Page 22 of Lick

“Well, if his father is here, I’d be more than happy to speak to him instead,” I snap, ready to head back to the taxi and give up.

“Okay then.” He pulls out his phone and holds up his finger for me to wait a second. I frown but do as he asks, wrapping my arms around myself to ward off the chill.

“Hey, pres. Some woman here wanted to see Lick, but when I told her he wasn’t here, she asked to speak to you.”

Okay, that wasn’t quite how it went down, but I keep my mouth shut. At the very least, Lick’s dad can get a message to him. The fact that he’s the president makes me want to run and hide.

“Alright,” the guy answers before hanging up.

“He’s on his way.”

“Thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything else, but he also doesn’t open the gate, so I guess we’re having this discussion out here on the street. Wonderful.

It only takes a few minutes for the doors to open, and when they do, three men walk through them. I’ve never seen or met any of them, but I don’t need to have met them to know instantly who the president is.

I swallow as they approach, the two men with him dropping back a little. They’re menacing in their own way, but they have nothing on the president. He’s about Lick’s height, and they have the same eyes and bone structure, but that’s where the similarities end. Where Lick is lean and toned, this guy is muscular in a way that says he likes to stay active, but not necessarily by hitting the gym. He looks like he’s in his early fifties, the silver threaded through his hair and neatly clipped beard suggesting as much. His shrewd eyes take me in like a hawk watching a mouse.

“Are you the woman from Shooters?”

I frown, not sure what that’s supposed to mean.

Before I can ask, he folds his arms over his broad chest and looks down at me. “You got a name?”

“Emma.”

“Alright, Emma, I’ll admit, you’re a little older than most of the sluts looking to score a free ride from my son, but I guess it takes all sorts.”

I startle at his words, shock rendering me mute for a second. But then my temper flares, spilling out of me before I can bite it back. I’ve done nothing but throw up and cry and work through exhaustion, and then even when I fall into bed, I can’t switch my brain off because all I can do is stress about what’s to come.

“You know what? I’m done with this shit. You think I want this? You think I want to humiliate myself again after the last damn time? I’m just trying to do what’s right. Why is it that doing what’s right is always so much fucking harder than doing what’s wrong?”

“How about you stay the fuck away from my kid⁠—”

“Fine. Just know it’s because of you that your kid won’t get to know his.”

And with that, I turn around and storm away, not giving a single fuck when he calls my name. I get into the back of the taxi and swipe at the tears.

“Please get me out of here,” I tell the taxi driver, who doesn’t hesitate, even when the gates to the clubhouse open and Lick’s father slips out.

“Where to, miss?”

I think about my answer. Part of me wants to get him to err on the side of caution and have him drop me off at a hotel, but Lick already knows where I live, so it’s pointless.

I reel off my address and lean my head against the window, done with it all for the night. One thing is for sure, I won’t be letting my kid around a bunch of assholes, especially if one of those assholes is the president of a motorcycle club. I might be a pushover in most areas of my life, but like damn, will I put my kid in harm’s way? I already feel like I messed up with my older kids, and yeah, I probably did. A child has no business having children, especially without a support system in place. I did the best I could, but that often fell short. I think the biggest mistake was staying as long as I did. I should have believed in my worth long before, but I’d always been tangled up in my kids, unable to separate the two. When I figured out that I was more than just a mother and a wife, it was too late. The damage had been done.

Well, not this time. I won’t stop Lick from seeing his kid if he ever pulls his finger out and tracks me down, but I won’t ever let my child around toxic assholes, the band manager, or the president of a fucking motorcycle club.

10

Lick

Three weeks on the road has felt like three months. I’m grateful as fuck I have the back bedroom and not one of the bunks because if I had to listen to Tash and Jacko’s temporary replacement going at it any fucking longer, I was going to throw them off the tour bus, consequences be damned. She wasn’t even supposed to be here, but I couldn’t trust her not to pull more shit at Shooters as retribution while I was gone. She’s petty like that. Her ending up on the tour bus and not riding with the stage crew was a fluke, thanks to their regular vehicle breaking down and them having to hire one that didn’t have room for her, or so she said. I wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t sabotaged shit herself.

Her fucking Mike, Jacko’s replacement while the guy recovers from an emergency appendectomy, was just the icing on the cake.

I was about to commit murder.