Read Online If I Should Die: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel by Kimber S. Dawn - Free Book Online
Authors: Kimber S. Dawn
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tatted-up hand rap against the front door of the steeple, when Clutch, one of my pops’ best brothers in arms, slides open the peephole. “Jackie boy, whatcha no good, huh? Your pops is waitin’ for ya. Head on back.” He opens the door and motions for me to come in.
“Thanks, brother. How’s Ringo’s testie this mornin’? The butcher come by and take a look?”
When he just winces, I nod before chuckling, and head down the dark corridor leading to the basement of the fortress we call the steeple.
While the shit that happened with Ringo yesterday isn’t rare—it also isn’t the usual punishment for such a small crime. But as I’ve mentioned before, times are stressful and tension’s been running high throughout the club. It’s not my fault when I called the newest patch holder out on the spot about the intel he regretted to inform the prez about, that he started stuttering. Pops hates when shit’s kept from him, almost as much as he hates an ignorant sounding motherfucker who stutters.
I grimace, remembering the gory details of it, before knocking on Pops’ solid oak office door.
“Come in, son.”
And as soon as I enter and see the look in my father’s eyes, I know, all the way to the marrow of my bones that I’m not gonna like the shit he’s about to say. “Hey, what’s up? Dreads said you needed to see me.”
Without breaking eye contact, or even changing the expression of slight boredom that marred his face, he spoke in his usual, no-nonsense tone. “You’re gonna wanna sit down for this shit, Jacques.”
Shit. Exactly.
I make myself comfortable after sitting in the seat across from him behind his desk. After resting my left ankle on my right knee, I run my hands down the front of my worn out jeans and then single my attention on my father. “Alright, I’m sitting. Now cut to the chase. What’s going on, Pops?”
And when he finally answers, it also answers another nagging question I’ve been subconsciously asking myself about the impending tragedy or the fate full of doom for the club I’ve been sensing ahead. “It seems your cousin has decided to swing by on his impromptu ride along the east coast with some brothers from a few of the chapters supporting your unc. And their ETA is tomorrow night.”
Like I said, shit. Exactly.
It didn’t take long for life with Grammy to get started, and it took even less time for it to feel familiar. It’s funny how some things like that in life just work out, isn’t it? I wasn’t as far behind in my schooling as I would’ve been either, had I not filled my long days and even longer nights studying while I was in juvy. Constantly.
What? It’s not like I’m going to work out or try to get buff. Juvy freaking sucks, and if you’re in it for the something really big, like, I dunno, stealing two grand? It sucks for what feels like forever!
After I tie my Chucks, I grab my bag and sunglasses before heading out my bedroom door. And before I can even get fully into the living room, which is the room between the rest of the house and the kitchen, I smell coffee and bacon. A smile slips on my face just before turning the corner and walking into the kitchen to find Grammy mid-flip with her pancake.
“Mornin’, Grams. Whatcha cookin’?” I ask between pecking her on the cheek and swiping a piece of bacon.
Her response is to swat me on the behind with the dish towel she had draped over her left shoulder. “Pancakes, and there’s some orange juice in the fridge, sweetie.” Grammy doesn’t like me drinking coffee.
She actually doesn’t like me doing anything adult-like; and any adult-like behaviors I have are ones I picked up in juvy. It’s funny when everything is stripped away how important the basics become. Basics like coffee, a good cigarette, or a good muttered profanity here and there. And it’s odd, because now thinking back on it, I don’t know exactly when these new habits of mine initially developed, only that it
“Thanks, brother. How’s Ringo’s testie this mornin’? The butcher come by and take a look?”
When he just winces, I nod before chuckling, and head down the dark corridor leading to the basement of the fortress we call the steeple.
While the shit that happened with Ringo yesterday isn’t rare—it also isn’t the usual punishment for such a small crime. But as I’ve mentioned before, times are stressful and tension’s been running high throughout the club. It’s not my fault when I called the newest patch holder out on the spot about the intel he regretted to inform the prez about, that he started stuttering. Pops hates when shit’s kept from him, almost as much as he hates an ignorant sounding motherfucker who stutters.
I grimace, remembering the gory details of it, before knocking on Pops’ solid oak office door.
“Come in, son.”
And as soon as I enter and see the look in my father’s eyes, I know, all the way to the marrow of my bones that I’m not gonna like the shit he’s about to say. “Hey, what’s up? Dreads said you needed to see me.”
Without breaking eye contact, or even changing the expression of slight boredom that marred his face, he spoke in his usual, no-nonsense tone. “You’re gonna wanna sit down for this shit, Jacques.”
Shit. Exactly.
I make myself comfortable after sitting in the seat across from him behind his desk. After resting my left ankle on my right knee, I run my hands down the front of my worn out jeans and then single my attention on my father. “Alright, I’m sitting. Now cut to the chase. What’s going on, Pops?”
And when he finally answers, it also answers another nagging question I’ve been subconsciously asking myself about the impending tragedy or the fate full of doom for the club I’ve been sensing ahead. “It seems your cousin has decided to swing by on his impromptu ride along the east coast with some brothers from a few of the chapters supporting your unc. And their ETA is tomorrow night.”
Like I said, shit. Exactly.
It didn’t take long for life with Grammy to get started, and it took even less time for it to feel familiar. It’s funny how some things like that in life just work out, isn’t it? I wasn’t as far behind in my schooling as I would’ve been either, had I not filled my long days and even longer nights studying while I was in juvy. Constantly.
What? It’s not like I’m going to work out or try to get buff. Juvy freaking sucks, and if you’re in it for the something really big, like, I dunno, stealing two grand? It sucks for what feels like forever!
After I tie my Chucks, I grab my bag and sunglasses before heading out my bedroom door. And before I can even get fully into the living room, which is the room between the rest of the house and the kitchen, I smell coffee and bacon. A smile slips on my face just before turning the corner and walking into the kitchen to find Grammy mid-flip with her pancake.
“Mornin’, Grams. Whatcha cookin’?” I ask between pecking her on the cheek and swiping a piece of bacon.
Her response is to swat me on the behind with the dish towel she had draped over her left shoulder. “Pancakes, and there’s some orange juice in the fridge, sweetie.” Grammy doesn’t like me drinking coffee.
She actually doesn’t like me doing anything adult-like; and any adult-like behaviors I have are ones I picked up in juvy. It’s funny when everything is stripped away how important the basics become. Basics like coffee, a good cigarette, or a good muttered profanity here and there. And it’s odd, because now thinking back on it, I don’t know exactly when these new habits of mine initially developed, only that it
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