the cuts on my face and forehead, I asked, “So, exactly where the hell is Breakneck tonight that kept him from being here?”
“He’s on a date.” After a dramatic pause, she added, “With Kim.”
My eyebrows shot up in extreme shock, causing me to hiss in pain. “Are you fucking serious?”
Annabel nodded as she tossed the bloodied gauze in the trash can beside the table. I couldn’t say I was surprised that Breakneck was getting back in the saddle. The man had been divorced for years, and while he’d been known to hit it with a couple of the older club whores, he hadn’t gotten serious with anyone inside or out of the club. But holy shit, he was stepping out with Kim, the widow of our former president Case. It had been more than a year since Case’s murder, but for the most part, Kim still mourned him.
There had been no one else in the world for her since she was eighteen years old.
“That’s the latest from the gossip mill, huh?” With a snort, I added, “You old ladies sure run your mouths.”
“For your information, I found out from Rev, not Kim.”
“Seriously?”
She nodded. “Apparently, Breakneck had asked Rev’s advice about whether he should ask Kim out.” She dabbed some antiseptic along my forehead cuts. While it stung like a motherfucker, I tried not to act like a pussy in front of Annabel. With a dreamy look on her face, she said, “Personally, I think it’s a wonderful idea. They both need someone, and they’re both in the club.”
“Yeah, but boning your dead brother’s old lady is complicated for a dude.”
Annabel stared wide-eyed at me for a moment before grinning. “You have such a way with words.”
“Thank you.”
“Besides, I think it’s about more than”—she swallowed hard—“boning, as you say.”
“In the end, it all comes down to boning.”
“To you, maybe, but there is more to a relationship than just that.”
I winked at her. “Let’s agree to disagree on that one.”
“Fine with me.” She opened up the suturing kit, and I braced myself to have my broken skin stitched back together. “So tell me something.”
“What?” I asked.
“How exactly does your fighting fit in with the Raiders going legit?” When I gave her my best I don’t know shit about what you’re talking about look, she rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Bishop, I’m not an idiot. I know you’re not fighting just to unload some steam, and I know there’s big money on these fights. And before you accuse Rev of always running his mouth to his old lady, he didn’t tell me anything. I figured it out all on my own.”
I chuckled as I shifted on the table. Both Deacon and Rev had picked strong, hardheaded women. The best kind of old ladies were the ones who just looked the other way, didn’t ask questions, and kept their mouths shut. At the same time, you needed some strong-willed bitches to keep the other women in line, especially when it came to the president’s wife. Annabel had been through enough to make her strong as steel, and with time, I knew she would become a woman all the others in the club would look up to as their leader’s wife.
“You’re right. I don’t do it for shits and giggles. I do it for the prize money.” I cursed under my breath as the needle pierced my skin.
“Do I dare ask what you’re doing with all your winnings?”
I clenched my jaw through the pricking pain of the needle. “Although it’s a legit way to earn a living, I don’t always want to be a mechanic.”
Annabel’s hand stilled in her sewing. “What else is it that you want to do?” she questioned softly.
For a moment, I thought about blowing her off. I hadn’t shared my long-term goal with anyone, really. Maybe Deacon and Rev had an idea from my weekend pursuits of buying broken-down bikes and refurbishing them, but it wasn’t something I had actually come right out and said.
At my hesitation, Annabel continued stitching. “Oh. It’s something you shouldn’t tell me because it’s illegal.”
“Hell no. It’s nothing like that.” I drew in a deep breath. “I want to own a bike shop someday. I love rebuilding old bikes and restoring them.”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
“You do?”
Annabel nodded. “Of course I do. I think you can do anything you put your mind to, B.”
It felt pretty fucking fabulous having her support. “Thanks. It means a lot.”
As she finished stitching my eyebrow, her expression turned serious. “So