Page 35 of Marx

“Oh please, this is all because of my guidance as The Love Pres.” We glare at each other and I know I should quit while I’m ahead. The last thing I need is Vi to bring her sister’s kids here to do another pose off. I need to never see that Rodney fucker for as long as I live.

“And what kind of advice is The Love Pres actually handing out, hmm?” Debs asks, leaning against the counter, arms folded.

“That he needs to find out what she likes. Namely, whether she’s an explosions kinda gal. Once we know that, we can move on to phase two of ‘Dumbass Woos An Angel.”

“That actually sounds like pretty solid advice,” Mad Dog says, agreeing with me. We share a mutually respectful look, then nod at each other.

Debs throws her hands in the air. “Leave the kids alone. They’ll make it in their own time.”

“No, I’m with Sid, they definitely won’t. They need outside intervention. I’m old as dirt and need to see my boys happy and thriving. I could go at any time.”

“I damn well knew you were diabetic.” I point in his direction.

“I’m not fucking diabetic!”

“You’re not as old as me and you’re talking like you’re going to die at any minute. You’re also a big bastard, so ergo, diabetes. Or heart disease. Stroke.”

“I’m a big bastard because I workout you little shit!”

“Enough!” Our heads snap to Debs who has her angry eyes on and a spatula in her hand. “Out! I have no time to listen to old men arguing. Get out! Shoo, scram, get outta here, piss off!”

I look at Mad Dog and we both high tail it out of the kitchen, chased out by a little woman with a dish towel over her shoulder.

“She’s magnificent.”

“Hell yeah she is. I’m a lucky fucker.” And a horny fucker. Debs all wild like that always gets my motor revving.

I’ll leave her to cool off for a moment, and then I’ll kiss her and make it all better. Yeah, The Love Pres with another winning plan.

Chapter 12

Lovely

Iblow out a frustrated breath and angrily erase the last hour’s worth of work I’ve done. For some reason I cannot get Jovie’s hair right and it’s irritating me. Or maybe the irritation comes from knowing that it’s been two days since we brought our guests to Pops’ office and still nothing has happened with them. I’m sure it’s all part of Marx’s plan, but it irks me knowing the men responsible for our predicament are here, on the farm and we’ve not taken care of them yet. Well, that I know of. I know deep down I shouldn’t want to be there, in the room, but I feel like I need to be there. I need to see that they’ll not live to see another day where they hurt people or ruin lives with their greed.

“Shit, what did that notebook ever do to you?”

My head snaps up at the rough sound of Mad Dog’s voice. He’s standing at the bottom of my steps, one foot up on the porch, leant forward, his forearms resting on his knee. Glancing down at my work I see that I’ve erased so hard that my paper is thinning.

“Blast! Sorry, I just couldn’t get the hair right.”

Mad Dog steps up next to me, gesturing to the seat beside me. Tav, for some reason, is very talented at decorating, and the cabin is a beautiful home filled with cozy furniture. The swing seat on the porch is one of my favorite places to relax. From here I can see the farmhouse and everyone else’s cabins and no trailers, and I can hear when Bee wakes from her nap.

“Of course, take a seat.” I scooch over slightly to make space for Mad Dog.

He and his sons are large men. Tall and wide, they need more space than my short plump body. He reaches out, a questioning look on his face as he gestures to my notepad. I’m usually a little shy with my drawings. Royal said they were a waste of time, and me wanting praise showed I was an immodest woman, begging for attention. I got two broken ribs from that lecture. I shake off the thought and think back to Marx’s face when he saw my sketches. He was impressed and that one look boosted my confidence more than any of Royal’s words could have ever done. I hand the pad to Mad Dog, and sit back, swinging my legs, watching Judge and Kaia get to know each other again.

A low whistle breaks me out of my people watching.

“Shit girl, this is, fuck, it’s amazing.” His dark eyes find mine and I see no lie in his words. “You’re damn wasted working at Devil’s Big Tow. You should be making and selling your art. Fucking something that nurtures your creative soul.”

“I love working at DBT. The boys are so nice and I’m helping them. They took a chance on me and I’m grateful,” I say, shrugging.

“I dunno girl. This work is too good for it not to be seen.” We sit quietly for a moment. Mad Dog flipping through my book. The look on his face is worth more to me than any money I could ever think to make from my pictures. “Lovely, do you know what my job was in the MC?”

“You were the Pres,” I reply, brows pinched because that sounds like a trick question.

He huffs out a laugh, “Well, yeah I was. But back in the day when we first started, we didn’t have as many or as successful businesses under our belt. We owned a shit bar that made hardly any money because we drank it all, and a tattoo parlor.” I’m confused, but wait patiently. “I used to run the ink shop. For a long fucking time until we got the towing business and the garages up and running. I retired from the shop because that shit is hard on your body. Sure everyone thinks you just sit on your ass all day, but you’re twisted up like a pretzel trying to reach places, anyway, shit, I’ve gone off track.”

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