Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
I can’t.
And that kills me more than anything.
Growing up, we used to chant, “can’t never could.” Never in my wildest nightmares did I envision truly experiencing a can’t. I was the man who believed everything was possible.
Until it wasn’t.
I can’t fail these people and I can’t let my limitations hold anyone back. This one matters more than any mission I’ve ever been a part of both in the Army and on the home front. Even now, years after my accident, there are times things pop up and fuck with my head more than the usual.
Flying as a person in a wheelchair is a problem. I don’t care what airline it is and how inclusive they intend to be, there is always, and most likely will always be hiccups in flying compared to an able-bodied person. The aisles aren’t fit for standard wheelchairs and while I have a custom, smaller one, it still doesn’t work easily through planes. Due to the position of the locks for my chair I am always forced to be the last one off. Normally it’s fine, but right now every second counts, and my lack of legs is causing Karma delays. The guilt gnaws at me, but I don’t have time to dwell.
Everyone around us ceases to exist. One focus pushes us both. We are coming out of the airport to catch a taxi or try to book a ride share when we see a man in a cut. We aren’t home, this isn’t our territory, but neither of us are about to take off our colors. If our cuts piss this man and his club off, he can get in line until we are done with our business here.
Most clubs, even the Hellions, don’t react when someone passes through. It’s when an outsider stays, or trouble is stirred that problems begin, and we do whatever is necessary to protect our own. However, not every MC is the same. Some kill for fucking sport. I don’t know what we are coming into with another club already present at a fucking airport.
Getting closer, he twists looking around him with his sign and we see the prospect patch on the back. At least he has no power. He won’t shoot first and ask questions later, that will cost him his rocker regardless of the level of risk any club plays at. The sign has my name on it making me wonder how he knows to look for me. He catches my eye taking in my chair. His stare lingers a bit and I feel the acid burn in my stomach.
Same look most people give and right now that pity makes me want to throat punch this motherfucker. Territories be damned, fuck my code, and take out my aggression wherever I can. Right now, that feels like him.
“Busted?” he asks as we approach.
“What’s it to ya?” I counter even knowing my cut states my name in plain sight for him.
He motions behind him, and a van begins to pull up. “I’m Tubs and a prospect for Sinister Sons. Supposed to take you with me.”
I jerk my head back. “And I’m to blindly trust you? A prospect?”
“We’re here to get you to Emmalee.” He explains like I should already know it. There hasn’t been a spare second to turn on our phones and touch base with Tripp. I know I told him to call the Sons but that doesn’t mean it was successful.
Karma and I look at each other stunned. Nothing goes this easy and the Sons, well they damn sure don’t owe me shit. Hell, I threatened war. No way I’d meet someone at the airport to give them a lift after that. I asked Tripp to give a marker for them to keep eyes on Emmalee not give us a red-carpet welcome.
Maybe Stone was trying to get a rise out of me on the phone. I don’t know what Emmalee told him concerning her past and where she comes from. I’d fuck with someone I didn’t know if a woman didn’t seem comfortable with the conversation. Her declining my calls made it clear, she was anything but okay with talking to me. I’ll handle that situation later. First things first, find Hollis and get the boy safe with his dad.
The van door opens, and I lean back in my chair to get the tilt. As soon as my front wheels hit the side of the van, Karma lifts the back rolling me up as I transfer to the seat behind the passenger seat. Karma folds my chair with practiced ease before rounding the van to the sit beside me. When going on transports, Karma and I have an easy system to get through the runs. He’s dealt with my wheelchair plenty. The driver turns to look at me. He isn’t fazed by my missing legs.