Page 10 of Undone

“Nothing. I won’t let you down, Prez.”

“No, you won’t,” I nodded approvingly, stepping out into the late summer night. My heart was heavy with all the burdens I carried as my feet treaded down the stairs. I know he’s pissed I made him stay. But I just need some space from the MC, even if it’s only for a few hours. I’m gonna go see my Ma, kiss her head and let her fuss over me while I pretend, I’m just a son instead of a man who’s the newest king of Creed.

Hopping on my bike, I was lost in thought as I rode on autopilot, climbing up the hills of San Francisco to the ritzy neighborhood I grew up in. My tires hugged the sharp turns and curves as my body swerved with the bike as one unit.

Pulling off on the shoulder, I lifted my helmet off to look down at the city below. I finally felt like I could breathe. I’d cut my own balls off before ever letting my men see how much being in charge affected me. I love being Prez, but I was a loner for most of my life. Like Rog, I look to do things my own way, and when things get to be too much—the solitude of the bike and the open road is all the medicine I need.

Fireflies, chirping crickets, and hooting owls were my only company as I stared at the valley below, wishing for a change. For something different to shake me out the dark mood I’ve been in these past few months. I don’t even know where the black cloud came from. All I know is that it’s stuck over my head, raining down on me. My looks match my mood. Gruff, dark, and wild. I meet my own eyes in the small side mirror of my bike. I was debating cleaning myself up before the lake party tomorrow but fuck it. I’ll go as I am. Hell, I’ll probably look more like a mountain man with my overgrown beard and hair than the men meeting us from the back woods of Oregon.

Revving the engine, I pulled back out, climbing to my childhood home nestled high above the city with a bird’s eye view of the world-famous Golden Gate Bridge—another reason that I didn’t want Vasyl to come is that I’m trying to keep my upbringing a secret.

I come from money.

A shit-ton of it.

Great-Great-Grandpa Pappy Smith invested in the Northern Pacific Railroad. Bringing rail service, coast to coast through the wild west was a goldmine. Especially when Amtrak bought the rail service making the original investors instant billionaires.

I should be in a boardroom wearing a tailored suit. But I never wanted the life my father wanted to impose on me. I dropped out of Princeton after my sophomore year, enlisted in the army and got cut-off.

My father only became more enraged that he couldn’t control me anymore with money. But once I turned twenty-one it didn’t matter anyway. My grandmother’s trust kicked in, depositing a cool million into my account.

But I couldn’t touch it.

There was something about using money that I didn’t earn that didn’t feel right. So, I transferred it into a mutual fund and let it sit; only living off my military pay. Thank God, I did. That bitch, Mandy would’ve made damn sure I married her before my last tour like I had wanted.

Thank fuck, she said no.

I was so in lust with her that a pre-nup was out of the question. Besides, a broke soldier asking for one would’ve sent off red flags; so, I wouldn’t have. If that bitch said yes—would’ve had half my inheritance.

Finally reaching the street where I grew up, I slowed to a stop at the front gate. After punching in the four-digit code, I pulled in.

The lights were on and the fountain in the middle of the circular drive was lit by spotlights as I walked to the front door with my boots crunching on the crushed white stone driveway.

My father died a few years back, but he stamped himself all over this gaudy house. I keyed in, disarmed the alarm and took my boots off only because I didn’t want Ma to freak if I scuffed up the white Italian marble foyer. The lights were on, but the house was quiet. My heart thumped, afraid she’d fallen again.

“Ma?” My own voice echoed back at me across the walls of empty rooms and cathedral ceilings. After I checked to make sure she wasn’t at the bottom of the saltwater pool, I sprinted up the back staircase, taking them two at time, spurred on by the sound of low moans. Turning the corner, I skidded to a stop enraged at what I saw.

“Get the hell off her,” I roared, grabbing the guy by the back of his neck.

“LUCAS?! STOP! Listen to me, stop. That’s Richard.”

“WHAT. THE. FUCK?” I bit out, dumping the old man onto the floor.

She scrambled, lifting a sheet to her breasts as my eyes focused on the lamp shade to the left of her head.

“Yeah, it was… until you interrupted us.”

“Jesus.” I shook my head and kicked the guy in the ass, causing him to grunt. “Get the hell out of here,” I roared, slamming the door shut behind me. I jogged down the stairs wishing I never came over tonight.

I paced in the kitchen, opening cupboards and shutting them just as quick. My fists clenched, aching to pummel that old geezer’s face. Seeing my mother having sex freaked me the hell out.

Christ, I’ve seen shit both in Creed and in the army that never shook me the way that scene upstairs just did. Finally, I grabbed a coffee filter and got ready to brew a pot—but then I remembered where my late father hid his stash of prized Bourbon.

Making my way to his study, old feelings came back as I replayed the many scenes that happened in that room.

Memories of him cussing me out—disappointed I wasn’t turning out to be the blue-blooded son he envisioned I would be.

Hell, he’s probably turning over in his grave at me, tatted to the hilt with a wild beard, and running a biker club like the bad-ass punks he always looked down his nose at.

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