Chapter 26
Slim
“Name?”
The guy at the gate is holding a rifle, and yet it is his stony expression and the sunglasses that make him look truly menacing. I quickly deduce it would be in my best interest not to fuck around with him.
“Dylan Barnes.”
“Reason of visit?”
“Pick up my son from, er, Marissa Johnson.”
“Please wait a moment.”
After she’s done gawking at the guy’s ass, Rebel remarks, “I feel like I’m at Davis-Monthan.”
The awe in her voice rubs me the wrong way. I bet she’s remembering how grand life was when she was a drug lord’s whore.
To add insult to injury, ten minutes later, Cueball of all people comes outside with my son in his arms.
“What the fuck…”
I slam the car door and stride towards him. As soon as I’m close enough, I grab my son.
“Why the fuck are you handing my boy over? Where’s Marissa?”
“She’s sick; not that my woman is any of your business. You’re here to pick up your son, not hang out with her. Besides,” Hawk adds when he spots Rebel inside my car, “you can’t ride two horses with one ass.”
His woman? I try my hardest to keep my panic to myself. “I’m just concerned. You seem to be hanging around my kid a lot.”
The asshole laughs. “That would be admirable if it were true.”
I bristle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Look at your own wife, man, and then decide which one of us is more fit to be around kids.”
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” I say menacingly as I step towards him, but he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head towards Junior.
“You don’t wanna do that now, trust me.”
I wipe the spit from my lip and turn my back on him.
As I buckle my son into his car seat, I’m fuming.
How dare that motherfucker slander my wife?
The worst part is, his face was smug, like he knew things I didn’t.
“What are you doing with Hawk’s kid?” A concerned female voice behind me asks as I close the car door.
It’s Dumb and Dumber who used to hang around my house, pretending to guard Marissa.
“Fuck off,” I say as I flip them off with both hands, and the bitch clutches her stomach, laughing.
“What’s wrong?” Rebel asks me after I angrily slam the steering wheel.
I imagine hitting Hawk with my car, then reversing and running him over again, several times, but it doesn’t help banish the images of his hands on Marissa’s naked body from my mind.
“Marissa can find the time to party with the Chasers’ club girls, but not to hand her own son off,” I say spitefully, remembering our last phone call.
“Hello?” I squint, trying to hear anything over the loud music.
“Hold on, wait,” Marissa yells as the music gets progressively quieter. “Okay, I’m outside. What’s up?”
“I’m calling about this weekend. Are you at a party?”
“It’s girls’ night at the clubhouse,” she says happily, and something ugly twists my guts.
Oh, so now she likes going to the clubhouse?
“And where the fuck is my son while you’re out getting wasted?”
“He’s with his babysitter,” she says defiantly.
I don’t even remember why I called. I flip my phone shut and close my eyes as I seriously contemplate driving up there and dragging Marissa out of that clubhouse by her hair.
I think I’m losing my fucking mind.
I start kicking Bell’s clothes on the floor into a pile, which I then throw down the stairs.
“What the fuck, Slim?” She yells out.
“This place is a fucking pigsty!” I yell back. “Would it kill you to clean up after yourself once in a while?!”
“I fucking hate this. Now that he lives in Phoenix, Junior might as well be on Mars. Should’ve fought for 50/50 custody,” I add.
“Babe, I don’t know what to tell you. Both of us work such long hours; I don’t think there’s a daycare that keeps children until midnight, and your mom is useless. I don’t see how you could have handled that?”
“There’s babysitters,” I grit out, as the familiar shame of my teen years washes over me. “Or you could have quit your job.”
Rebel narrows her eyes, then shrugs. “Angie always says children belong with their mother.”
I’m quiet for the next twenty minutes as we drive down The Ten. DJ fell asleep as soon as we hit the road. Rebel is singing along to her CD.
I finally can’t stand it anymore.
“He tried talking shit about you. Hawk,” I add when I see the confusion on her face.
“Yeah?” She seems flattered, and it irks me.
“Don’t look so thrilled by the attention,” I tell her bitterly.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? I drove up here with you because you insisted, only to suffer your shit mood swings and be accused of I don’t even know what?”
She was reluctant to join me, that’s true. But I was determined to rub my marriage in Marissa’s face after she had brought Hawk to my mom’s. Instead, all I got is a punch in the gut.
I exhale and remind myself that this is supposed to be a nice weekend with my wife and son.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m still upset over the court thing.
I tried explaining to that fucking judge how busy the shop is.
And that I take care of Mom, my house, and the club.
But that bitch hates bikers, I swear, that’s why she also slammed me with back support.
And on top of everything else, I have to drive up here every other week.
In the interest of fairness,” I mimic her annoying voice.
“Her fat ass probably got rejected by a biker at some point,” Bell laughs.
“A brother wouldn’t touch that uptight bitch with a ten-foot pole,” I agree.
My mood is lifted. The thought of a weekend with my brothers, my wife, and my son fills my chest with pride and warmth.
I grab Rebel’s hand and interlace our fingers on my knee.
We drive directly to the clubhouse so I can show my boy off at the barbecue.
Junior’s sweetness melts even Rachel’s icy facade.
“He’s grown so much since I last saw him,” she says, teary-eyed for some reason. “I can’t believe he’s about to be one.”
Fuck, that’s right. It’s almost his birthday.
*
“Hey, baby,” Marissa tells DJ through kisses the next day when I bring him back to Fort Asshole. “How was your weekend?”
I try not to stare at her or imagine what she was up to with Hawk last night.
“We had a club barbecue yesterday. Outdoors,” I add because I know how she gets. “And we spent most of today at Grandma’s.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” Marissa coos at DJ, even though I’m the one talking to her.
“What are we going to do for Junior’s first birthday?” I ask, kinda proud of myself for being proactive about this.
She blinks, clearly taken aback by the question. I don’t know whether I should be offended.
“We aren’t going to do anything. The custody agreement has us alternating holidays, but states that whoever has him on his actual birth date celebrates on that day, and the other parent celebrates during their time, so I figured we’d each do our own thing,” she says carefully.
“It’s his first birthday, Marissa. You didn’t think maybe both of us should be there?”
She looks up from DJ’s face, more confused than I’ve ever seen her. It’s like the thought genuinely never crossed her mind. Fucking mother of the year.
“Let me get this straight, Dylan. You want me to celebrate my child's first birthday and the anniversary of becoming a mom by having a joint party with you and your wife, the woman you started cheating on me with a few months after I gave birth? That’s the love fest you had in mind?”
Shit. I should’ve known she’d bring it back around to that.
“Fine. I’ll organize my own celebration for my son.”
“As you should,” she says with a shrug. “Maybe one day we’ll be in a place where we can all celebrate together, once DJ is old enough to detect animosity or to express that he wants both of us there, but right now I want to celebrate surviving everything that happened to me in the last year, and I want to do it my way with people who care about me. ”
“Fine. See you next week,” I say icily and stalk off to my car.
I can throw my own damn party. I was trying to be nice, but I should’ve known it was pointless.
The only thing binding us is a court-mandated agreement because we share a son. I’d do well to remember that in the future.
On the drive back, I decide I’m gonna hire the people who catered our wedding party at the club. I’ll tell them to decorate the whole place with cool boy stuff like cars and excavators. And wolf pup pictures, cause my boy is a future Gray Wolf, despite living with those pathetic losers.
The woman’s name was Sheila, but that’s about all that I can remember. I call Bell to ask, but she doesn’t pick up. She’s probably busy playing with Ryder or yapping with Angie.
It’s nothing urgent, but I’m so worked up after Marissa’s lecture that planning this fucking party is the only thing I can think about.
I decide to go to the clubhouse first.
One moment, I’m discussing the party with Angie and Rebel.
“Not at the house,” Rebel tells us sharply. “The backyard hasn’t been properly cared for in years, and we don’t have time to fix it up for the party. We’ll have it here, at the clubhouse.”
The next, there are several loud bangs, a cloud of smoke, and dozens of SWAT agents decked out in full gear swarming the common room, yelling, “DEA! FBI!”
My ears are ringing.
It’s like something out of a movie.
There’s a lot of, “Down on the ground!”
“Get down!”
“Show me your hands!”
My body is quick to catch up. I’m lying on my stomach with my fingers intertwined on the back of my head before I know it.
My mind, on the other hand, is none the wiser.
“What the fuck is happening?” I whisper to Rebel.
“It’s a raid,” she says grimly.
“Don’t move!” One of the agents yells at someone.
“Shut up and call our lawyer!” Prez shouts as they’re dragging him away.