Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 160732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
He didn’t have to explain that, and it didn’t take long for Sylvie, Tucker, Scott and Damian to clear out.
He waited until the door was closed and then he waited longer.
Then he said to the table, “Resurrection.”
“Damn straight,” Chap grunted.
“You want me on the line with Beck?” Slate asked.
“Vote,” Buck said. “All in favor we contact the Resurrection MC to help us handle Babić?”
“Yea,” Ink said.
“Yea,” Cruise said.
“Yea,” Chap unnecessarily.
“Fuckin’ yea,” Lynch said.
The rest of the men voted unanimous, and Buck looked to Slate.
“Call Beck.”
Beck being the president of the Resurrection Motorcycle Club.
There was general talk about a variety of things, and men moved out.
In the end, it was Buck, Chap, Ink, Cruise, Gash, Riot, Lynch and Slate.
Ink, the voice of reason, spoke.
“I voted yea, but Resurrection is some serious shit, brother.”
“Babić is gonna play with us and do it through our women,” Buck reminded him.
“They’re the angels of death, Buck.” Ink did some reminding of his own.
“I give them the words ‘former foster kid’ and ‘woman,’ they’ll tear Phoenix up before they let any more hurt fall on Clara,” Slate remarked.
“This is what I’m saying,” Ink replied.
“No more hurt is gonna fall on Clara,” Buck said.
“Buck, brother—”
“No. More. Hurt. Is. Gonna. Fall. On. Clara,” Buck decreed. “He picked her girls. Only her girls. He did that for a reason. He’s not fuckin’ with me, or you, Ink, or Cruise, or the Club. He’s usin’ us to fuck with her. And she’s not gonna feel that. I don’t give a fuck what we gotta do, she’s ours. She’s family. And she’s not gonna feel that.”
Ink sat back.
He was on board with that.
“I got a call to make,” Slate said, rising while pulling out his phone and leaving the room.
It didn’t take long for the rest of the room to empty.
Leaving him with Chap.
“Proud a’ you, bud,” Chap said.
Buck said nothing.
“Your dad would be proud of you too.”
Buck looked his friend in the eye.
He felt his words in his chest.
But said nothing.
“I’ll tell him that, I visit him. You takin’ Clara and the kids to see him for the holidays?”
“We’re goin’ tomorrow.”
“He thinks Clara is the shit.”
“I know, that’s ’cause Clara is the shit. I also know ’cause he’s told me.”
“He hated Kristy.”
Buck fell silent again.
He knew that too.
“You done good, bud,” Chap said quietly.
And he knew that too.
Fuck, yeah.
He knew that too.
Epilogue
Howl at the Moon
An hour and a half after the meet, Buck navigated the various cars in his drive to park, exit his vehicle and climb the stairs to his front door.
Gear, Damian, Ink and Raymundo were sitting out on the deck under a space heater.
“Take my wise advice, Dad,” Gear said. “Do not go in there.”
Buck looked through the windows into his house.
There was the hugest-ass Christmas tree he’d ever seen in the corner covered in so many ornaments, you could only just make out there was a tree under there somewhere.
It was lit bright.
There was a fire in the fireplace.
Tia was on the floor in front of the fire with some little kids, putting together a puzzle.
He moved his eyes left.
Clara was in the kitchen with Tatie, Mrs. Jimenez, Minnie, Lorie, Raymundo’s wife Griselle and some other kids, and it looked like a red and green icing bomb had exploded in it, detonating some little silver and gold balls along with it.
Though, it was mostly icing.
Icing was everywhere.
Including in Clara’s hair.
“Gingerbread men decoration,” Gear informed him. “She wants to make sure Mrs. J can take a tin full of ’em to all her kids.”
“I have one brother and two sisters,” Raymundo shared, grinning. “And a warning, hermano, Ma’s got all the grandkids in there.”
He’d already seen that.
“Correction, Clara wants to make sure they each have a huge-ass tin,” Gear amended.
“You go in there, tell them you gotta come right back out with fresh beers,” Damian suggested a way out.
Though it was more an order because Buck could see he was almost dry.
“I’m making you all hamburgers,” Buck reminded them of the reason they were all there.
“You got ’em formed yet?” Ink asked.
“No,” Buck answered.
“Good luck with that,” Ink muttered, belting back another slug of beer.
Buck let out a deep breath and headed to the door.
“Buck,” Damian called.
He stopped and looked at Damian.
“Tia and Clara, never in their lives, surrounded by people and little kids, made gingerbread men,” he stated.
He didn’t have to be reminded.
But the reminder still served its purpose.
This had been, from the minute Rogan Kirk bit it, a situation.
Because Buck had only wanted to make certain Clara knew she had her people and they had her back.
What he’d done in actuality was show her she had a big family, and she’d made it her meaning in life to take care of it.
Pure Clara.
This was the first icing bomb that had exploded.
But he’d formed a fuckuva lot of hamburgers since that day.