Page 49 of Property of Shotgun

If the brothers don’t know he’s in a relationship, they’re definitely going to expect him to cut loose and sew whatever wild oats he has. Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell me.

“Um this is going to make me sound like a total douchebag, but I’m going to say it anyway. Remember that time when you went into labor and I kind of saved your life?”

“You mean that time when my kid let you into my house, and you called 9-1-1 because Shotgun told you too?”

“Yep, that’s the one. I wasn’t going to cash in on that little favor, but if you could maybe not tell Shotgun I told you about California, we could call it even.”

“You know it’s becoming more and more clear to me why they call you Fuckface.”

His brows knit together, and confusion mars his features. “I think you mean that as an insult.”

“Damn, nothing gets past you, huh?” I roll my eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t say anything.”

I strut past him, taking Killian’s hand, and make my way into the clubhouse. Fuckface trails behind, carrying the box. The guy really is a tool. It amazes me they voted him into the club, I guess no one is banging down the door to become a King these days.

As soon as Killian sets his eyes on Biggie, he releases my hand and runs straight toward him.

“Uncle Biggie!”

His gaze swings around, and his eyes go wide when he sees Killian. “Whoa, is that my favorite almost two-year-old?”

“You give me a dollar?”

Biggie chuckles, already reaching into the back pocket of his jeans. He flips through the wad of cash, fishing out a twenty and places it my son’s palm.

“Don’t spend it all in one place.”

“I put all ya dollars in my pig! Right, Mommy?”

“That’s right,” I say.

Biggie lifts his head, giving me a warm smile. “This is a nice surprise. What brings you by?” The smile slips slightly. “If you’re looking for Shotgun, he isn’t here. He and Guido took a ride out to Jersey to scope out some property.”

That I knew. He texted me before I even decided to leave the house to come here. Apparently, crossing the Outerbridge is a bigger deal to him than telling me he’s going across the fucking country.

But I’m not mad. Everything is fine.

“I’m actually here to see you. I was packing up some of Irish’s things to donate, and I thought the club would like some of the things I found,” I say, pointing to the box Fuckface is currently sorting. He pulls out the traffic light, eyeing it like it’s a fucking spaceship.

“Can I have this?” he asks. “It would look mint in my room.”

“No,” Biggie grunts. His gaze lingers on the light then he glances back at me. “That was a wild night.”

“I remember it vaguely.”

“Memory serves me correct it was you that drove the getaway car.”

Yes, it was. The old me, the Jade before kids, got off on all that shit.

“I plead the fifth.”

That earns me another chuckle. “It’s good to see you, sweetheart. Miss seeing your face around here.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him he’ll see it a lot more once Shotgun outs us to the club—you know, providing he doesn’t persecute him after he does so—but I smack my lips together, keeping that bit of information to myself. Although, a part of me wonders what would happen if I just told him.

“I needed time,” I say instead.

“That’s understandable. I’m hoping you being here means you’re ready to let someone other than Shotgun into your life.” I’m not sure what my face does, but Biggie’s eyes narrow slightly. “By that I mean the club. We miss you and the boys.”

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