Wasn’t that the lesson I’d learned all through my childhood? That the club, the brothers were the most important things in my father’s life.
My mother had learned that lesson, too, when she was still a silly socialite, falling for a badass biker with tats on his arms and a gleaming Harley. She’d thought he was going to give her the freedom from her wealthy family that she’d always craved. Instead he’d given her a one-way ticket to Junkieville.
He never married her—never made her his old lady. He got her pregnant, then left her in a shitty apartment trying to bring up his kid by herself because her family had cut her off. And the only reason she’d stayed was because he kept her in drugs.
Oh, yeah, and apparently she loved him, even though he used to hit her sometimes.
A real prince, my dad.
To this day I have no idea why he didn’t make her his old lady. It was like he thought we weren’t good enough to be part of his precious club—like it was far too special to share with us. Not that we wanted to be part of it... Or at least I didn’t.
I hated him and, because of its influence on him, I hated that club.
I hated the Knights for their influence on Smoke, too. The day he told me he was going to sign up to be a prospect I didn’t speak to him for two whole weeks. I didn’t want him to join. I didn’t want them to take him away from me.
We got over that years ago, but sometimes I still felt the betrayal of it.
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