Chapter Three
The early days of biker life were like being on holiday from a strict oppressive existence, like letting the chains fall away, and just living. I didn’t want it to end, but it was a dangerous addiction, because it just might distract me from the very reason I was even here.
“If you’re just going to be as useless as the rest of this club, can you fuck off and do it elsewhere?
” Ice asked tiredly, reaching for his empty coffee mug and cursing.
This was one of the big differences between biker life and mafia life.
Back at the mafia compound, I was waited on by the house staff, so I could just get my work done.
Here? Here, we had to go and fucking get it ourselves, although those who had old ladies who liked to check in on their men often got special deliveries.
Take yesterday, when Lissa showed up, all bright eyed and lip bitey, with a coffee for Ice.
Two minutes later I was outside the locked door, wishing for fucking eye bleach.
What was it with bikers, and not giving a shit who knew they were fucking?
There was zero decorum here. It was oddly fucking enticing.
Anyway, he was right that I was being useless, so I grabbed our coffee mugs, and got up.
“I’ll go refuel us. You want lunch?” Look at me, offering to get stuff for others, like this isn’t way beneath me. It was a whole new me.
“Sandwich,” he barked at me, finally dragging his eyes from the screen when I waited there, half out of my seat, a Rossi-esque eyebrow lifted, “please.”
“That’s better. I’m not your fucking house-bitch.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously at me, bless him. “If you mean Lissa-”
Jesus, these guys and their fucking possessive thing. Don’t badmouth my woman, yada yada. Did that shit come with the cut, or was it born into them?
“Of course I don’t. I mean me. I’m not, but it stinks in here, so I’m getting out for some air. You might wanna lay off the fucking beans.”
Ice burst out laughing and flipped me off. “Get out of here, you jackass.”
See? Biker life. You take the piss out of each other, flip each other off a lot, and do what the hell you want. I fucking loved it.
I passed Lissa in the hallway and winked at her, because I could see what direction she was heading in, and I was glad I missed the start of the show this time. Whatever the hell they were into, I really didn’t want to know more than I already did.
I handed off the dirty mugs to Tommy as I sat at the bar, and ordered a beer. There was no way in hell I was going back up there too soon, because I didn’t want to even hear what those two were up to. Last time there was furniture knocked over, and I swear there was cum on the carpet.
“Hey, man. Ice untied you for a break?” Micro sat beside me, that ever present smirk on his face, as he did his best to piss me off.
I’d been told it was just his way, but guys like that didn’t last long in the mafia, so honestly, I didn’t know whether to laugh it off or smash this bottle, and jab the jagged end of it into his throat. It could go either way, to be honest.
“Yeah, chafing’s a bitch,” I finally said, taking a deep gulp of my beer as I rethought my plans. I’d figured I’d sit here for a beer or two, then go back up with lunch and coffee, but if I had to hang with this dickhead, all bets were off.
Micro laughed, slapping a palm against the bar, as he pointed Tommy to whatever the fuck he wanted to drink.
Great. Guess he was fucking joining me then.
Why didn’t I like this guy? I had no idea.
Most of them I liked. Most of them I really fucking liked.
This guy though? I dunno. He was just a bit too laid back.
Too fucking happy to sit on his ass, and do nothing but make snarky comments, and wind people up.
“Nice black eye you’ve got,” I said snidely, watching as the smirk dropped for a moment, before it reappeared like a fucking bad smell.
“Yeah, Has got in a cheap shot, but it’s okay, he’s having a rough time or whatever. I don’t mind being a punching bag for every fucker who gets whipped.”
Whipped. Nice way to put it, man. They fucking found love, which apparently pissed off guys like him.
“Got a problem with a guy settling down? Or are you just realising what you’re missing? All this faceless pussy not doing it for you anymore?”
He glared at me, finally staring back down at his beer, picking at the label idly.
“Guess I’m just starting to get fucking lonely. I can only hang at the hospital with Torch so much, and when I’m here, nobody’s fucking talking. Nobody’s shooting the breeze. It’s… Jesus, listen to me whining. Maybe I’m getting PMT like all the fucking bitches around here these days.”
I mean, I almost felt for the guy, but then he went right back to being a prick. No wonder nobody wanted to hang with him.
“Have you tried not being a jumped-up little shit? It works wonders.”
He surged up from his seat, looking like he thought he’d survive a scrap with me.
“What’s your fucking beef, man? You’ve been an asshole to me since you arrived here. You think you’re better than me or something? And what kinda name is Grease anyway? Bikers don’t have dumb names like that.”
I stood up too, because if that fucker thought he got to tower over me, he was mistaken.
“Because Micro is a fucking genius name? Shoulda just gone with Tiny Dick, but I guess that was too on the nose.”
“Oh Jesus,” I heard Tommy mutter, before Micro lunged at me, trying to bury his fist in my face, but the difference between us?
I’m fucking mafia trained, and no meathead biker’s getting the jump on me.
I blocked him, slamming my knee up into his junk, and watched him crumple to the ground, both hands cupping his crushed nads.
“Listen here, you pathetic little twat. I don’t much like you, and I don’t have to. I’m looking to make this my home, and you’re not gonna drive me away, no matter how hard you try, so give up.”
I leaned over, ready to put his lights out if he kept pushing it, and I swear to fuck I heard him muttering the words ‘mafia reject’, but I didn’t get a chance to react, because someone else butted in.
“Are you fucking shitting me? I was led to believe you were a level headed fucker,” Reacher snapped, dragging me away from Micro, before he turned to glare down at him.
“And you, do you have to pick a fight with absolutely fucking everyone? Don’t we have enough shit going on here?” He reached down and helped Micro up, patting his shoulder.
“I know you’re missing Torch, son, but he’ll be back before you know it. So go put some ice on your balls, and I’ll find Grease something to do to keep him occupied.”
Tommy led Micro back to the sofas at the back of the lounge, promising to return with an ice-pack, and I turned to face Reacher.
“Sorry, Pres. He was getting on my tits again.”
Reacher groaned. “Can we talk?” I nodded, following him to his office, and waiting ’til he closed the door.
“Is he in the loop?” I blurted before he could say anything, and from the look on his face, I already knew he wasn’t.
“Why?” I rolled my eyes, deciding that his attempt at an ethnic slur was nothing but asshole behaviour, and shrugged.
“Doesn’t matter. What’s up?”
“Rossi wants an update from you. You’re to call him asap. If you’re done beating up on my bikers, that is?”
I grinned, digging my phone out of my pocket, and scrolling for Rossi’s number.
“He started it, Pres.”
“Wise-ass.” Reacher left me in his office to make my call, because this was the only place I wasn’t likely to be overheard, and that left me with no other option but to make the call.
Jamie
It was the third time lately that my dad had called me from prison.
He really wanted me to go and visit him, but I had no idea why it was suddenly important to him.
We’d barely spoken since he’d been locked up this last time.
As a teenager, I’d had to make a clean break from him and his sickness, not because he’d ever hurt me personally, but because his life choices had nearly destroyed me.
Why he was suddenly begging me to visit, when I think I hadn’t seen him in almost four years, just made no sense.
I went back and forth on whether I’d go and see him, because what would it achieve?
Would we rebuild our relationship as father and daughter, when half the time I’d been like a fucking caregiver for him?
Imagine being twelve years old, and having to know how to tell if he was in a deep sleep, or overdosing.
Imagine having to do all the cooking, cleaning, and having to get a job, as soon as I was old enough to legally work, just so we could eat.
He really didn’t deserve my time at all, and it wasn’t something I should feel guilty for. So ask me why the hell I was waiting for them to book me in for a visit. Ask me why the hell I was voluntarily walking into a prison to see him.
The man they brought into the visiting room looked nothing like my father, not just because he looked like he was eating properly, and not spending all his time out of his face, but also because he smiled at me. Smiled. I felt like I’d slipped into a parallel universe or something.
“There’s my baby girl,” he said brightly, sitting down at the seat the guard gestured at for him.
We were in a large room, and there were several other people meeting with other inmates, and nobody paid any attention to us.
I had no alternative but to put my focus on him, my father, the man who should have raised me, protected me, and loved me.
“Hi, you wanted me to come, so here I am.” Did I sound belligerent? His smile dropped for a second, and he pasted it back in place, like you could blink and miss the change in his expression.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s been a while, but I wanted to see how you’re doing.”
Huh. That wasn’t what I’d expected when I came in here. Demands for money, maybe, so he could buy whatever the hell guys buy in prison. Complaints for not visiting him more, or whatever he felt entitled to. Not this though.
“Uh… I’m fine. Good. I mean, yeah, fine. How are you?” I hated asking that question, because in the past it had always been met with anger, demands, and trying to twist me into doing something to help him out.
“Yeah, good. It’s not so bad here. I mean, I’m working. Did I tell you I’m working?”
Working? What the hell was he qualified for?
“Yeah? Doing what?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Computer stuff. Inventory type stuff. It’s nice. It keeps me busy, I guess.”
I stared at the scarred table for a moment, because this was so hard.
We had no common ground. No easy subjects to fall back on.
No living family, no mutual friends. No hobbies in common, because, well, I didn’t really live for putting filth in my veins and seeking oblivion, so yeah. No common ground.
“It was good of you to come, Jamie. I want us to have a relationship again. I want to be your dad again.” Why couldn’t this have happened a decade ago? When I fucking needed him to be the dad I never had.
“Why now?” I demanded, wincing at the sharpness of my tone.
He rested his forearms on the table, his fists tightening briefly, before he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, easing his hands into a more relaxed pose.
Huh. Where was that quick anger I’d been so used to? In the past he’d have snapped.
“I deserve that. I know I haven’t been a good dad, and I let you down so many times over the years. I know that. I suppose I feel like I could make a new start, and I want to repair things with us.”
I didn’t know how I’d needed to hear those words, until they actually came from him. He wanted to make amends, so couldn’t I put the past behind me, and let things get better? Couldn’t I let him rebuild the only link to family that I had?
“Uh, I guess that could be… uh… yeah, I’d like that.”
Dad smiled again, and I found myself returning it. He leaned forward a little.
“So, tell me about you. You look well. What are you doing these days?” I took a deep breath, leaning a little closer too, because I didn’t want this overheard in a prison of all places.
“I uh… I’m a police officer. I’m… I’m a cop, dad.”
What was that look in his eyes just then? Was it anger? Disgust? Something calculating? Greed? I opened my mouth to carry on, and he beat me to it.
“Yeah, I heard about that. The grapevine here’s a great thing.” He cast a look over his shoulder, and I realised the people here weren’t quite as oblivious as I thought, and they were definitely paying attention.
“What’s going-”
“Darling, I’m going to need you to do me a favour.”
“What?”
“You either quit that damn job, or you help me out with something I need.” I literally felt like I’d just been stabbed right through the heart. What did he just say?
“What?”
“You heard me, cop. You realise how dangerous it is for me, with a fucking cop in the family? I need you to quit. Either that or I need you to help me get access to some things to keep me safe in here.”
“Th… things?”
“Drugs.”