“Your dad and I will work that out between us. Maybe we can talk it through and figure out a solution. Until then, I will see you soon. Go home and get some rest.” I watch her as she walks out my door and down towards the exit. The note is clutched in her shaking hand.
Something tells me her father, the infamous Cal Ross, isn’t going to take my note or his daughter’s expulsion too well.
Chapter 3: Fury
CAL
The screen door to the clubhouse slams. I instantly drop my playing cards and spin around in my chair, on edge. No one enters the clubhouse unannounced unless they’re looking for trouble. And what is staring at me certainly is.
I rise to my feet, my voice hitching with the motion, “Maddie Ross, what in the hell are you doing here? Why aren’t you in school?”
Maddie looks at me, her brown eyes big and red – her mom’s eyes. Her bottom lip quivers a bit before she sucks in a huge gulp of air. She’s holding back tears, something I taught her at an early age to do. Motorcycle club members don’t cry, even if they are ten years old. She lets out a gasp as she speaks. “They kicked me out, Dad,” she says, still on the verge of breaking down. “They kicked me out for fightin’.”
She hands me a crumpled, wrinkled blue slip of paper from the palm of her hand. I notice her bruised and bloodied knuckle as I try not to beam with pride. We had been working on her punching accuracy with Red Dog, our club enforcer. She was getting good.
But there was no time to think about that or even congratulate her. It’s time to play parent. I unfold the note and read the neat, perfect cursive handwriting slowly.
Mr. Ross,
Your daughter Maddie is in danger of being expelled over a fight in which she and Johnny Dunlap were engaged. Maddie injured Johnny, and as a Washington scholar, that is unacceptable. Added to the fact that this is her third fight this semester, it is important that you and I sit down immediately to discuss the next course of action. Hopefully, we can find a solution that keeps Maddie in school. I expect to see you today after school is let out before 7pm.
Yours truly,
Michelle Springer
I shake my head furiously. “What the actual fuck, Maddie?” I roar at my daughter. “Why is this prissy-ass teacher wantin’ to speak to me? Don’t you know better?”
A gruff voice pops up behind me, “What’d she do, Cal?” Zero and Ace, two of the live-in club members, are watching us excitedly. They’ve known Maddie since she was a baby. They’re practically fathers to her. But given the circumstances, maybe we’ve been less than the best father figures.
I answer, keeping my gaze on my daughter who is still trying to choke back her feelings, “She beat Johnny Dunlap up, and now, some teacher wants me to go in and have a conference with her.”
Ace replies curiously, “Dunlap? That ain’t Mountain Dunalp’s son, is it?”
I stop myself and turn to face Ace. He’s right. It’s the same last name and the location is correct: he’s the son of the president of the Coyotes, as big a piece of shit club as there’s ever been. Does Maddie know? I wonder to myself. She picks up on things a lot faster than I give her credit for. And she’s often in earshot of our meetings, though when they happen, I lock her in her bedroom with one of the women to keep her out of the way.
Maddie jumps on Ace’s observation, not even giving us a second to process the new information, “Yeah! It is! That bastard said my mom was killed an’ that it was all her fault for running with you. He called her a no-good, two-cent whore. Said she was nothin’ but a cross-club slut.”
Woah. I can’t believe it. That man’s son crossed so many lines. Why couldn’t a teacher see that? What ignorant, stuck-up woman thinks my daughter is in the wrong for standing up for her mother’s honor? I would've beat the tar outta that sniveling little shit if I he’d dared say that about Linda to my face.
I stand up, furious. I’m not about to let my daughter get kicked out of school for something that was clearly not her fault. I place some money on the table, cashing out my cards, and then I turn and grab Maddie by the arm. I drag her out of the kitchen and back towards where my bike is parked in the garage. I lift her up in the bucket and straddle towards the front.
She holds on as we take off, screaming over the howl of the fall wind, “Where we going?”
“We’re gonna talk some sense into this Miss Springer. If she knows what’s good for her, she won’t be expelling anyone today.”
I grit my teeth as we make it the few blocks to the school. By the time we arrive, I can see the steady stream of kids filling out towards their buses or waiting cars. Teachers and staff stand together at the foot of the stairs chatting with each other. No one looks concerned or even the least bit affected by my daughter being absent. My blood boils.