herself. She’s my baby, I practically raised her from birth, after their momma disappeared.
I was sixteen when my daughter Sunny was born, and head over heels for her father, a twenty-year old neighborhood punk named James Weston. She’d been an easy child and our life in the tight, one-bedroom apartment on the wrong side of town had felt like a dream come true. Until James was killed in a drive-by shooting that riddled our small apartment with bullets when Sunny was only three months old.
Life wasn’t so idyllic after that, but I managed—even without a high school diploma—to keep us afloat. Despite my determination to give my daughter a better life than mine, she fell in with the wrong crowd. She got pregnant at nineteen, had Ezrah at twenty, and by the time she disappeared at just twenty-four, she had two kids and no clue who their fathers were. She was found dead of an overdose two months later.
I’d been only forty at the time and left with a four-year old and an infant to raise.
“Have a good day in school, baby,” I tell Kiara when she turns at the door and tries to fit her small arms around my waist.
“Bye, Nana.”
She lifts her face for a kiss and I pull the door open for her, scooting her inside before returning to my car. It’s starting to rain again.
Normally I do groceries with the help of one of the club’s prospects to help me haul groceries, but with this impending thunderstorm I don’t want to go out more than is necessary. I’m only two blocks from the grocery store so I decide to get them now before the weather gets worse.
By the time I pile my second grocery cart high I can see conditions haven’t improved outside. The skies are dark and I can see the wind has picked up. Once I cash out, one of the baggers is kind enough to wheel the second cart to my car, despite the steady rain coming down. I slip him a few dollars for his help before loading up my little Toyota to the brim with bags.
I’m a drowned rat when I get behind the wheel, sitting in a puddle. The hair I get up an hour early every morning to subdue into smooth waves springs out in rebellious little curls I’ll have to live with the rest of the day. Curls now, untamed frizz when it dries. Lovely.
A burst of lightning followed almost immediately by a loud crack of thunder rattles me when I turn up Junction Creek Road. The rain is now coming down in sheets and my windshield wipers work hard to give me at least a glimpse at the road ahead. At some point halfway up the mountain a river of rainwater is coming down the road and—afraid my little car will start hydroplaning—I quickly pull off onto the shoulder. Better to wait it out.
I’ve sat there for a few minutes when my phone starts ringing in my purse. It’s the garage.
“Hi.”
“Where the hell are you?” Brick barks and instantly my hackles go up.
“Good morning to you too.”
Brick joined the Arrow’s Edge MC around the same time I started working for them. He runs the garage up at the compound. A rugged, rough around the edges, but at times kind man who seems to have infinite patience for the boys, but none for me. Sometimes I think he’s doing some kind of penance, looking out for me, because he certainly doesn’t seem happy about it.
Not that I ever asked for anything, he just seems to feel the need to jump in and rescue me. I can’t lie, there’ve been times I would’ve been up shit’s creek without a paddle if not for him stepping in. Like when Ezrah busted open his head and I ended up in the hospital with him without insurance. Brick walked in, handed over his credit card and told me to put a sock in it when I objected.
I think he sees me as some kind of charity case.
“You left two hours ago, it normally takes you half an hour tops to run the kids to school, and the weather is shit. For all I know you’re in a goddamn ditch somewhere,” he grumbles.
I roll my eyes but realize he can’t see that.
“I pulled off to the side to wait out the storm. The road is a bit of a mess.”
“Where?”
“Halfway up Junction. I think the rain is getting a little lighter, I’ll try