Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 120513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 603(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 603(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
“Checked the residence and no one was around. And before you suggest him next, the uncle wasn’t around, either. Kid said they’d be back, but we can’t just leave him there unsupervised. Not without knowing when or if they’ll return. You’re the only one available.”
“Then…” Kevin scraped his fingers through his hair, changing it from neatly combed to standing on end. “I guess I need to call my attorney and see what our options are.”
Cop Two’s eyebrows rose. “Options? How about just letting him inside?”
“Our kids are inside.”
Douchebag.
The two cops glanced at each other again, neither hiding their disbelief.
Cop One jerked his chin toward Dodge. “He’s your kid, too.”
“Only on paper.”
Not even that. Dodge had his mother’s last name not Kevin’s and he wasn’t sure if the man’s name was officially on his birth certificate.
“He’s not your blood?” Cop Two asked, his dark eyes narrowed because he already knew the answer.
“Not by choice.”
Cop One blew out a frustrated breath. “Well, sir, right now, your son has no choice, either. If you’re not willing to take him, then we’ll have to take him back to the station until Child Welfare Services can come get him.”
The asshole who knocked up Dodge’s mother shrugged. “Okay.”
“Just to be clear, that’s what you want?” Cop One asked.
The two cops might be surprised but Dodge wasn’t. He never received one card or present from the man during the past fourteen years. Why would he want to act like a parent now?
Especially when Dodge needed a parent the most. Even a shitty one.
“Thank you, officers, for bringing this problem to our attention, but, I’m sorry, we will not be allowing him into our home,” the sperm sac said. “I have to do what’s best for my family.” He turned toward his wife. “Victoria.”
She gave her husband a nod and went inside.
Without another word, the man began to follow his wife. The cops stood there in stunned silence.
“Yo, Daddy!” Dodge shouted as the cop pulled on his shoulder, trying to turn him in order to leave.
Kevin Collins paused.
Dodge lifted his hand.
Not to say goodbye.
Instead, he pointed his middle finger straight up to the sky.
And sneered.
Chapter One
Dodge followed the woman down the steps from his apartment that led into Crazy Pete’s storage room and small kitchen area.
Trip hadn’t been able to install a full kitchen, so they couldn’t serve anything other than finger foods due to the lack of room.
Because of that, they kept it simple. Besides peanuts, chips and pretzels—salty shit to make people drink more—they had a double fryer to make frozen shit, like wings, cheese sticks, chicken fingers and the rest of that kind of crap. The Fury prez had also installed a cooler to store that crap—smaller than the one in the club’s bunkhouse—and a commercial microwave to zap the shit out of it.
Not too many customers ordered food unless they were fucking smashed. Or had the munchies. Or didn’t care about eating frozen mass-produced garbage thrown into a vat of grease.
Whatever. It still brought in more scratch for the bar. And, in turn, the club.
Besides bringing in some decent tips, Stella paid him a good salary to manage the bar. He deserved every damn penny of it since most of the time he lived and breathed the business twenty-four, seven.
Living upstairs for free was convenient but it also tied him to the business. Thank fuck for the prospects. And some other local help they could now afford to hire.
In the beginning, when Dodge first rolled into town after his last—and he hoped to fuck final—stint in county, he, Stella and Trip were working their asses off to take Crazy Pete’s from the red into the black.
He loved working for Stella because she was a badass bitch and he had the utmost respect for her. Trip was one lucky motherfucker.
Of course, the Fury prez knew it.
If he had to be tied down to one woman for the rest of his life, a woman like Trip’s ol’ lady might not be like another prison sentence.
The thirty-something blonde—he couldn’t remember her damn name, not that it mattered—he was now following out of the storage area, through the swinging door and back into the bar was not a badass bitch, but annoying as fuck.
Good thing for most of the short time upstairs, his dick had been in her mouth, keeping her fucking quiet. He should have kept it at that, but he had owed her a damn orgasm and the fuck if he was going down on her. If he did, her mouth might have run the whole time and he would’ve been tempted to smother her with one of his pillows.
That could be bad for business. Most likely him, too.
Once he had gotten her upstairs, he realized his mistake but by then it was too damn late.
He powered through it since he was not a fucking quitter.