Chapter 3
Slate
I can’t get over finding Christina again, only to discover that she has a young daughter and is on the run from her abusive baby daddy.
That’s some fucked up shit I will not stand for.
I’m gonna track that fucker down and give him the beatdown he so richly deserves.
I would have done it tonight, when I slammed him with my Harley, but it was more important to get them to safety.
I’ve already decided that I’m gonna do everything in my fuckin’ power to get her to come back to my clubhouse with me, so I can protect them both until she figures out her next move.
Christina is a good and decent woman who clearly trusted the wrong guy.
She doesn’t deserve to be beaten on by some asshole who ain’t fit to lick her damn shoes.
I fetch some food, a couple of sandwiches, a bottle of water, and some milk in case the kid wakes up tonight.
There aren’t a lot of men here, but the ones who are, come from different clubs, some from one of our charters.
Two of them are standing watch in the hallway with my cousin, Flint, and Jinx, our sergeant-at-arms. Flint only came to stay with us recently—he’s just got out of the military and was at a loose end.
His old man was my dad’s brother. Dude’s solid.
I’m about to head back to my suite when I get a text from Rivera.
Rivera: You want to meet up for lunch before you leave?
Me: Yeah. How about the diner at 11 AM?
Rivera: See you there.
Stuffing my phone back in my pocket I head back upstairs.
“Open up. It’s me.”
Recognizing my voice, she quickly opens the door for me. I set the tray down on the table and gesture for her to have a seat. “Eat,” I tell her. “You’ll need the energy.”
She hesitates for a brief moment and then sits at the table with me. “Thank you. I don’t know if I can eat right now, but I’ll try.”
“Yeah, I get that you’ve been through some pretty serious shit lately. Just eat what you can. I’ll never ask more of you than you can give, darlin’.”
Her eyes slide away and her hands drop into her lap. “Look, Slate. I don’t know how to thank you for showing up when you did.” She pauses for a moment then looks confused. “How did you know to show up?”
I place a sandwich and bottle of water in front of her. “You don’t have to keep fuckin’ thanking me. You needed help and I stepped up. That’s what friends are for, right? It was a mutual friend who let me know you were in a bad situation.”
A short silence spins out between us. She doesn’t ask who.
Though I’m guessing she’s still in shock.
Looks like me and my club brothers turned up just in time.
She reaches out and pulls the paper napkin off her sandwich.
I can tell the minute she realizes that I left off the mayo.
Her eyes light up with pleasure, and she quickly takes another bite.
I remember shit, and everything about the time we spent together.
I want to ask what happened with her baby daddy, how bad it got, and if she’s been running long.
I don’t though. It seems rude and I think I already know.
A man doesn’t chase a woman the way he did unless he’s been given too much power for too long.
I’ve seen that kind of control before. The damage doesn’t always show up as bruises.
So, I shift gears and focus on the situation she’s currently battling.
“So, you got a plan?”
She glances over her shoulder at her still-sleeping kid, then back at me. “No. Not yet. I don’t have much money left. I’m between jobs right now. I was hoping to find something short-term, maybe rent a room until I can figure it out.”
I nod slowly, thinking about her potential options. None of them are good. “This place won’t do. It’s safe enough for the night, but it’s not meant for families. Tomorrow, we have to move.”
“Move to where?” she asks, her expression guarded.
“My clubhouse,” I tell her. “You can stay with me until you get back on your feet.”
She freezes and then puts her sandwich down on the table. “You mean we’d be staying with your club, right?”
“I have a nice suite at the clubhouse. So yes, it would be at the club. Is that gonna be a problem?”
She’s shaking her head no before I even get the words out. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I can’t take my daughter into a place full of outlaws.”
I meet her stare, hold it. “You think we’re criminals?”
“You’re wearing a one-percent patch, Slate. I’ve covered gangs when I was an investigative reporter. I know what that patch represents.”
“I don’t think you do. You didn’t ask, but I’m gonna tell you what it means to me and my family.”
Her head comes up fast and she begins trying to explain. “I’m not trying to put you on the spot or make assumptions. I’m really not.”
I get huffy real damn quick. “Why don’t you close your mouth and let me talk?”
“Go ahead, Slate,” she says quietly.
Clearing my throat, I explain, “It means we live free and, like tonight, if the cops can’t keep us safe, we’ll take the law into our own hands.”
“Oh, that makes sense.”
“It also means we claim territory in order to protect it from other gangs. Because of those two things, the law calls us outlaws.” When she doesn’t immediately respond, I continue.
“But we don’t run drugs or illegal weapons.
We don’t traffic women or do any kind of crime at all.
We earn our money just like everyone else.
The brothers pay dues, work regular jobs, or earn through the club’s legit businesses.
We’ve got a garage, a mobile mechanic business, and an auto parts store.
Everything is above board, and we pay our taxes every year like clockwork. ”
She studies me for a long time. I can tell she’s trying to decide if she believes me.
“My family runs the club,” I add. “My old man built it. My brother’s the president.
My ma and sister-in-law handle the day to day running of the clubhouse.
I’m not gonna lie—we’re a little rough around the edges, but we’re not outright outlaws.
I’m gonna put you in my property cut. No one in Cedar Falls would dare touch you with my name stamped across your back.
No one will even raise their voice to you because they’d answer to me if they did. ”
She blinks slowly, her expression softening just enough to show how tired she is. “And they’d really be okay with me showing up out of nowhere? With a child?”
“Queenie will have your room ready before you can turn around. Tessa too. You and your kid can stay in my suite upstairs. It’s off-limits to everyone except my family.”
When she hesitates, I remind her, “You always did feel safe in my keepin’.”
She squints at me, confused. “Why are you going to all this trouble for me and my daughter?”
I think about it, then shrug. “I already told you. It’s what friends do.”
She looks at the sleeping child, murmurs, “I really do like you, Slate. That’s why I don’t want to bring trouble to your door.”
“Gee, I might be a big, rough-ass biker, but ain’t never been in trouble before, ma’am.”
That gets her to crack a smile.
I tell her, “There ain’t nothing out there that I can’t handle. If there is, my club can call up almost a thousand men if we need to, and arm all of them. I think we’re more than a match for that asshole ex of yours.”
She finally nods. “Okay. It’ll just be until I can figure something out.”
“Take the time you need, sweetheart.” I stand, pull off my cut, and grab a couple of blankets from the closet. “I’m gonna sleep on the sofa. Get some rest. We’re gonna ride around mid-morning.”
She nods again before crawling into bed with her little girl.
I stick the kid’s milk in the tiny mini fridge, spread my blankets out, and go to sleep.
As I close my eyes, I can’t help but remember the way she looked at me when I pulled off my helmet.
It was a mixture of disbelief and relief tangled together.
It was just like how she looked the day I lifted her onto that transport.
It’s enough to make me think we could rekindle what we once had.
Though the way she talked about leaving as soon as she could afford it, doesn’t sound like a woman who wants me. I know I should leave well enough alone, but I know myself well enough to know that I won’t.
***
The next morning, we wake up late, because we were up so late, no doubt.
I had one of the prospects bring my truck and ride my Harley back.
While I hate the thought of someone else on my bike, I don’t want Christina and her kid getting a lift back with anyone else.
I also had the prospect bring me a Sons of Rage property cut for Christina.
We can always add my name when we get there.
I want her in it immediately, so everyone knows from the get-go to leave her the hell alone, she’s been through enough already.
We hit the road as soon as we get showered and dressed. She didn’t put up much of a fight about the property cut because she didn’t understand the significance of wearing one. I’ll save that talk for later. Damned if she doesn’t look good in it, though.
She’d look even better in my property cut.
The diner I arranged to meet Rivera at sits a few miles from the safehouse, tucked beside a feed store that hasn’t changed much since the seventies. My four-man crew comes with us, but they’re respectful enough to get their own table.
Rivera arrives about ten minutes after we do. He’s all smiles, particularly when he sees Christina in a Sons of Rage cut.
“Damn, bro, you don’t waste any time, do you?”
“Safety first,” I tell him curtly.
He’s smart enough to let it go.
Turning to Christina, he says, “Good to see you again. It’s been a long time.”
Christina’s eyes widen. “Rivera. I didn’t expect to see you here too.”
“Neither did I,” he says, motioning to the booth. “I came here a few days ago for a job. I saw you in the parking lot and realized that asshole was stalking you, so I called Slate.”