Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
The garage is a lot busier than last time Logan was here. He puts his hands to his ears when someone in the back starts a compressor. I crouch next to him. “Want me to carry you? You can hang on to me, and you’ll be safe. It’s just loud.”
He looks up at me with those big eyes that are just like Dakota’s, then he nods and reaches up.
Fuck.
He’s so light. I make sure my grip is solid, ignoring the brief twitch of pain up my arm, letting him sit on my forearm and keeping him secure with my free hand, while he clings to my neck. “Better?”
He nods, a little nervously.
“Don’t worry, big guy. You’re with me, Lash and Jackal. Nobody’s going to mess with us, right?”
Logan grins. “Yeah.”
Once we’re inside and he gets used to the noise, he looks like he’s in heaven, amazed by all the tools and mechanical parts and the guys who are working on them. Sinner looks up from his welding. An eyebrow goes up, but he waves at my little buddy, who smiles and waves back. Is it safe for him to think of every biker as a friend? I don’t know enough about how kids think, but so long as we’re at the club, it’s probably just as well. Some of the guys might be assholes, but nobody here’s gonna hurt him.
A little farther in, Priest is using an airbrush to finish up the new look on his bike, a nice fade from black to red, with a bunch of skeletons charging forwards into the black, carrying torches and an upside down cross. Living up to his name, more or less. Looks real fucking good, though. Maybe I should see if he can touch up my bike, too.
But when we close up, he puts the air brush down and pulls the mask off his face. He looks at Logan and grins widely. “Man, the prospects are getting young these days. No worries, we’ll have you riding in no time. What’s your handle, little buddy?”
Logan looks at us a little uncertainly.
“He wants to know your name,” Jackal says with a quick smile.
“Logan!” He yells it out then buries his face in my jacket, like he suddenly ran outta courage.
I pat him on the back. “It’s okay. Priest’s a good guy. We like him. And he’s real good at painting. Wanna see?”
When Logan nods, Priest hands me a disposable face mask to put on him. It’s a little big, but I tie knots on the straps until it fits snugly. We stand back a little, and Logan watches rapt while Priest lays down another layer with exacting detail, adding a spooky fog that the skeletons are wading through. Some of the smoky tendrils that stick out look like they have ghost faces.
“Pretty cool, huh?” I give Logan a little nudge.
He nods, so lost in the art that he’s not speaking.
After a little bit, even Priest’s art skills aren’t enough to keep him from getting restless, though. I put him down and nod to Lash. “Why don’t you go see if the cornhole set is up? Me and Jackal are gonna talk to Priest for a minute.”
“Ever played cornhole before, buddy?” Lash asks, taking him by the hand. Logan shakes his head, so Lash dives into telling him how to play as they leave the garage.
Priest watches them go, eyes fixed on Logan. “That’s him, huh?”
I nod. “What do you think?”
He sighs and folds his arms across his chest. Down the length of one arm he has an angel, and on the other, a devil. “I think it’s a shame Ice didn’t live to see him.”
“So you think he’s his?” Jackal asks.
Priest nods. “I’m sure of it. He must have his momma’s eyes, but that face is pure Ice. Peaches might’ve been a hot fucking mess, but she wasn’t running around on him. They were solid.” He rubs the back of his neck, eyes fixed on a spot that must be a hundred miles and five years away. “Ice warned her to stay away. I don’t know if he knew she was pregnant or not, but I remember asking why she stopped coming around and he said he didn’t trust some of the new guys.”
“For good fucking reason,” I snarl, fingers itching to scratch at my scar.
“Does the sister know?” Priest asks.
I shake my head. “Peaches—Georgia, she shacked up with a massive asshole who’s working for Sergei. Dakota assumed the new boyfriend was the dad.”
“So some jackass has been raising Ice’s boy?”
“No. Georgia gave him to Dakota. Kinda fucked up, but the kid’s happy. He’s got a good mom.”
“Good… good.” Priest takes his breathing mask between his fingers but pauses before putting it on. “You’ll tell her, right? Ice might not be here to see it, but the kid deserves to know he’s got history, and when he’s old enough, he should start learning where he came from.”