Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 132332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
“Almost every vehicle’s an automatic now,” I say, as if it even matters.
He flexes his right hand and rolls his shoulder. “Probably a blessing for me.”
I sip my beer and stare into the fire. The pull of the past and my present dilemma leave me with a need to search for answers. I haven’t stopped thinking about the possibility Rock and I are brothers instead of father and son since he mentioned it.
Grinder’s also staring into the fire. Like the story left him filled with regret instead of fond memories. Now I feel like shit for bringing it up. It’s not like me to beat around the bush.
“How’d you stand prison?” The two situations aren’t even remotely the same. But going to prison was something out of Grinder’s control. And out of control is how I’ve felt every day since I learned Rock was my father. Events that happened before I was even born have somehow gotten a stranglehold on my life.
He shakes himself out of his trance. “What?”
“The whole club knew you had nothing to do with Lucky’s death,” I explain. He has to know none of us ever blamed him, right? “How’d you stand it? Fifteen years inside for something you didn’t do would drive some people insane.”
Grinder stares at me with hard eyes. Obviously, he doesn’t appreciate the question. I don’t look away or apologize. The answer’s too important.
“Didn’t get fifteen years at first,” he reminds me.
“Yeah, but you never would’ve had the extra time added if you hadn’t been there in the first place.” I wave my hand toward the flames. “If Ruger hadn’t asked you to take out those punks.”
Another death glare. I’m begging for an ass-kicking if I keep it up. Ex-cons, especially biker ex-cons, are notorious for guarding their prison stories. No brother wants to reminisce about his time inside with someone who hasn’t served hard time. My stint in juvie doesn’t count.
After a short staring match, he reluctantly opens his mouth. “The first sentence I was able to swallow. Had a lot of guilt over Lucky’s death. I survived. He didn’t. Besides, I’d done plenty of shit by that point in my life that could’ve gotten me locked up. I deserved to be there. Karma had finally caught up with me.”
“Like what?”
Grinder’s jaw shifts. His cold eyes bore into mine. “You know better than to ask a brother a question like that.”
“We don’t lie or hide those kinds of truths from each other.” Especially not about deeds done to protect the club.
“You want details? Fine.” He huffs and stares at the sky for so long, I’m about to crack a “how long is the list” joke, when he continues. “The clown your mom was dating back then. The one you asked Lucky and me to scare away?”
“Yeah, what about him?”
“We beat the ever-loving shit out of him to provide the motivation. The kind of beating that could’ve netted me three-to-five, easily.”
That doesn’t surprise or bother me. “He fuckin’ deserved it.”
“We both know that wouldn’t have been a defense.”
“You still didn’t deserve to—”
“Don’t talk to me about what I did or didn’t deserve.” He squeezes his fists tight, then opens his hands and stares at them. “What do you want me to do, Marcel? Live life in reverse? Keep on regretting all the time I lost so I ruin the time I have left?”
“No. Fuck no.” A cold drop of doubt extinguishes a few flames of my curiosity. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”
“Then what’s your end goal here? What’s with the questions?”
What am I hoping to accomplish? Grinder’s been through enough heartache. Why am I trying to poke at his scars? “I want to know how you handled it. How you stopped the regret from eating you alive. How you regained control and made sense of it.”
“I just told you, dipshit.” He slices his hand through the air in front of him. “Look forward to the future. Leave the past where it belongs.” His gaze shifts to the side. “I want to focus on my girl and make a life with her.”
My mouth quirks and I quickly glance down. No fucking kidding he moved fast with Serena. But I’ve said enough shitty stuff tonight. So, I manage to bite back the joke threatening to leap off my tongue. He seems at peace around her. That’s all that should matter.
“Speaking of,” he continues, “you got a beautiful firecracker you’re engaged to. I’m looking forward to attending my first post-incarceration Lost Kings’ wedding. Why the fuck you dragging your feet?”
I’ve held back as long as I can. “We can’t all sprint to the altar as fast as you’re trying to do, Grandpa.”
“Altar,” he grumbles. “Ain’t quite there, yet.”
“We all see it coming a mile away.”
He rolls his eyes instead of throat-punching me. Considering all the muscle he’s put on since he got out, it’s a good thing he keeps his fists clenched at his sides instead of launching one at my jaw.