Misfit(153)

“If you are, you need your bike. Even when you were Nomad, you had your cycle.”

At his mother’s words, he transferred his squint to her. “What do you know about that, Mom?”

She shrugged. “Only what my son told me,” she answered. “You see, I’ve seen him in his good times and at his worst times, and I’ve never stopped loving him. I’ve never given up on him. I never thought I’d live to see the day where he gave up on himself.” She nodded to Abby. “He’s so overwhelmed he hurt someone who was just trying to help me when his own father is as neglectful as ever.”

Abby deserved better than his assholery. Ashamed, he thrust his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he told her, wishing he could call Fee and tell her the same thing. But she’d want…Why couldn’t she understand Cash’s point-of-view?

Outlaw aside, a fucking relationship—a real, true, loving relationship—was new to him.

“She wants kids,” he said, his thoughts whirling from one subject to the next. “I’m still in charge of the Bobs.” He belched. “If new girls come in, they have to suck my dick so I can make sure they know how to do it.”

His mother turned beet red. “Who are Bobs?”

“Club ass.”

Abby snorted, attempting to hide her laughter. If he remembered from her time at the club when Georgie had come to get Bryn, Abby was down-to-earth and fun-loving. That made his earlier behavior all the more reprehensible. But she seemed a little defeated, even before he’d turned into King Asshole. He bet his father had something to do with it.

“The choice is yours,” his mom told him. “You can have your Bobs and your cycles and whatever, but if you aren’t willing to sacrifice and compromise, you can’t have Ophelia and Stretch.”

She said Fee’s name as if they were the best of friends, when they’d never met.

“You’ve been here almost three weeks, son. Whether it’s here or in Hortensia, it’s time you pulled yourself together.”

“You’ve been telling me the same thing for days,” he reminded her.

“I have five days before leaving for France. There are hot springs there that date back to Roman times. I have to visit it, but I can’t leave you in such a state. This is a last attempt before I cancel my trip to stay and look after you.”

His mother would do it, too. As much as she enjoyed traipsing here and there. At one time, it had been for the perfect culinary experience. Then, she’d gotten on a cultural kick. Now, it was hot springs. She loved to travel. But she loved him more.

That clicked in his head. Just because he was miserable didn’t mean his mom had to be. If he insisted she go, she’d worry herself to death and not enjoy herself. She’d been the best mother he’d allowed her to be. He could pull himself together on her behalf.

“That’s not necessary, Mom. Give me today to sober up. Tomorrow, I’m making airline reservations to go back home.”

“I’m going to call and check on you every day.”

“No, Jocelyn,” Abby inserted. “You need to de-stress. I’ll keep tabs on him. If there’s a situation, I promise you’ll be the first person I call.”

Jocelyn winked at her. “After Georgie.”

“Georgie adores Cash. Sloane would have my ass if something happened and she had to wait to find out.”

“Well.” Blushing, his mom tossed her hair over her shoulders. “We don’t want Sloane unhappy.”

Fucking incredible. Even at her age, his mom had a fucking crush on Sloane fucking Mason. The motherfucker would eat this shit up.

Shaking his head, Cash decided life was far more interesting sober. If he hadn’t been drunk off his ass, he just might’ve noticed his mother’s adoration of a certain rockstar.





Bored to fuck, Christopher walked out of the empty warehouse and allowed the heavy door to close behind him. He’d had basic fucking locks until he’d met Sloane Mason. That motherfucker schooled Christopher on the art of fucking handprints, fingerprints, and codes. Their hydros were too fucking important to leave to regular fucking combination locks, as they’d had at first.

Wondering why he hadn’t thought about fucking vault-style doors and almost air-tight security shamed Christopher. In a few weeks, the rooms would be filled with their special plants. A raid, at this point, was un-fucking-likely, with all the good-fucking-will flowing. Still, surprises popped up out of nowhere, and they needed to be fucking prepared for the next fuck-up.

Skirting the edge of the pathway that led to the houses, Christopher glanced at the back of the clubhouse, the window to his office in particular, and considered calling Megan over so he could eat her pussy. Or at least have her suck his cock. Anything. Just as long as he had her.