Page 129 of 12 Months of Mayhem

Just finishing up some paperwork before I go pick up the kids from school.

I can almost hear her exasperated sigh through the phone. Before I can put it down, another message pops up.

Remington Laveau, you better not be overworking yourself. My grandbaby needs rest!

I roll my eyes but can’t help the fond smile that tugs at my lips. Turning back to the paperwork, I lose myself in invoices and order forms for the next hour. The steady rhythm of work helps calm my restless mind, and before I know it, I’m signing off on the last form. I gather up the paperwork, sliding it into a worn leather folder. With a final glance around the office, ensuring everything is in its place, I heave myself out of the chair.

My back protests the movement, a dull ache that’s become my constant companion these past few months. I stretch, feeling the baby shift and roll in response.

I make my way through the shop, flicking off lights as I go. The sudden quiet is almost eerie. A stark contrast to the usual soundtrack of power tools and classic rock that fills the space during business hours. With the parade happening tonight, I let everyone go early. Apparently, I’d been so wrapped up in my paperwork that I didn’t realize they were all gone for the day. My footsteps echo on the concrete floor, the sound mingling with the faint ticking of the old clock on the wall.

At the front door, I pause, taking in the sight of Papa Midnight Motors. The neon sign my father installed years ago casts a soft blue glow over the room, highlighting the gleaming chrome of the bikes lined up near the windows. Pride swells in my chest. This place, this legacy, is ours now. Mine and Rex’s, the Voodoo City Queens, and someday, maybe even our children’s, and that legacy is worth everything we’ve gone through to get here. Every fucking thing.

Chapter Two

Rex

The second I’m out of Rem’s office guilt hits me like a sucker punch to the gut. I hate lying to her, especially now with the baby on the way, but I shake it off. This is for her own good and our family’s safety. The less she knows, the better.

I stride through Papa Midnight Customs, nodding at a few of the guys working on bikes. The heavy New Orleans air surrounds me as I step into the parking lot. My Harley gleams in the late afternoon sun, a beautiful beast waiting to roar to life.

Swinging my leg over the seat, I fire up the engine. The vibration travels through my body, grounding me, reminding me of my purpose. I peel out of the lot, the wind whipping against my face as I navigate the streets of the French Quarter.

The city blurs around me, a mixed bag of colorful buildings, wrought-iron balconies, and faces of tourists drunk on the Big Easy’s charm. But I’m blind to it all, my mind racing faster than my bike as I head towards the construction site of our new clubhouse. Our fresh start after Rene’s ghosts came back to haunt us. Wolff and Diaz had tried to take everything from Rem and me. They’d paid for that with their lives. Our clubhouse was collateral, but necessary damage. The Zulu Kings needed a clean slate, and in a fucked-up way, Wolff gave that to us. I’d cleaned house, getting rid of anyone still loyal to him, and set us on the path we’re on now. One no longer painted in blood and drugs.

I pull into the clubhouse parking lot, the gravel crunching under my tires as I slow to a stop. The site is a hive of activity with work trucks scattered around, their beds loaded with lumber and equipment. The skeletal frame of our new home rises against the fading light—a promise of rebirth from the ashes of our old life.

Coffey and Tex are waiting for me when I cut the engine.

“Where is she?” I demand, swinging off my bike. My boots hit the ground with a solid thud, stirring up a small cloud of dust.

Coffey steps forward, his massive frame blocking my path. “Rex, man, I don’t think this is a good idea. Let us handle it.”

I feel my jaw clench, a muscle ticking in my cheek. “I asked you a question, brother. Where. Is. She?”

Tex shifts uncomfortably, his lanky form a stark contrast to Coffey’s bulk. “Look, I want to kill the bitch as much as you do, Prez, but there are too many eyes around here. “The construction site buzzes around us, oblivious to the storm brewing in our little circle.

I scan the area, my eyes narrowing as they lock onto a flash of blonde hair inside the half-finished structure. “I’m not here to kill her,” I grumble, pushing past Coffey and Tex. Their protests fade behind me as I trudge towards the building.

My heart pounds in my chest, keeping time with my measured steps. I spot her in what will eventually be our main gathering room. She stands there, backlit by the dying sun streaming through the empty window frames. Her silhouette is painfully familiar yet foreign at the same time. Five years is a long time.

As I approach, the floorboards creak beneath my weight, announcing my presence. Meredith turns, her blue eyes, Birdie’s eyes, widening as they meet mine.

“Rex,” she breathes, my name a whisper on her lips.

I stop a few feet away from her. “Why the fuck are you here?”

Meredith’s eyes dart around nervously, like a cornered animal searching for escape. “I...I needed to see you,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “It’s been so long, Rex.”

“Not long enough. What do you want?”

“Why do you think I want something?”

“Because that’s how you’ve always operated, Meredith.”

“I’ve changed.”

I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest. “Changed? You abandoned our daughter, Meredith. You don’t just come back from that.”

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