Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
My eyes go to him in shock. I’ve heard shit like that before, but not from a piss ant who has yet to grow into a man. He’s going to be trouble. If I take this job—and it’s not like I have a lot of choice—I’m going to have to try and contain that pint-sized, alpha-in-training, mini-Marcum and that’s really not going to be easy.
Marcum takes the palm of his hand and slaps the back of mini-Marcum’s head. I blink. That seems harsh, but then, I don’t have kids. So, what do I know?
“Shit, Dad! What was that for?” he asks.
Okay, I know that little kids shouldn’t say shit… right?
Marcum must agree, because he slaps him on the back of the head again.
“Show some respect and what the fuck did I tell you about using grown-up words?” Marcum asks and my mouth drops open. Does he not realize he just said fuck? Hello pot, meet kettle and all that jazz.
“Hi,” Harley says, reluctantly, rubbing the back of his head.
“I’ll leave you guys to get acquainted,” Marcum says. “Be nice,” he orders with a warning look to Harley.
“We will!” Desi chirps. “We’ll introduce her to the others.”
“Good.” He kisses the top of Desi’s head and then does the same to Harley. My heart flutters watching it. I’ve never seen a parent be good to a child before… weird but true. And also, it hits me just how much Harley and Marcum are alike. Of course it helps that Harley is wearing a leather jacket, white T-shirt and jeans, which is almost exactly what Marcum is wearing. It’s just that Marcum is wearing a leather cut instead of a jacket, and it has patches on it proclaiming him not only a member of the Saints, but also the president of them.
He walks around me to leave and I don’t think, I just reach out and grab his arm. Marcum stops and looks over his shoulder at me.
Others? I mouth my question and for some reason he grins and my gaze is frozen on his face—specifically his mouth.
“Yeah, Dragonfly. I have more than two kids. You’re in charge of all of them.”
I huff and hold up my finger, indicating he should wait a minute. Then I write in my notebook.
I don’t know how to care for kids!
“You’ll learn,” Marcum answers as he reads the page I hold up. Then he shrugs. “Unless you’ve decided you’d rather become a club—”
I clap my hand over his mouth—harder than I needed to—and let my eyes shoot imaginary daggers at him. I look back at the kids and then to him, trying to relay the message. I’m not sure it does any good, because he just laughs and leaves the room.
I stare at the closed door for a minute. Then I stare down at a smiling Desi and an obviously unhappy Harley.
Shit.
8
Marcum
I walk away from the children’s room smiling and my lips still feeling the weight of Toi’s hand on them. She’s got more spirit than I gave her credit for. Each time I catch a glimpse of it, I want to see more. Maybe I should try and find a man to watch over her. Ghost is taken with her, I can see it on his face. He’s relatively new. He came in after Blaze left the brotherhood. Blaze was a fuckwad, but there are days I miss the asshole. He transferred out to another chapter a year ago. His old lady, Jinxy, left the club not long after that. Those two should have never got together. Jinxy is a good woman, but Blaze isn’t the kind of man who can keep it in his pants with only one woman. Hell, I was the same way when I was younger. Which probably explains why I have so many kids.
I briefly wonder what Toi’s reaction will be when she discovers how many kids I have, but I shrug it off. Really, four of my kids aren’t even there; they’ve moved out to families of their own, like Max, or they’re away in college. I miss them. I may be an asshole, but I’m a decent father—or at least I’ve always tried to be.
“Where you headed, Marcum?” Topper asks, coming around the corner, hugging his old lady, Babs, close. Those two couldn’t be any more different in looks and in personality, but for some reason they just work. Topper is tall, skinny as a rail and kind of goofy looking in general. Babs is hot as fuck and curvy in all the right places. Topper is a good man, though, probably one of my best besides Moth.
“Heading to Dawg’s,” I tell him, giving my son Max’s road name. “Tess is cooking dinner, and I’m going to spend some time with Maddie. I’ll be back in time for church.”
“Want me to go and watch your back?” he asks. He’s always worried about me going places alone. I wave him off.