Page 5 of Outlaws' Single Mom
I tell Mrs. Collins a half-truth; Logan needs picking up early from preschool. Fortunately the visit was almost over already, but I still pop upstairs to tell her daughter Lisa that I’m leaving a little early. She gives me a thumbs up from her video call, and I rush to my car. The address isn’t in a great part of town, which worries me. The last time Georgia was spending a lot of time around there was before she got pregnant and she was working at some dive bar, drunk and stoned most of the time. I’m not naive enough to think she’s been sober since then, but her biggest problem for the past few years has been a different sort of addiction.
My fingers drum against the steering wheel. I can only worry about one of them at a time, and for the moment, the four year old is a lot more important.
3
DAKOTA
I drivethrough one last intersection, and my map indicates my destination is on the right. I figured it was going to be some kind of business, but now I’m looking at a church. Stiff is definitely not the kind of thing you call a priest, except maybe in that book I read last year.
There’s no one behind me, so I slow down to get a better look. Surrounding the church is a tall wall, making it seem more like some kind of inner city fortress or monastic order. Then I notice the big, lit up sign on the wall that says Outlaw Sons MC, and the couple of scary looking men standing near the gated entrance, watching me closely, and the pieces fall into place. Definitely not a monastic order.
Logan talking about “motorcycle men” should’ve tipped me off. He’s been obsessed with cars and motorcycles for as long as I can remember. I’ve seen the name of their club in the news occasionally, and it’s never good. Gang violence, weapons, murder… The thought of my little boy inside those walls is almost as bad as him wandering the streets here alone.
But Stiff promised. He promised, and I have to believe him or I’ll drive myself crazy.
Praying that I'm not making a mistake, I turn and stop in front of the gate. The guy on the left, with striking green eyes and auburn hair slips through and taps his knuckles on the window. There’s a patch on the front of his jacket that says Savage. He eyes me like he’s used to giving orders and having them listened to. I roll down the window.
“You Dakota?” he asks, glancing at the inside of my car.
“Hi, um, yeah. I’m here to pick up my son? Should I park on the street or…?”
“Park over there. Bones’ll show you where they are.” He backs away as they open the gate and waves me inside.
Okay, that’s normal enough, for now at least.
The church is on my right, and there’s an old parking lot and a field on the left. I pull onto the cracked asphalt next to a van and get out. There’s a house behind the church, and a couple of bikers are standing around. One takes a long drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke billow out slowly.
I tug at the edges of my jacket, wrapping it tighter and wishing I wasn’t still wearing my uniform: a dark blue, button-up cotton tunic and matching pants. My hair’s pulled back in a practical bun, my makeup is minimal at best, and I’m wearing black, orthopedic sneakers. It’s not like I want to impress anyone here, but looking nice can be its own sort of armor, and right now I’m feeling more than a little vulnerable.
The biker who was with Savage jogs over. His head is shaved, and dark stubble frames his square jaw. “Hey. Follow me, they’re in the garage with your boy.”
I give him a tight-lipped smile and nod. “Thanks. I really appre—” Three tight gunshots crack through the air. Pure instinct sends me to the ground, crouching low and searching for the source.
He laughs. “You’re good, relax. It’s just the firing range around the back. Bonnie’s crew are doing some target practice.”
Right.Obviously.I glare up at him, standing slowly.
“Sorry. I guess you kinda get used to it after a while,” Bones says with a shrug. “Are you a nurse?”
“No. Just an aide. I came straight from work.”
“Cool. I’m an EMT. Don’t worry, inside these walls is usually the safest place you can be.”
The ‘usually’ worries me.
We walk between the church and the house with the bikers, and into a courtyard. There’s a second house on the other side of the church, with a staircase leading to the second floor, and across from it is what looks like an old school. Straight ahead is a massive, high ceilinged building that’s open on one side. Inside are more bikers, some just hanging out and others working on their bikes. The low thrum of rock music filters out, broken up by the occasional thunder of an engine. Gunshots still occasionally punctuate the scene, coming from somewhere behind the school, I think.
Bones leads me into the garage. “Lash!” he shouts when we’re inside.
“Back here!” a deep voice answers.
We wind our way through the maze of boxes, tools and bikes. All the while, I can feel curious eyes watching, but I’m not brave enough to look back. Then ahead of me, I see three big men in jeans and leather jackets with MC patches on the back of them. They’re standing around a deep red motorcycle with orange flames detailed on the body, and perched on the seat with his arms stretched as far as they can go is a little boy that I'd recognize anywhere.
“Lo!”
Logan’s head swivels when he hears me, and his big hazel eyes light up. He nearly falls off the bike in an attempt to get to me, but one of the men, with short, dark blond hair and heavily pierced ears snatches him up before he leans too far. For a second Logan’s legs swing in the air but as soon as he’s on the ground, he runs straight to me.
“Mommy!”
