Page 1 of Trick or Treat

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“What have I told you about trying to fuck me over?” Trick was at the end of his patience. He’d come here today with the knowledge that nothing his lawyer said would change his mind. Today was the day his association with Bill Cranston would end.

“I assure you that I am not trying tofuck you over, as you like to put it.” The pompous ass sat behind his desk, fiddling with an ink pen that probably cost a couple hundred bucks, acting like he wasn’t shitting bricks right now. Trick could see the first signs that the lawyer wasn’t as impervious to his temper as he’d like Trick to believe. A fine sheen of sweat broke out across his forehead and a twitch was starting under his eye.

“Oh, really? Then why, after eighteen months, am I paying more to my ex-wife than when I started? Why do I not have more visitation with my children? Why have I been paying you out the ass to get me custody of my kids?” Trick sat in a chair on the opposite side of Cranston’s desk. Jackson sat in the chair next to him, cleaning under his fingernails with his knife. A very big, sharp knife that his lawyer kept sneaking peeks at.

Trick had planned to take care of this by himself, but Jackson had wanted to tag along. He’d said he was bored and thought it would be fun to fuck with the lawyer, so Trick had told him, “Sure, come on.”

He was so done dealing with this dickhead of a lawyer. The man had done absolutely nothing to help him get custody of his kids. He’d tried to give the prick the benefit of a doubt when he told him it was all part of playing the game as he’d been forced to pay for court costs, Cranston’s ridiculous fees and quite frankly, fees he thought Cranston was just making up. There were also all the court delays, and canceled appointments that were driving him over the edge. Trick kept telling himself “it’s part of the process” and “it’ll take time.” What added insult to injury was when the court said he had to pay for Michelle’s attorney fees, too.

No. More.

“Cranston, we are done. You’ve jacked me around for way too long and you’ve gotten me zero results. I keep telling you things with her are spiraling out of control and I’m worried about the welfare of my kids and you have fuck all to say or do about it. Not one time have you gotten anything to swing my way.” Trick leveled his stare on his lawyer. “Give me copies of everything in my file.”

“Wh-what?” the sleazy guy sputtered. “What do you mean?”

“It means you’re fired, motherfucker,” Jackson growled as he shot out of his chair and buried the tip of his blade in the very expensive mahogany desk. “He wants a copy of all his records so he doesn’t have to go through all this shit again. Understand?”

“I’m fired?” Cranston went from being nervous to pissed off at the very idea that he was being dismissed. His lips pinched together as he looked down his beak-like nose.

“Yeah. Fired. Give me a copy of my file. I’m not leaving here without it.” Trick stood and leaned over the desk, getting in the lawyer’s face.

Cranston leaned back in his expensive chair, trying to put distance between them. “If you want a copy of your file, it will take a couple of days for my secretary to copy it and get it mailed out to you. There will be a fee, of course.”

The sleazeball thought to stick it to him one more time, did he? Trick slowly made his way around the desk so that he was standing next to Cranston. He swung him around to face him, then leaned down to rest his hands on the arms of the chair. A cold, deadly smirk spread across his face. A clear indication that Trick had reached his limit. The man’s cocky smile faltered for just a moment.

“Let’s get something straight, Cranston. See this patch on my cut?” He waited for the man’s eyes to drift to the Sons of Redemption MC patch and back up to Trick’s eyes. “You should know better than to fuck with the Sons of Redemption. You fuck with one, you fuck with them all.”

Jackson appeared behind the attorney, jamming his knife into the desk’s surface again, this time right next to the lawyer’s arm, causing him to jump. “It just pisses me off when someone fucks with one of my brothers,” he growled in Cranston’s ear.

“I’ve let you fuck me around for the last eighteen months, and I’ll take part of the blame for that for letting you get by with it for so long.” He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping deeper. “It stops now.”

“Found your file.” Jackson picked up the file and handed it to Trick.

“I’m taking this with me and I’m not paying for this office visit. I’m not paying you jack shit ever again. If you even think about trying to fuck with me, I’ll be back.” The implied “and you won’t like it” wasn’t lost on the man. Trick dropped a picture on the desk and followed Jackson to the door. He turned just before he would have walked through to give Cranston one more thing to think about. “Be a good boy. For their sakes.”

Satisfied by the way Cranston’s face bleached white as he got a good look at his wife and children playing in the park, Trick felt his message was delivered.

He saluted the secretary with his file and left the building. “Should’ve done that a long time ago,” he mumbled as he walked next to Jackson. At his bike, he placed his file in one of his saddlebags, then checked his phone. “Damn it.”

“What?” Jackson swung a leg over his bike.

“Gotta message from Michelle telling me I better not be late picking up the kids.” He checked the time and saw he had just enough time to go home, trade his bike for his truck and get to his ex’s. “Thanks again for riding along.”

“Not a problem.” Jackson smiled. “You know how I like to fuck with people.”

On his ride to his small little two-bedroom house he now called his home, he had to calm himself down. Between dealing with Cranston and Michelle, his mood was shot all to hell. Hopefully, things with the leech were done and over with because things with his ex wouldn’t be over with for a long time. After his kids turned eighteen, he’d never have to deal with her again. He lived for that day.

Trick pulledthe truck that he’d bought from his dad after the divorce to a stop at the curb in front of what used to be his house. It was a 2014 Ford F150 4x4. Sure, it was eight years old, but his dad had taken excellent care of the truck as evidenced by the shiny, mirror-like black exterior and the equally immaculate dark gray leather interior. It had around 75,000 miles on it when he’d gotten it and it still ran like it was brand new. His dad always said, “If you take care of your vehicle, it’ll take care of you.” He completely agreed because that was the way Trick had always taken care of his bike.

He shut his truck off and took a deep breath to bolster his patience and sent up a prayer that he was able to get the kids quickly without the drama their mother tended to throw his way every chance she got. Making his way to the front door, he absently noted the grass needed to be cut. He made a mental note to have the high school kid down the street get on that. When he’d first left, he had come over the first couple of times to do it himself, but quickly found getting his ass chewed the entire time he was cutting the grass wasn’t worth it. That’s when he hired the kid down the street to take care of it for him.

He couldn’t help it; every time he had to come to this house, the house he continued to pay for but his ex got in the divorce, a deep burning started up deep in his gut. She was awarded the house with the stipulation she had to get a job and make the payment herself. The problem with that was she had no desire to work when she knew Trick would make the payments so his kids would have a roof over their heads. She also knew he wouldn’t risk her moving into a shady part of town if he quit paying for it.

For his kids he would do anything. Apparently, even eat shit.

That was another thing that stuck in his craw. She’d gotten primary custody of their kids, Keegan and Reagan, which left him with seeing them every Wednesday and every other weekend. Despite the fact that she liked to dump them on him whenever she felt the need for a break—which was getting to be more and more frequently—he was paying a whack in child support. His lawyer said it was the best they could do because no judge was going to award full custody to a man belonging to a biker gang. It didn’t matter that he was a more fit parent or not.

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