Eight (Hell’s Jury MC #6)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Eight

I rip into the parking lot of the Sagebrush Middle School, not giving a shit that my Harley is one decibel away from a violation for disturbing the peace.

I’m fucking pissed. I hated school as a kid, hated it even more as a teenager and now here I fucking am, called to the principal’s office by the school secretary, her tone implying that I’m the one in trouble.

Goddamned Oscar, always getting into it with this Henri kid.

I can’t count the times I’ve told my kid to beat the snot out of the little bastard, but for some reason he won’t listen.

He’s no more a pacifist that I am and I don’t think he gives a shit if he’s expelled from school, so what the fuck is wrong with him?

And now the feud between him and Henri has escalated to the point where Henri’s mom and I have been ‘invited’ to meet with Mrs. Summers, the principal.

I’m fucking busy despite the enemies of Hell’s Jury, my one-percenter bike club, being dead or doin’ other shit.

We got gun runs to the border, businesses to manage, and fucking deadbeats thinking they can screw around in our territory.

Since fall, we’re down three brothers and scrambling to replace them before the Blackbeards, our rival club, wake up and realize how vulnerable we are.

Thank god for our Vegas chapter lending us support or we’d be in big fuckin’ trouble.

I park my bike next to a piece of shit Toyota from the late ’90s that’s taking up two spaces in the staff-only section of the school lot.

If it weren’t for some asshole in the back seat yelling at a fucking German Shepherd, I would’ve thought it was abandoned.

I’m tempted kick the side door, not that anyone would notice through the dents, scrapes and rust.

When I get inside the school, I draw the attention of three teachers who are huddled in a group, talking like they’re planning a funeral.

When they glance up, their eyes widen. I’m dressed in my Hell’s Jury gear, ratty T-shirt under my cut, worn biker boots, bandana around my head.

Then the bell rings and the fucking kids swarm out of the classrooms like wasps.

Some stop and stare, giggle, whisper, the brave fuckers heading towards me.

“Fuck off,” I say as one boy gets too close.

A teacher gasps.

“Where’s the office?” I snarl at her.

She points.

I forget to say thanks as I stalk down the hall.

The woman behind the counter looks like Princess Di, not the face, but her dyed blonde hair cut in an eighties do, makeup, the clothes, even a fucking blue hat that’s tilted on her head.

“Where’s my son?” I bark at her. I hold back the ‘fuck’ and try to stay civil because I know Oscar gets hassled by the teachers because of who I am. The kids treat him with respect or maintain a respectable distance. Except for fuckin’ Henri.

“You’re Mr. Brody?” the bleached blonde says with that shy Diana smile that she must’ve practiced for hours in the mirror.

“Yeah, Nate Brody, Oscar’s dad. You fuckin’ know that already.” So much for civility.

The smile drops from her face and she looks at me like I’m shit on her shoe. “In Mrs. Summers’ office.” Head held high, she primly leads the way to the principal’s office, then knocks on the door.

“Come,” says Mrs. Summers in that imperious manner I fucking hated back in the day. Different principal, same bullshit.

Her Royal Highness opens the door, then stands back as I stalk inside. She slams the door behind me as if it will shake me up enough to apologize on my way out.

Mrs. Summers and I’ve never met, but we’ve talked too many fucking times over the phone, most not legit.

Oscar has a target on his back and every time he steps out of line, he gets a verbal shit kicking.

And unlike Max, the prez’s son, Oscar is tightlipped.

Takes the crap doled out to him and moves on.

I love the kid, but don’t deal well with the petty stuff.

He knows it, so when he bitches, I shut him down. Tell him to handle it himself.

Oscar’s sittin’ in a chair on the right side of the office, glaring at Mrs. Summers. “Thanks for comin’ dad,” he says redirecting his anger to me.

“Coming,” Mrs. Summers corrects. “Don’t drop the ‘g’, Oscar. You’re not a savage.”

I close my eyes and count to ten before turning to the woman on my left. She stood up when I entered and looks like she wants to set me on fire.

She’s medium height, a little too lean for my tastes as if I had any. High cheekbones on an angular face, faded blue eyes that look like half-moons, and long hands and fingers that could use some hand cream.

I doubt she looked in a mirror before she walked in.

She’s got a headful of light brown hair, which is partly hanging out of her ponytail.

There’s a smear of what appears to be oil on her forehead, her cheek is streaked with dirt, and her chin is scraped up like she fell on some gravel.

Her jacket is ripped at the shoulder and her tee-shirt’s half untucked from a pair of jeans that are rattier than mine.

And she’s definitely packing and not even tryin’ to be discreet about it.

“You Henri’s mom?” I growl at her.

A face pops out from behind the woman, a girl with the same brittle features as her mom.

“Yeah. Selkie Fleming,” she says in a low cool voice as she shoves the kid back. “Your fuckin’ kid’s a bully.”

My hackles go up. “My kid? Your little bastard’s been knockin’ him around for weeks.”

“That’s bullshit! He trashes Henri every chance he gets.”

Speaking of Henri, he’s nowhere to be seen. I’m half-hoping Oscar killed him. “Where is the little shit?”

The girl peeks out again. “I’m the little shit!”

“You’re Henri?” I’m incredulous. “Who the fuck names a girl Henri?”

“It’s short for Henrietta, jackass!” mama bear says.

“Don’t tell him, mom! I hate Henrietta!” the kid whines as she curls her fingers and gives her mom a thump on the butt.

“Henrietta! Henrietta! Henrietta!” Oscar taunts.

“Shut up!” the girl shouts.

I ignore the fact that Oscar’s egging her on. “You let a girl knock you around?” I say to him.

Before Oscar gets a chance to reply, Henri pushes herself in front of her mom. “He keeps messing with my lunch, calling me names. He’s mean.”

“And you’re a freak!” Oscar snarls.

“Shut it,” Fleming and I say at the same time.

I turn to Oscar. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Deal with this shit.”

Oscar glares at me. “What do want me to do? If I punched her you’d go mental.”

“You think you could beat me up, you weirdo?” Henri scoffs.

Oscar lunges forward, but I hold him back. “Enough!”

“Ha!” Henri smirks.

“You too, brat,” I growl.

Fleming shakes her fist as she says, “Don’t you fuckin’ talk to my kid.”

Mrs. Summers heaves a huge sigh. “I don’t like to lecture parents but think of the example you’re setting for the children.”

Fleming and I glare at her.

“Get to the point,” Fleming says. “It’s hot outside and my dog’s in the car.”

I grimace. “That’s your car? Piece of shit Toyota?”

“It gets me where I need to go.”

Mrs. Summers pulls herself up to her full height of of around five feet. It’s like lookin’ at an angry hobbit. “Enough!” she orders. “Sit down!”

We obey like we’re the twelve-year-olds we’re raising.

“I can see why your children are at loggerheads.”

“Whatever that means,” Henri says with a roll of her eyes.

Fleming gives her a small nudge in the side. “Cut it out!”

Oscar turns to me. “See. This is what I have to put up with. Smart mouth, bad attitude and beats on me cause I won’t fight back. The kids think I’m a sissy.”

I glare at the girl. “My kid respects women, doesn’t hit ‘em. But that don’t mean he has to take your shit.”

Fleming’s eyes darken. “Her shit! Henri’s come home in tears more than once thanks to your kid.”

Henri gasps. “I have not! He can’t make me cry!” Her face is red and her eyes blink rapidly as she protests.

Mrs. Summers slams her hand down on the desk. “Shut up! All of you!” She leans toward me and Fleming. “Mr. Brody, Mrs. Fleming—”

“It’s Ms.,” Fleming interrupts through gritted teeth.

“What?” I say.

“It’s Ms. I’d never chain myself to a controlling asshole who watches TV all day burping and farting.”

Oscar coughs out a laugh.

“Jesus!” Mrs. Summers swears. “Might I have your attention for five bloody minutes!” Her dark eyes sear us.

I’m catapulted back in time. Same school. Same office. Different principal, but same glare. Fuck.

Her lecture lasts several minutes more than five, then she demands we all leave the school grounds. Her parting words are, “I don’t want to see the four of you back here until you all learn to get along!”

We stumble out of the building into the bright sunlight, separating like we’re East and West Germany after the war.

“Well shit!” Fleming exclaims as she paces up to the Toyota. She yanks open the door and snaps, “Brambles, out.”

A German Shepherd jumps out and pads across the pavement to a tree, lifts his leg and pees like he’s been holding it since Christmas.

“Let me the fuck out of here, you dumb bitch!” the guy in the backseat yells.

His nasal voice sounds familiar so I peer into the car. Jesus fuck! It’s Sadie, an enforcer with the Blackbeards and one of the most sadistic sonsofbitches I’ve ever encountered. “What are you doing with that asshole in your car?”

Fleming turns to me. “What do you think? He’s my payday.”

“Your what?”

She narrows her eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m a bail bondsperson. He jumped bail, I tracked him down.”

That explains her appearance. “You’re lucky he didn’t kill you.”

She snorts a laugh. “He’s lucky he’s not choking on his balls.” She jerks her head towards the front seat. “Henri, get in.”

I can’t fuckin’ believe my ears. “Are you kidding me! You’re not seriously gonna put your kid in the same car as that asshole.”

She looks at the asshole in question. “Not really a thing I like to do, but how else am I going to get her home?”

Holy shit. This woman is 20 kinds of crazy. “I’ll take her.”

“Thanks, dad,” Oscar says drily. “And how am I supposed to get home?”

The kid has a point. “You can handle yourself. You go with Fleming.”

“What?” all three say.

“You misogynist pig,” Fleming sputters. “What makes you think your kid is gonna be any better at handling the situation than mine?”

“It’s got nothing to do with her being a girl.” My throat hurts from talkin’ so much. “Oscar knows the ways of the MC. Knows how to handle a fuck like Sadie.”

Fleming’s eyes go wide as she waves her hands in the air. “Oh my god! Go away! Go away! Go away!”

She shoves the dog in the back seat. “Guard,” she commands, then propels Henri into the front and slams the door behind her. “I’ll handle my shit, you handle yours.”

As she roars out of the parking lot, I turn to Oscar. “What the hell just happened?”

Oscar scowls at me. “It’s what I’ve been telling you, dad.”