Page 120 of 23 Hours

Kit’s head rears back in surprise. “You wanna get wedding rings?” she double-checks, which she does a lot.

Not wanting to push her into something she may not want, I play it cool. “Sure. Why not?”

“That’s not a good omen, Erik. We’re not gettin’ rings.” My woman’s firm on her stance. I smile on the inside, loving her willingness to stand up to me, but also thinkin’ she has any real say in what I put on my body. It’s cute. Real cute.

“Allll-right.” I speak around my sucker stick, not wantin’ to rile her up. “Then you get whatever you want, and I’ll get a ring.” See. Compromise.

“A wedding ring?” she triple-checks, her voice shrill, eyes blown wide, like I would get any other kind.

“Yeah. Our wedding ring. Nothin’ says forever like a black band around this finger.” For emphasis, I hold up my left ring finger. Sure, I’ve got the club ring I wear. It’s a heavy son of a bitch. But that can be removed anytime. I can’t take that with me in the afterlife. See, I’m well past middle age. I’m past sowing my wild oats, finally in my right mind, and showin’ your forever devotion to a woman you love is to get a symbol of that love on your flesh. I did it when I got the Sacred Sinner roses. I did it when I got a B tattoo on my thigh, for Bink… so why wouldn’t I do it for Kit with a ring?

Knowing by her scrunched-up, sourpuss expression, Kit’s about to unleash a torrent of reasons that’s a bullshit idea, I pull the half-eaten peach Dum Dum from my mouth, march up to my woman, and push it into hers. Before she gets a moment to scold me, argue, or whatever else she’s conjuring in that intelligent overactive brain of hers, I kiss her cheek and get the hell out of dodge.

Just as the front door comes to a close, I hear Kit yell for me. Head shaking, wearin’ a big ol’ grin, I keep goin’, back to the clubhouse. Tonight, at dinner, I’m sure she’ll have thought of a thousand things to chat about. Until then, I’ll live in peace, with our son.

Openin’ the door to my office, Adam’s busy at his computer. A plate with a sandwich and chips rests on my desk.

“Hey, Oz,” I greet my kid.

“Hey, Pops. Mom’s blowin’ up my phone.”

I chuckle. “I’m sure she is.”

My kid throws a lopsided smirk over his shoulder. “Bink dropped that off a little bit ago.” He gestures to my food. “I got one too.” Adam lifts his empty plate.

I pop a chip into my mouth and chew. “We on—”

Knowin’ what I’m askin’, my son interjects, “They’ll be here in an hour.” The installers we hired to up the compound security. New cameras, motion detectors, sirens, hidden weapons, and escape routes. You name it, we’re gettin’ it. From spike strips outside the main gate, to tear gas vents outside the walls.

“The strip club?” I take my seat and power up my computer.

“Moved and cleaned.”

“Good.” Adam’s proven to be a quick learner. The Sacred Sinners, or more specifically, our members, own businesses. Most of them operate within legal parameters with one caveat—we launder money through them. The money we earn through less than reputable ways, we filter through their systems, and voilà, cleaned. Their profits continue to climb, as do ours. It’s how most of our chapters make money, and our nomads stay in the loop. Deke was one of our nomads before he patched in with the mother chapter. Now he runs our body shop down the road.

“The tattoo shop?” I ask, referring to Pixie’s place.

“Moved and cleaning it now.”

Good kid.

I check my emails, noting one from Big and him cursing me out, because of Bink and wedding stuff. “The church?” I ask Adam.

“I handled the rest of that yesterday. We are now the owners of a new church. The building you said to buy, I purchased under the new name. Bonez called to say they took possession yesterday. All the accounts are legit, tax-free, and set up to help with all the survivor expenses. The government would be hard-pressed to find anything to sniff at with the way I set things up. Especially with their judge friend helping me navigate the legalities.”

“Kellan’s a good man.” He came recommended from not only Bonez but Whisky. Since my head wasn’t screwed on straight, I asked Adam to handle the ins-and-outs of the legalities this past month, and as you can see, he’s kicked ass. Not that I had any doubt. If I have any say in the matter, Oz will be a patched brother in no time.

“Agreed. He is,” Adam remarks, and we do what we always do, get back to work. Every now and again, we talk numbers or business shit. He doesn’t mention what Mom texts about because we keep that separate unless it involves her safety. When she leaves our house to go to Bink’s, I watch her location move on my phone screen.

Then I chuckle, knowin’ damn well I will be hearin’ the ring complaints not only from her tonight, but Bink too. The sisters and their gossip. As much as it should piss me off, it doesn’t. I wouldn’t have it any other way. My woman fits in. They accept her as one of their own. Even my grandbaby has taken a shine to Kit. So, they can go on and gossip all fuckin’ day long. As long as they’re safe and happy, that’s all I give a damn about.

Before I meet the men out front to start the walk-through of the compound, I text my woman.

Have fun with the sisters, love. I look forward to eating more of your sweet pussy tonight and you reading me more BDB.

If I have it my way, she’ll read while I’m eating her pussy. That’s something we haven’t tried yet. Bet we could make it work.

Tonight, I’ll give it the good ol’ college try.

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