Page 69 of Shine: Sins of the Father
“Okay…” Lobo waits for me to say more. “That sucks.”
Wood scrapes across the floor as Daytona rises from his chair. “You think it’s him?”
“Between this and my brakes being cut last week and my truck tires slashed last month, he’s gotta be fucking with me.”
“I agree. Maybe we can use this against him. Catch him in the act.” Daytona scratches his beard.
“That’s ballsy of him,” Trick cuts in. “I mean, weareall thinking he fucked with his bike while it was parked at our own damn clubhouse, right?”
My phone vibrates, and I slide it from my pocket.
“Hey Ma, can I call you back? I’m kind of in the middle of something—wait, what?” She sounds panicked, and I spin away, trying to hear her.
“The neighbors called, son. My house is on fire.”
“Is there any damage?”
“I don’t know. I need to go there.”
“No way. You stay where you are. Do not leave that safe house. Understand? I’ll head over there now.”
I hang up and turn toward the questioning eyes. “That motherfucker just tried to burn my ma’s house down.”
Our clubhouse is miles outside of Vegas, but the pack of us make it in record time with me on the borrowed bike of one of our prospects.
When we reach my mother’s neighborhood, we barrel down the street, Harleys roaring.
I’m off the bike in a flash. The lights of the fire engine flicker on the surrounding buildings, and the smell of smoke fills the air with burning wood and plastic.
I skid to a stop, taking in the scene. The house appears intact as I approach a police officer who has the road blocked off.
He holds up a hand. “Sorry, sir, you can’t come through here.”
“This is my mother’s house.” I gesture behind him. He takes in my cut and the brothers at my back. I lift my hands. “We won’t cause any trouble, I swear.”
He nods and points to the command vehicle. “The fire Marshall is over by that truck.”
As I approach with Daytona on my heels, the man turns.
“Are you the owners?”
“My mother is,” I supply.
“Was she home? We didn’t find anyone.”
“No. Thank God, she wasn’t.”
“We got it extinguished. There’s a little cosmetic damage to the exterior, and the landscaping is gone.”
“Thank God.” I brush my hand through my hair. “How did it start?”
“Well,” he eyes our cuts. “It was definitely arson.”
My hand flexes at my side in anger even though he didn’t reveal anything I didn’t already know.
“Of course, they were amateurs. Probably kids.”
I nod, but Daytona and I exchange a look.
