Page 77 of Biker's Enemy
I also have to calm Southpaw’s ass, which he doesn’t realize takes a fair effort, and now I find out that Avery might be in real trouble. Quin is in real trouble. And Deb Shaw has Avery’s whore mother captive.
We have too many problems at once and too many problems normally means someone ends up in prison. That’s what happened last time. I don’t need the club to collect their debt from a Hollingsworth this time. No fucking way.
“We have bigger problems than Ruger and Darlene. The Midnight SS know where my mother lives and she doesn’t seem to give a shit. I need you to grab Quin, Juliette, and Avery and convince my mother to see sense.”
“She has no more reason to listen to me than to listen to you.”
He’s quiet for a beat, which means he sees my point.
“Anna says I should recognize when I lack the mental stability to deal with something and leave it to someone with a calmer demeanor.”
I can’t tell if he’s just telling me that to kiss my ass. He does sound uncharacteristically humble, which makes him sound more believable.
“Who says I have a calmer demeanor?”
“She does,” He snaps. “Now will you head over there?”
“How fast do you think I can drive?”
“Fast enough to cut Juliette and Quin off on the old Route 66 highway. I don’t need them knowing you’re on your way.”
“Why not?”
“Because… they’re stubborn and Juliette could find trouble in a goddamn straitjacket. The fewer people who know they’re riding across the country with a baby in tow, the better.”
“What about Deb and her prisoner?” I answer. “If they’re leaving before I can get there, I don’t see how you expect me to handle both.”
“Use whatever family you have,” Southpaw says. “Use Owen.”
Owen is a more mentally stable choice than Ethan, but I would almost rather have a younger Sinclair or a newly patched-in member than a Shaw.
“Are you sure we can leave Ruger here alone?”
“No. I’m not sure. But we have to hope for the best. Hope that his Christian upbringing prevails.”
“The last time I brought him to church, he was so drunk he pissed behind the podium,” I say, reminding Wyatt of the horrible first Christmas after Ruger’s enlistment.
“I’ll pray for him,” Southpaw says. Like that would be much better…
I don’t have much time to argue. Ruger’s yelling at Darlene only picks up and maybe if there’s any God in this house at all, he’s giving me an opportunity to escape this goddamn nightmare. I hang up on Southpaw and hesitantly approach the door. I hear the sound of smacking going on. Then another scream. Here we go.
I throw the door open to find Darlene weeping and crouched in the corner, Ruger standing over her holding a leather belt.
“I told you not to hit her.”
“I’m not hitting her. I’m scaring her,” he says, relaxing his shoulders and tossing the belt back on the bed. “Big difference.”
“She’s pregnant.”
“That’s right,” Ruger says, turning to Darlene. “I’m gonna sell her baby to a pack of niggers and see how she likes it.”
“I HATE YOU!” Darlene shrieks before descending into violent body-wracking sobs. I would feel more sorry for her if it weren’t for the racist tattoos all over her. Or the fact that she betrayed the club. Ruger’s information paints an unfavorable picture of his wife. I shouldn’t be surprised. Some chicks hang around the club just so they can get shit. Usually drugs, bikes, liquor, or babies. I don’t know what the fuck Darlene wanted, but I’m not entirely surprised she wasn’t loyal.
“Well, you racist bitch, that’s what you deserve,” Ruger says. “A bunch of niggers raping your goddamn baby.”
Is this Ruger’s idea of fighting racism? I put a hand on his shoulder, fighting my urge to use my hand for something a touch more violent.
“Enough talking,” I huff. “I need you to promise me you can hold it together until I get back from a short road trip.”