Page 59 of Marcus: Sins of the Father

“No,” I whisper. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

Holt pulls his head back, perplexed, as if he couldn’t have possibly heard me correctly. “It’s Alessia Ricci’s handbag from The Forbidden Marriage. And the playbill. He remembered. How did he get this?”

“Well, he probably stole it,” Holt predicts, clearly annoyed.

Izzy looks at me, deadpan. “Sending him away was a big mistake. You better fix it or you’re going to be in for a world of heartbreak.”

Holt scrunches his face. “I think that’s a bit excessive.”

“Shut up. No one asked you,” Izzy snaps. “The only way you’ll convince your father he’s good for you is having him around, not sending him away.”

Dammit, I think she’s right.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN – HARD TRUTHS

Marcus—

I pull into the clubhouse lot the next morning as first light glimmers; pink and orange streaks paint the sky.

I still feel numb from last night. The drive home was long, and my mind raced through everything that had happened. Some of Holt’s words permeate my brain. I know he has ulterior motives, but I can’t help but feel how true his words were. Maybe she is too good for me. Maybe I am beneath her.

As soon as I stepped into the house last night, I checked my phone. No call. My heart sank, and I threw it across the room, then passed out on the bed.

This morning I checked my phone again, and I had several missed calls from Brandy. It helped ease the tension I’d been feeling. It was too early to wake her, but I plan on calling her as soon as I get a chance.

The clubhouse parking lot is quiet. Looks like I’m the first one here, or at least the first one awake. I roll to a stop, shut my bike off, and head inside. Moving behind the bar, I flick on the tv and start a pot of coffee. As I pour a steaming cup, the newscaster draws my attention.

“Gang violence, including that from motorcycle clubs known as one-percenters, is on the rise in California, but State Assemblyman Mickey Patterson from the 1st District has introduced a bill he hopes can stop it. The bill includes more funding for police and making it illegal to wear gang colors or insignia in private establishments. That includes motorcycle clubs wearing identifying patches. The controversial bill is winning support from conservative factions and small business owners across the state.”

“Screw that guy,” Cole calls as he comes down the stairs. “He has it out for motorcycle clubs. He’s been all over the news.”

Cole must have spent the night at the club last night, judging by his partial dress and the yawn he emits.

“Hey, can I get you a cup?” I ask, holding my mug up.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

I pour his cup and hand it to him.

Sipping on it, we continue watching the morning news as it switches to the weather forecast.

“Well Jana, it’s going to be a beautiful day. Highs are in the low sixties with a light breeze from the West. Clouds move in this afternoon and temperatures drop to the forties tonight. Overall, it looks like a day to get out there and enjoy the sun.”

We finish our first cups, and it’s not long before we hear the pitter patter of feet on the steps.

Angel descends. Looks like Prez had a sleepover. I smile as I head to pour another cup. They hardly ever stay at the clubhouse, but it happens every once in a while, especially in the last couple years with Melissa, TJ, and Brayden all grown.

“Can I get you a cup too, Angel?” I call.

Her face break into a smile. “What do you think woke me? The delicious aroma of coffee. That and the smell of bacon always do the trick.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “Here ya go.” I hand over the steaming mug.

She holds it to her nose and inhales. “Mmm, sweet lifeblood.”

Cole pulls her against his bare chest and chuckles. “She has an addiction.”

After a few sips, Angel eyes me over the brim of her cup. “Hey wait! What are you doing back so early? Wasn’t last night, the night?”

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