Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Zeke unlocked the cash register behind the bar at The Iron Horse Roadhouse, swiped a handful of twenties, and closed the drawer, making sure it was secure again. He stuffed the wad deep into his pocket before heading back through the commercial kitchen that separated Church from the public bar.
Vi had texted him about a half hour ago to tell him Kyra would be there soon. He had sent one of the prospects to keep an eye out so he could unlock the gate to let her park in the rear lot.
He had no fucking clue what the plan was this morning, he only knew he’d get to spend some time with his kid.
Maybe they’d play a little pool.
Or throw some darts.
Do a shot or two.
Nothing wrong with raising that kid to be a badass biker from the get-go. And he was getting a late start.
He smirked, knowing none of that shit would ever happen. Not if he ever wanted to see his kid again.
As well as Ky.
He paused to watch one of their hired cooks prepping the kitchen for the busy bar crowd expected later.
He missed Mama Bear. She always made the best damn breakfasts.
Once Mama Bear’s ol’ man died with a beer in front of him on the stool at the end of the bar where he always parked his ass, it wasn’t long until she followed Grizz.
Ace, Rage’s grandfather, had said she died of a broken heart.
Zeke hadn’t been so sure about that. But once Ace’s wife Janice died of cancer, the DAMC OG wasn’t around long after that, either.
So, maybe that shit was true.
He just knew when he kicked the fucking bucket, no woman would be chasing him into Hell.
“Larry, got any pancakes?” Zeke called out.
Larry lifted his head from whatever he was chopping. “No, want some?”
Pancakes might put him in good with his kid. “Yeah. Make a huge stack and drown ‘em in syrup. With sausages. You know, the round ones, not the flat ones.”
One of Larry’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “You mean links?”
“Yeah, whatever. Bring ‘em into the clubhouse when they’re ready.”
“How many do you want?”
“Dozen,” he answered and pushed through the swinging door. “Of each.”
Before it even closed, he spotted Rat, one of their newer prospects, leaning over one of the pool tables.
What the fuck was that dickwad doing?
Zeke caught the door before it swished closed. He slowly closed it himself so that rat-faced motherfucker didn’t know he was watching.
A second later, the young prospect snorted a line of white powder off the table’s rail, stood up, and held one nostril closed with his thumb while he snorted again.
Fuckin’ motherfucker.
Rat laid out another line, and when he bent over to snort that up his other nostril, Zeke made his move.
While the prospect’s head was still down and he was in the middle of hoovering the blow up his nose with a rolled dollar bill, Zeke used his elbow to slam Rat’s face right into the wood rail.
Rat popped up and cupped his nose. “What the fuck!”
“I break your fuckin’ nose?”
Blood mixed with the powder clung to Rat’s face and beard, but his beady eyes went wide and his face as white as the coke when he realized who had face planted him into the pool table. “Prez!”
“Not any fuckin’ longer. Know we got a fuckin’ rule ‘round here ‘bout hard shit on this property. Got it for a good goddamn reason. Shoulda done it elsewhere. Not here.”
“Sorry, Prez, just—”
Zeke shook his head. “Shut the fuck up. You’re a prospect and got no fuckin’ say. Or was a prospect. You failed.” He pointed toward the back door. “Now get the fuck outta here and leave your goddamn cut on the table.”
“But—”
Zeke lifted both eyebrows and waited to see if the prospect was stupid enough to finish.
When Rat didn’t move fast enough, Zeke grabbed the pool stick laying across the felt. He spun it around in his fingers like a baton. “Cut off. You out. Got thirty seconds before I break more than your fuckin’ nose.”
It was bad enough the asshole was snorting coke in the common area right out in the fucking open, but Kyra would be there any moment with Ledger.
He didn’t need to get a bunch of shit over that.
He wanted Ledger to be able to spend time around the DAMC and if Kyra saw someone doing hard drugs, it would cause an issue.
As Rat scrambled to shed his cut, Zeke growled, “Tick tock, motherfucker.” He swung the cue stick close enough to the former prospect to feel the whoosh of air, but barely missed striking him.
That swing was a warning. The next one wouldn’t be. He’d prefer not to break the stick, though. Knocking some sense into Rat wasn’t worth having to replace it since it was worth more than a coke-snorting rodent.
And the damn stick wasn’t worth much at all.
Rat held out the cut to him. “Sorry, Prez.”
Zeke grabbed it and tossed it onto the pool table. “Ain’t your prez. Now, get the fuck out.”
Was the asshole going to cry?
With his fingers still pinching his nose, the former prospect marched toward the back door with his head hanging.
Jesus Christ. He acted like a kicked puppy.
As Rat walked out, Zeke’s old man walked in.
Oh fuck.
Grabbing his phone, he scrambled to text Kyra to not show up, then remembered she had his number blocked.
Fuck!
He groaned under his breath. Talk about shitty timing.
“What the fuck happened to Rat?” The former DAMC president hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the door. “He left like his ass was on fire.”
“Took his cut and kicked him the fuck out.”
Zak’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Caught him doin’ blow on the pool table.” Zeke jerked his chin toward the abandoned cut.
Zak frowned. “He knows the fuckin’ rules.”
No shit. “Whatcha doin’ here?” Zeke asked as his old man approached.
Zak’s step stuttered and his eyebrows dropped low. “Last I checked, I’m a fuckin’ member.” He pointed to the patches on the front of his cut. Of course, the president patch had been removed a few years ago after he stepped down. “What the fuck you doin’ here? Why ain’t you workin’?”
“Same reason you never did.”
Zak’s brow shot the opposite way, causing his eyebrows to be stuck to his hairline. “Helped your mother run the bakery.”
“Never saw you bake a goddamn thing.”
Zak stopped in front of him. “Don’t gotta bake to manage a fuckin’ bakery.”
Zeke let it drop since it wasn’t worth the argument. Growing up, he remembered his father coming and going from Sophie’s Sweet Treats and not doing a damn thing but stuffing cupcakes down his gullet.
And making out with his mother.
Sometimes they still did.
Zeke had no doubt that if dying from a broken heart was real and his mother Sophie went first, Zak would follow the same path as Ace did.
Not that he wished the demise of his parents. He didn’t. He might butt heads with his old man on occasion, but he still wanted them to stick around for a long damn time.
Especially now they had their first grandchild.
Who Zak might meet sooner than either Zeke or Ky expected.
She was not going to be happy. It wasn’t a good idea having her come to the clubhouse. But unless he could get his father out of there soon, it might be too damn late.
He called his father by the man’s nickname, even though it bugged the shit out of him when he did. “What d’ya need, Z?”
Zak ground a hand against the back of his neck. “Apparently a fuckin’ reason to be here.”
“Just figured I’d help you find whatever it is.”
“Then find me a fuckin’ beer.” He continued on to the bar. “Larry workin’ in the kitchen?”
“Yeah.”
“Guess I need breakfast, too.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“Helpin’ out at the bakery today. Two of the girls called in sick.” He pushed open the swinging door and yelled, “Hey, Larry, gonna need some hash browns, bacon and a coupla eggs. Scrambled with cheese.”
Zeke heard the cook call out, “Don’t want pancakes?”
“Why the fuck would I want pancakes?” He let the door swing shut and headed to the other side of the bar to grab a mug and some coffee from the commercial coffeemaker in the corner.
Wanting a beer must have been bullshit.
But, for fuck’s sake, this was not good. His father was settling in. Maybe Zeke should head Kyra off outside. Offer to take them to the diner again instead.
Except the only scratch in his possession was what he’d just swiped from The Iron Horse. Larry made the best fucking pancakes and those wouldn’t cost him shit.
His old man was going to choke on those hash browns if he spotted Ledger.
Of course, that was when the back door opened, the morning sun backlighting the newest arrivals so they weren’t immediately recognizable.
But Zeke knew who they were. Then once the door shut, the dark figures disappeared and mother and son appeared. Very clearly.
Zeke’s heart began to pound and his chest tightened as his father looked up from taking a sip of his coffee.
Zeke didn’t know who to look at first. His father, his kid, or his former ol’ lady.
Ky’s tits and hips won out, but only for a few seconds.
Until the bottom of the ceramic coffee mug smacked the bar top and he heard a mumbled, “Holy fuck.” His old man’s eyes turned to Zeke and he repeated, “Holy fuck.”
Kyra froze only feet inside the door, gripping Ledger’s hand. “I…um…” She bugged her eyes out at Zeke.
He tried to relay without words that this hadn’t been the plan, but Kyra’s gaze was now focused on Zak as he took long, stiff strides to where they stood.
Zeke quickly followed on his father’s heels.
When Zak got to them, he glanced over his shoulder. “Got somethin’ to tell me?”
Zeke scratched behind his ear. He had a lot of shit to say, but it needed to wait for a better time. Not while Kyra and Ledger were standing in front of them.
If looks could kill, Zeke would be dead. Two times over. Once by his son’s mother and once by his son’s grandfather.
Fuuuuuuck.
“Nothin’?” Zak asked with a cocked eyebrow.
“Z, you remember Kyra.”
“Yeah. Her I remember. It’s the little guy I don’t.” Not waiting for a response, Zak squatted down in front of Ledger. “Got a name, kiddo?”
Ledger’s eyes were glued to Zak. In a proud and loud voice, he announced, “Ledger.”