Page 9 of Bowser (Dragon Riders MC 2)
Sometimes, my paranoia got the best of me, though.
The night was long and sleepless. Like most of my nights. I preferred sleeping during the day, with the sunlight directly in my eyes. It wasn’t so dark then, during those moments. It might not be the most productive of sleep, but it was better than nothing.
And anything was better than the dark of midnight with nothing to keep me company but my thoughts.
“Morning,” Ash said.
He charged through the front door as I leapt to my feet. Ready to draw my gun on him.
“Damn it, man. Don’t you ever knock?” I asked.
He held up his key. “Got one of these, remember?”
I sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”
He walked over to the fridge. “Long night?”
“Isn’t it always?”
He snickered. “Has she gotten up yet?”
“No. She’s sleeping in, I guess. But I whipped her up some breakfast. It’s in the oven.”
“And you didn’t make me none?”
“You have the same thing every morning. Bologna and tomato with mayo. Why would I waste resources like that if you won’t eat it?”
“Hey, it’s the thought that counts.”
“Yeah, well. In that case, you should know I baked some of those canned cinnamon buns for you. They’re in the microwave.”
He grinned over his shoulder. “That’s more like it. And a fresh gallon of milk, to boot.”
“Try not to drink the entire thing today, yeah? We’re only doing grocery runs every ten or so days.”
“Eh, no promises.”
I chuckled. “Call me if you need anything. But if I don’t hear from you—”
“See you tonight.”
I nodded. “Right. Okay. Have fun.”
“Hah. I’ll try.”
“But not too much fun.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me. “Right.”
I nodded. “Right.”
He paused. “You leaving now or…?”
I pointed to the door. “Yes. Sorry. Off I go.”
It was weird, not seeing Hope that morning. Usually, she was up around seven or eight to share a cup of coffee with me. So, for it to strike nine o’clock and her still not be up was odd, to say the least. Had she slept all right? Was she feeling okay? I didn’t have a chance to check on her, so hopefully Ash did soon.
Because I had a meeting to keep with Knuckles.
I texted him to let him know I was headed to his place, then I slid my leg over my bike. I looked over my shoulder at the clubhouse one last time, watching as Ash stepped out onto the porch. With that massive sandwich in his hand and a glass of milk clutched in his other grip, I shook my head. That man ate like a damn child, and he had no shame about it.
“Guess we all have our things,” I murmured.
I struck up my bike and sped off toward Knuckles’ place. He didn’t live the way the rest of us did. I mean, Link had his own place in the house he grew up in. I had some shoddy apartment across from our main bar just in case an emergency went down. Ash had a double-wide in the middle of bumfuck-nowhere. But Knuckles?
The man lived off-the-grid in one of those tiny home things.
I pulled up to his small home and the smell of fresh produce and fruit greeted me. Knuckles had a massive garden he cultivated along with a perch on top of his house where he’d sit on his days off and shoot animals to cook up for dinner. The man skinned, deboned, and utilized everything from animals he killed. From squirrels to deer to bear to fish, he knew the ins and outs of it all. He ate well, lived completely off-the-grid, and there wasn’t an ounce of waste in his life. Everything had a purpose. Everything had a place.
I liked the way he lived.
In some ways, I envied the way he lived.
Knuckles stepped outside to greet me on his tiny little porch. While most of us looked comedically idiotic standing next to his place, he looked like he fit. What Knuckles didn’t have in muscle or stature, he made up for in intelligence. He was easily the smartest one of the bunch, but he never bragged about it. He never made us feel like idiots or rubbed it in our faces. He was a good man. A quiet man. And I was lucky to know him.
“So, I take it you’re ready to get some justice?” he asked.
I parked my bike. “How’d you know?”
“The determined look on your face.”
“And…?”
He snickered. “And Link might have called me last night.”
I put down my kickstand. “Of course.”
He thumbed over his shoulder. “Got some coffee on.”
“Oh, my fuck. Were the beans ready to be harvested?”
He nodded. “Yep. Plucked them, roasted them, and ground them up myself.”
“Fucking hell, I’ll take an entire pot.”
“Good. Because we’re going to need it for a plan like this. Especially if we want to put it in front of a church meeting this afternoon.”
