Prodigal Son(16)

“You can show me tonight,” Bug said as he handed my towel back to me.

“Can’t wait,” I said, feeling better when I was covered up again.

Bug studied me for a second. “Hey, baby, why don’t you bring some of that tip money with you to the club tonight?”

Motherfucker. He was being nice because he wanted money?

“Sugar, I’m short for my bills this month since Red moved out, and I’m gonna need every dollar I make.”

“Well, I haven’t seen you offering to buy your own beers. You expect me to pay your way even though you want to run around on me at night?”

“Jesus, Bug.” I was starting to get really pissed. “I wasn’t running around on you, and I hardly drink except when you’re trying to get me drunk so I’ll let you do things I don’t like.”

“Krystal, you’re gonna have to start paying your way. Since the money from the MC’s business has dried up, I can’t make ends meet anymore. If you can show me that you’re willing to pitch in, I was even thinking about asking you to move in with me — making you my old lady, officially.”

How could this be happening? I’d wanted to be a Savage Sons old lady as long as I could remember. And now, when I’d finally started college and was trying to make something good of my messy life, it looked like Bug was gonna be the guy who could make it happen. The problem? Bug was an asshole, and I knew it. I also knew that I wouldn’t get more than one chance at an old lady spot, and I decided to hedge my bets until I could decide what I really wanted.

I let my towel slip a bit, exposing most of one breast as I leaned over to kiss Bug. Jesus, he smelled like old whiskey and cigarette smoke. He kissed me back and reached out to tweak my nipple, less painfully this time.

“Get in the shower and get to work, girl. I’ll see you tonight,” Bug said as he headed for the door. He turned just before he opened it. “And wear something that makes you look hot tonight. If you’re gonna be the VP’s old lady, you gotta look the part.”

He closed the door behind him, and I leaned against the wall. What was I going to do?





Chapter 9


Luke


I followed Sable up the driveway to the front door of the house. All of a sudden, I felt like I was gonna either pass out or throw up, and I didn’t think it was my hangover. I was about to walk inside the home belonging to the woman who’d given birth to me and left me behind. I stopped walking once I got to the porch.

“You all right?” Sable asked as she turned to face me from the front door.

“Um, I’m not sure,” I answered. “I didn’t expect to actually see you, let alone come inside your house and have a conversation.”

“Well, you want to leave?” she asked.

“No,” I answered quickly, realizing that I was being silly and needed to go inside and face my past like a man. “I’m fine.”

I took a step inside and was surprised. The house was even bigger than it had looked from the outside. I guess I’d expected something more along the lines of a trailer in a mobile home park, so this spacious, tasteful upper-middle class home was a little perplexing.

“You have a lovely home,” I observed, using my manners in a way that would have made my parents proud.

“Yeah, it’s bigger than we really need, and we almost never have anyone over, but…” Sable paused. “I don’t know why I’m talking about a stupid house when you’re standing here. Want some coffee?” she asked, heading toward the kitchen.

“Yes, please.”

“Have a seat,” she said, pointing at the bar in the kitchen that faced the counters.

I pulled a bar stool from beneath the counter and sat down, watching her work without saying a word. I wanted to know what she was thinking, but I decided to let her take her time in telling me.

She used one of the single cup coffee brewers, and she slid the mug over to me in less than a minute.

“Cream or sugar?” she asked.

“No, thanks.”

She made herself a cup, added a splash of cream and leaned on the counter facing me, studying my face.

“You look a little like your father,” she observed, finally ending the silence. “I guess you have some questions for me, huh?”

“I hardly know where to start,” I admitted, feeling a little ridiculous for having gone to the trouble of tracking my mother down, only to find myself tongue-tied.

“Well, do you want me to tell you my story?” Sable’s voice was quiet.

I felt choked up all of a sudden by the emotion that my birth mother’s voice held, and all I could do was nod.

Sable sighed and took a drink of her coffee before she started. “I was all of seventeen years old when I met your father. I was still in high school, but he was an older man — twenty-two when we met.”