Chapter 15
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— Colt —
Dutch had texted at eight in the morning: New wing’s done. Come see it before the rest of these assholes get here.
I’d been up anyway. I was always up earlier than everyone other than Glitch, who never seemed to sleep.
The addition looked different finished. No more bare framing, no more construction dust in the air.
Dutch walked me through it himself, which wasn’t something he did casually.
Three thousand square feet, exactly what he’d planned.
Conference rooms. A proper operations office.
Storage that didn’t involve hiding things under floorboards.
And at the end of the corridor, the main office—two desks, two chairs, a window overlooking the compound.
Built for both of them. Next to it, smaller, a second room with Dutch’s name on it in everything but the signage.
“We share the big one,” Dutch said, as if this was news but I’d known his plan since he had the plans drawn up. “But when she needs the space to herself. Client calls, presentations, whatever. I clear out.”
I looked at him.
“What?” He was already moving on down the hall.
“Nothing.” I followed him. “She’ll have a sign made.”
“Already ordered it.” He said it like that was the most natural thing in the world. “For the door.”
“She should.” I looked around. “You did good, Dutch.”
He made a sound that wasn’t quite modest and wasn’t quite smug. “Legitimate’s the future. Montana’s not forever.” He glanced at me sideways. “Louisville contract goes through, we’re big time.”
I nodded. That conversation was coming. I’d be ready for it when he decided I was ready for it.
We were still standing in the doorway of the office when Betty called me.
“Luca got in a fight at school,” she said without preamble. “I’m at my cardiologist appointment—nothing serious, just a checkup, but I can’t leave. Lilac’s at work and isn’t answering her phone. Can you—”
“I’m on my way.” I was already grabbing my keys. “What happened?”
“Don’t know yet. The school just said he threw the first punch and they need someone to pick him up.”
Luca. Who’d looked at me like I was the enemy from day one. Throwing punches at school.
“I’ll handle it,” I said. “Text me the address.”
Fifteen minutes later, I was walking into Millfield Elementary with my leather cut on my shoulders and probably looking like every parent’s worst nightmare. The secretary’s eyes went wide when I approached the desk.
“I’m here for Luca James,” I said. “His grandmother called me.”
The secretary’s eyes swept over my leather cut and tattoos, her expression guarded. “And your name?”
“Colt Spencer. I’m his father.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly—probably not many leather-clad bikers showed up for school pickup. She turned to her computer, clicking through screens. I watched her scan what must have been the approved pickup list, her finger trailing down the monitor.
“Ah. Yes, here you are.” Her tone shifted, becoming more professional and less defensive. She pulled out a clipboard and slid it across the counter. “I’ll need you to sign in. Name, time, and which student you’re picking up.”
I signed where she indicated, and she took the clipboard back, glancing at my signature before reaching for the phone on her desk.
She pressed a button. “Principal Hernandez, Luca’s guardian is here.
” A brief wait, then: “Yes, ma’am.” She hung up and looked back at me.
“Down the hall, second door on the left. Have a seat outside. She’ll call you in when she’s ready. ”
I found Luca sitting in a plastic chair outside the principal’s office, his arms crossed, his face stormy. There was a red mark on his cheek that would probably bruise, and his knuckles were scraped raw.
He looked up when I approached. Surprise flickered across his face, followed by embarrassment. Then his expression went flat again. “Grandma sent you,” he said.
“She did.” I lowered myself into the chair beside him. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“That bruise on your face says otherwise.”
“You should see the other kid.”
Despite everything, I felt a surge of pride. Wrong, probably, but there it was. “Want to tell me what happened?”
“No.”
“Fair enough.” I leaned back in my chair. “I’ll hear it from the principal anyway.”
We sat in silence for ten more minutes before the door to Principal Hernandez’s office opened. She was a middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense expression that reminded me of my third-grade teacher—the one who’d kept me after school more times than I could count.
“Mr. Spencer?” She looked at me, then at Luca, probably seeing the resemblance. “Please come in.”
The office was small and cramped, filled with inspirational posters about kindness and respect. I sat in one of the chairs across from her desk; Luca took the other, slumping down like he wanted to disappear.
“I’m Principal Hernandez.” She folded her hands on her desk. “Thank you for coming in on short notice. I understand Luca’s mother and grandmother weren’t available.”
“His mother’s at work. His grandmother has a doctor’s appointment.” I met her eyes directly. “I’m his father, Colt Spencer.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly, but she didn’t comment. “I see. Well, Mr. Spencer, I’m afraid Luca was involved in a physical altercation today during recess. He threw the first punch.”
“At who?”
“A fourth-grader named Tyler Morrison. Tyler required ice for his nose, and his parents are… understandably upset.”
I looked at Luca. “This Tyler kid—he’s older than you?”
Luca shrugged one shoulder.
“Three years older,” Principal Hernandez confirmed. “Which is part of what concerns us. Luca is typically a well-behaved student. This is very out of character.”
“Did anyone ask why he threw the punch?”
The principal hesitated. “Tyler claims he was just talking to Luca and his brother when Luca attacked him without provocation.”
“That’s a lie!” Luca’s composure cracked. He sat up straight, his eyes blazing. “He was saying stuff about mama. Bad stuff.”
My hands curled into fists on my thighs. “What kind of stuff?”
“He said bad words. Really bad ones.” Luca’s voice shook. He looked at the principal, then at me, his face reddening. “He said Mama was a biker’s…” He struggled with the word, his jaw tight. “…a biker’s whore.”
Principal Hernandez went quiet for a moment. “Regardless,” she said, “Luca will be suspended for two days, starting tomorrow.”
I nodded slowly, keeping my voice even. “And Tyler? What’s his punishment for bullying a kid three years younger than him?”
“Tyler will also receive consequences. But, Luca threw the first punch—”
“After being provoked with slurs about his mama.” I gestured to Luca’s face.
“And my son’s got a bruise on his cheek, which means Tyler hit back.
So this wasn’t a one-sided attack. It was a fight.
” I leaned forward. “Ma’am, I understand you have rules.
I’m not saying Luca should have hit him.
But maybe next time you should get the full story before you label a six-year-old the aggressor. ”
Principal Hernandez’s expression tightened, but she didn’t argue. “You can take Luca home now.”
I stood and looked down at my son. “Let’s go.”
Before I got in the truck, I pulled out my phone and texted Lilac: Done at school. Taking him to Betty’s. Her reply came back before I’d pocketed it: On my way.
We were in my truck before either of us spoke. Luca sat in the back, buckled into one of the two booster seats bolted behind the cab, staring out the window, his jaw set at that stubborn angle I was starting to recognize as pure Spencer genetics.
“You shouldn’t have hit him,” I said finally.
Luca’s head whipped around. “You’re taking his side?”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side. I’m stating a fact.” I pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward Betty’s house. “You shouldn’t have hit him. But I understand why you did.”
“He called my mama a—”
“I know what he called her. And if I’d been there, I probably would have hit him too.” I glanced at Luca. “Which is the problem.”
He frowned, confused. “You would have hit him?”
“When I was your age, I punched a kid who said something about my mom. Broke his nose. Got suspended for a week.” I kept my eyes on the road.
“Felt good for about thirty seconds. Then I had to explain to my mom why I was in trouble, and she cried. Not because she was mad at me, but because she felt like it was her fault.”
Luca was quiet for a moment. “Did she blame you?”
“No. She hugged me and told me she was proud that I wanted to defend her. But she also said—” I paused, remembering my mom’s voice, soft and sad.
“She said that defending someone doesn’t have to mean fighting them.
Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is walk away and let stupid people be stupid. ”
“But he was saying bad stuff. I couldn’t just let him.”
“I know. Sometimes protecting the people you love means getting your hands dirty.” I pulled to a stop at a red light and turned to face him fully.
“But here’s the thing, Luca. If you’re always fighting, you can’t always be there to protect her.
You get suspended, you get expelled, you end up somewhere you can’t help her at all. You gotta be smart about it.”
Luca chewed on his lower lip, processing this. “So what should I have done?”
“Honestly? Walked away. Found a teacher. Let the adults handle it.” I shrugged. “Would that have felt as good as punching him? Hell no. But you wouldn’t be suspended, and Tyler would be the one who got in trouble for bullying.”
“That’s dumb.”
“Yeah, sometimes doing the right thing feels dumb.” The light turned green and I eased forward. “But it’s still the right thing.”
We drove in silence for a few more blocks. Then, quietly, Luca said, “You get it.”
I glanced at him. “Get what?”
“Why I had to do something. Everyone else would just tell me hitting is wrong.” He paused. “But you understand why I couldn’t just stand there.”