Knight's Rider (Saint's Outlaws MC New York Chapter #2)

Prologue

“Troy, where is this girl? So much for first impressions.” I roll my eyes at Gran, who acts like she’s starving when all she really wants is the wine Ma’s serving for dinner.

“It’s Long Island, there’s traffic,” I answer as I glance out the window again.

I check our text messages just to make sure I didn’t fuck up the address with my big ass fingers.

Nope.

“Will wait five more minutes,” Ma says, frowning at the clock on the wall.

Jenna is twenty minutes late to my birthday dinner. We’ve been dating for a few weeks, and I finally talked her into meeting my parents tonight.

A baby crying distracts the women in the room as the swarm tries to help Genesis with my godson. Meanwhile, Pirate keeps watching me like I’m a ticking time bomb he might need to defuse.

My family has a way of setting me off.

The rumble of a bike outside makes me pull the curtain aside, and I smile when I see Jenna roll up on her Ducati. My Ma comes up behind me and pats my shoulder.

“She’s here,” I announce to the room.

“Hmm, I don’t like her,” Ma says for the whole house to hear.

“MA! Ya haven’t even met her yet.” She shrugs and turns away from me.

“She ain’t right for you. Look what she drives and what she’s wearing. She dressed like a cheap puttana.” The room erupts with people hollering over each other as I move to the front door, ‘cause no one’s gonna hear the doorbell in this fucking noise.

I slide out the front door and wait for her on the porch.

“Sounds like the party started without me. Sorry I’m late. Traffic was brutal.” I kiss her cheeks and try to turn her back towards her bike because I know taking her into the house after my mother’s announcement is going to be a fucking disaster.

“No big deal. My family is being dramatic, and we can just skip dinner with them tonight.” Jenna frowns as the door opens behind me.

“Troy, aren’t you bringing her inside? We’re all dying to meet her.” Ma says with a fake pleasant tone that’s been making my dad’s eye twitch for the last fifty years of marriage.

“Sorry I’m late, Mrs. Lambert. The hospital was swamped, and traffic was terrible. I didn’t even have time to go home to change, so it was my workout clothes or blood-covered scrubs. I hope you don’t think I’m a slob.” I turn narrowed eyes on my mother, who blushes and smiles at Jenna.

“Oh, honey, you look beautiful. Please come in.” My eyes close and roll into my skull, but I thank Jesus that she hasn’t been rude.

So far.

“Your mother is so sweet,” Jenna says as we walk inside.

Right.