Page 44 of Property of Fang
The weight in my gut only worsened when we left Reno’s in the club truck, growing to a sizable blockage the closer to Temperance we got. I shouldn’t bring her near this. As shit as seeing the state of their house made me feel, I can’t find it in me to harbor any further guilt at never bringing Molly here until now.
I’ve made plenty of bad choices in my life, but maintaining distance between the club and my daughter will never be one of them. Only the distance that it kept between her and me.
“You need more napkins?” I ask, noting how she wipes what remains on her hands over the legs of her little jeans.
“No, thank you, Daddy.”
At least Reno got one thing right, and that was bringing Molly up with good manners and a bright disposition. It could have been worse. So much worse.
“I thought you could share my bed while you stay,” I tell her. “Top and tail.” Not just for convenience’s sake, but because we’ve got guests in the other rooms. “That sound okay?”
“I guess.” She lifts the bowl and licks the remains off the sides.
Maybe she doesn’t haveallher manners. Not that I care. Patrons of the ice-creamery stare at us enough as it is, no thanks to the patch on my back. Probably waiting for me to slip up and yell at her or raise a hand. Give them a reason to call Child Services and feel vindicated for their good, Christian behavior.
They’ll be waiting a while.
“What do you normally do in the holidays?” I can’t recall Reno ever saying, but maybe I’ve also never asked. If I’m going to have her for two weeks over Christmas, I need to get my shit together.
“Watch movies,” Molly answers between licks. “Ride my neighbor’s bike.”
“I thought you had your own?”
“It broke.”
“Momma never told me.”
“I know.”
What else does this kid know? I resume watching the street, paying special attention to the people who slow down as they pass the closed stores, or look toward them whilst holdingconversation. Sure, Chaos said the inside info was all connected to a Tribune reporter, but realizing I’d been blind to that betrayal all this time has me wondering who else on our streets is a double agent.
Is it old McLeary from the veterinary practice? The Sandersons, who refuse to do construction work for us anymore? Or maybe that woman from church Kyra mentioned.What was her name?
“I’m finished,” Molly announces, staring up at me.
I dip the corner of a napkin into a glass of water and gently wipe around her mouth. “Now you are.”
She huffs as though frustrated to be treated like the child she is. “Are we going to your house?”
I help her off the stool—a gesture she doesn’t seem to mind so much—and then take her hand to head for the truck. “We’re going to where I live. Yeah.”
Because it ain’t my house. Or my home. It’s my place of residence.
And there’s a hell of a difference.
SEVENTEEN
JENNA
I can’t stop lookingat her, not now that I know.
The kid wanders into the Kings of Anarchy clubhouse as though it’s home already. Comforting.
Safe.
I take a step away from the nondescript taxi-van to follow her inside when a gentle hand catches me by the upper arm.
“Can I have a quick word?” The sheriff’s peace officer, Maisie, lets her hand fall away. “If you don’t mind?”
