here.”
“We’ve been over this before. I’m from Brooklyn. Get it right, redneck.” She crosses her arms, and I bet she thought her name for me would piss me off, but it just makes me smile. I’ve been called worse, and I ain’t about to let slip where I’m from like she did. I half expected her attitude earlier to be fake, a con of some sort, but she keeps insisting, and she doesn’t seem like the lying type. Sure, she’s holding shit in and not giving more than she needs to, but not blatantly lying in your face for the fun of it. If she does it, it’s to survive.
“Why would the Russians be after you?” Casper asks with narrowed eyes, no doubt trying to figure it out before she says it.
“Ollie’s dad.”
Her words take a bit of wind out of our sails. Going after an adult is one thing; going after a kid is another. I look at Chains and see his jaw tense. He isn’t the only brother who had someone go after their kid, but he’s the only one who had it happen more than the rest.
“What about him?” Law asks with a softer tone as he sits back in his chair and props his feet up on the table. He might not show it like Chains, but I imagine he’s just as twisted up about it, no doubt thinking of his Ruby and the attack on her a while back.
“He wants Ollie.”
Her quick answer doesn’t deter Law. “That it?”
“Pretty much. He sees him as his property and wants him back. I don’t want him to have him. Plain and simple.”
“Nothing simple about three dead bodies,” Casper says in a cold tone .
“What can I say? He really wants him back. But, for obvious reasons, I’m not handing him over.” Obvious because they’re using lethal weapons to get him from her.
“And the fake name you gave us was your way of keeping him from finding you.” Gator makes it a statement, one she nods at as she looks at him.
The rest of us look at him to explain further, but she does it for him. “Only the last name was fake. Didn’t want me or Ollie to slip up and call each other our real names in front of people.”
The woman is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one. A fact I’m sure I’m not the only one noticing as we sit and talk to her.
I look at my boss and watch him take it all in. It’s his call. The club might vote on long term, but right now, this is on him.
He looks at Casper, and they share a silent conversation. Casper isn’t the VP, but he’s got a handle on most things around here, plus a level head. Milly wasn’t wrong in thinking he has the potential to be a club president. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ventured out and took up the start of a sister chapter in a few years. Not that he’s mentioned ever wanting to, but you can see it in his eyes—the need to lead, to call the shots. He might have been a sniper in the past, taking orders when given, but never doubt that he was the one who made the ultimate choice about who lived or died.
“I’ll take care of it,” Casper says a second before he stands and goes to get Kooper and Domino from “Ollie watch” before they exit out the back of the club.
“What’s he taking care of?” The quickness in her voice gives away her sudden fear .
“Put out the call. Church in the morning.” Law stands as he addresses Gator, who nods. “I’ll get with General.” He walks back to the clinic that General went to earlier, Gator on his heels.
“General? To do what? What’s going on?” She’s practically bouncing in her seat with her questions, but we continue to overlook them.
“I’ll take the bunk. Why not get you and your lot to the rooms? Take mine if you need it,” I say to Chains. He nods before going to get his woman and kids off to bed.
“Hey, you going to answer me or keep on ignoring me?” She seethes beside me, and since we’re the only two remaining, I smirk.
“But you’re so much more fun to watch when you’re annoyed.” It’s not a lie—she really is enjoyable to watch all flustered-like. “Let’s go.” I stand and tuck the chair under the table.
“Go? Go where?” she sputters as I pull her up, fighting me all the way, but I don’t let her get away. I might not show it naturally, but my grip can be made of steel when I want it to.
“To get your kid and take you to bed. Figured a few hours of sleep would be better on a bed than on a couch that’s usually used by the boys being sucked off.”
My words have the desired effect, as she all but sprints to her kid and picks him up.
I honestly have no clue where the boys get blown by a vamp, but I wouldn’t put it past them to use the couch. We ain’t the behind-closed-doors type. Sure, we usually do, but sometimes things get hot and heavy out in the open. No one says anything unless there’s a kid present. Then we quickly shut that shit down. Other than that, we’re all adults, so who the fuck cares where you get your dick sucked as long as it’s by someone willing and doesn’t start shit for the club?
The boys who are still in the main room laugh right along with me but say nothing more. It speaks to them being tired, and I’m one of them.
With a nod for her to follow me, I head for the bunk room we use for out-of-towners. Atom brings up the rear to keep her coming but veers off to his room when I enter the bunk space.
I watch her look around and then select the bunk at the back, sliding her kid in on the lower bunk before following him. She turns her back to him, keeping him closed in by the wall while she looks out. Protective mother if I ever saw one.
I slide into a lower bunk close to the door but at an angle that I can see her. It gives the impression of privacy for her, but we both know what I’m really doing: blocking the path for her to leave. I settle in and sigh heavily to myself. This isn’t how I expected my first night back to go. Sure, I knew I’d probably crash at the clubhouse and not my house, but I thought I would at least be in my bed, maybe even have a vamp to keep me warm. Instead, I’m on freaking babysitting duty, since I don’t have a family to get home to and am the lightest sleeper in the group who’s still up.
In the morning, I’m going to remind the club that I’m due some R&R. Something that was talked about for months before I came home. This is a onetime deal—I’m not about to play babysitter for another night. Especially on a bed that sucks.
“No. Hell no. Not only no, but not in any fucking way, no,” I know I say it, since it’s my words coming out of my mouth, but not one person is listening.
“Clubhouse ain’t a place for a kid.” Law says it like it’s that obvious. Like that should make a difference in my choice. It doesn’t.
“Who gives a fuck? Kid’s grown, knows how to pull a gun and everything. You want him to be watched, keep him here. He ain’t coming to my place.” I keep saying it, but no one is hearing me.
“You got the space.” This from Casper. At least the fucker ain’t smiling like I would be if the shoe was on the other foot.
“So do half the boys here. Hell, even the prospects have space to place a woman and child.” Can no one hear me? Why do I have to keep repeating myself?
“You have the security.”
Boom. There it is. The one thing that shuts me up, and Bulldog, the VP, knows it well. His eyes stay locked on me as I stare him down. It takes a second, but I finally concede and look down with a shake of my head.
Fucking hell.
“Know it ain’t what you want to hear, but it’s what’s needed,” Law says, and I keep my head down to avoid him seeing me glare.
Last fucking time I sleep in. Figured I was in the clear since the woman hadn’t woken up either when I chanced a look at my phone in the early morning. Big mistake. Huge. A few solid hours of sleep got me on fucking babysitting duty for the foreseeable future, since I missed out on the meeting that decided what to do with her. Since it wasn’t officially Church being called, the boys didn’t feel the need to wake me. Or so they say. Pretty sure Law said Church was in the morning, but I never got the last text alerting me of the time till after it happened. A few side glances at some brothers let me know they did it for a reason— this being the reason.
“How long?” I all but growl. It’s the most I’ve ever been hostile toward the club, and the collective inhale from the group around me lets me know they heard and recognized it.
When no one answers right away, I look up and see them glancing at each other, uncertainty on their faces. No doubt they didn’t get to the timeline part before I walked in on them talking like a bunch of old biddies gossiping at the grocery checkout.
“It’ll take me a few days to run her, and the ones she and you took out, through the system,” Flint says as a way of making peace. I almost feel bad for the guy, since I know he’s beating himself up about missing this threat. It’s happened a few times before, and each time he’s learned a lesson, but sometimes they keep coming. He’s good, but in the tech world, sometimes the best and hardest lessons come from missing something only to learn what to look for the next time. No one faults him for the misses—he never does it on purpose or because of lack of trying. He just never looked at it from that angle till the time had already passed.
“A week.” Law makes the call and sets the standard.
Flint relaxes, probably just glad to have a few extra days to narrow things down and not have to pull all-nighters to get the information. Not that he won’t, but now he doesn’t have to. Two completely different things.
Unlike me. I grind my teeth and wonder if I’m due for another dental checkup. Fucking hate the dentist, but I’d rather deal with them than have a cracked tooth.
“Seven days,” I tell them, as I know Bulldog is that much of an ass to count a week into double digits if you give him time to explain the logic behind his thinking. And the guy can be pretty convincing when he wants to be. I’m not looking to be talked out of this. I just got back. I want to rest on my time, in my own way. I don’t want to have people at my place poking their heads—and no doubt their hands—in everything.
When I’m at the club, I play a role. And to that fact, sometimes I’m Bass, the social butterfly joker who never takes life too seriously. When I’m on a job, I keep my shit locked down, hyperfocused on everything even while I maintain the persona. But when I’m home? That’s when I can take off the mask and be me, whoever the fuck that is, when I wake up.
I like to take a break from it all a few times a month. Just a little recharge to keep me going. Haven’t had that in close to a year, and I was hoping to get a full week of isolation before I had to come back to my duties of being the social king for the Hounds. It’s a hard task. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. Not one of these sourpusses can put up with half the shit I deal with, hence why I’ve been unopposed from my position for so long. That and no one wants it. I not only have the responsibility of verifying the paperwork for each new brother we gain, but I also have to ensure that all the dues are paid. I’ve also somehow become the unofficial therapist. If anyone has a problem, they think I’m wanting to listen. And don’t get me wrong, I like learning the shit, ’cause I’m nosy as hell, but sometimes I just don’t give a fuck.
One of those times being now. I don’t want this chick at my place. I don’t want her and her kid poking around, trying to figure me out, when the club is expecting me to gather intel on them. Meaning all work and no rest.
No rest for the wicked. I can’t help but chuckle at the thought. Yeah, so maybe I’m more inclined to the comedian personality than not. I just don’t have to like things right now. Check in with me tomorrow, and I might sing a different tune.
But as I exit the room we use for Church and see the woman in question just glaring, I doubt tomorrow will be any different.