Bumpy Ride (Category 5 Knights MC Romance Book 3) by Olivia Rigal

Author:Olivia Rigal [Rigal, Olivia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lady O Publishing
Published: 2016-08-25T22:00:00+00:00

9

Bunny

I'm so, so, so tired. I hate the evening shift. Driving home, I remember I have nothing but healthy food in the house. Who cares? I don’t want healthy food right now, I need sugar, grease, downright sinful indulgence.

Instead of driving home and rolling into bed, I stop for groceries.

Nothing like ice cream and blueberries to paste the cracks of a shattered heart. My plan is to sit in front of the television and eat myself into a stupor. If ice cream doesn't do the trick, I'll turn to chocolate.

As soon as I turn the corner to my street, I realize my plans are going to have to wait. There's one truck and two bikes in my driveway. One is my father's Harley.

The second I’m parked, Earplugs rushes out of my house with a gun in his hand. I feel like an iron fist closing around my heart. This can't be good news. Despite the large smile he pastes on his face when he recognizes me, I'm filled with dread.

Earplugs tucks his gun away in the back of his belt and takes my grocery bags. He's a sweet guy who should get his patch soon enough. For more than a year, he's been my father's trainee, so to speak. His favorite prospect.

Before Baby Jack was born a few months ago, Daniel, Earplugs's real name, was the son Dad always dreamed of having. My sisters and I were ambivalent about him. On one hand we were jealous. On the other, we were happy Dad had someone devoted to him. It never hurts to have a true friend looking out for you when you're in his line of business.

"Brains?" I ask using my father's nickname in the MC. Earplugs nods and follows me as I rush into my house.

"How bad?"

"We're not sure," he says looking into the grocery bags "Why don't you go see him. I'll put this away."

I throw my handbag on the table as I run past toward the bedroom. Toward Dad. Lobster and Waxer are standing by the bed tending, to my father. He's flat on his back, white as my sheets. On the floor by the bed, most of my towels have been thrown in a pile, soaked in blood.

Lobster catches me watching the towels and tries to reassure me. "Most of the blood's not his," he says. "The guy he was fighting fell on him and he was bleeding like a pig."

I take a step closer to the bed and notice that someone had the good idea to rip out my shower curtain to protect the bed. Sending a silent thanks to whomever was so thoughtful, I examine my father's body.

Other than the wound beneath the blood soaked towel, Waxer’s presses tightly, he looks fine. Or fine as can be, anyway. There are a few cuts but nothing significant.

"Why did you bring him here?"

The two men turn their eyes away and remain silent. Their cowardliness infuriates me. Nothing in my tone implied I was questioning their decision. I'm asking a simple question.

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