Three great lessons that I will teach my children.
But there is one lesson I’d like to teach you and that is to know life may end but love doesn’t. I’ll always love you, Dad. I’ll think of you every time I drive pass the boarded up restaurant we used to go to. I’ll think about you whenever I wear the earrings you bought me. I’ll smile as I speed down the Belt Parkway and imagine you’re right beside me in the passenger seat and when the Belmont stakes come around, I’ll always bet the fourth race.
I’ll miss you.
But you’ll always be in my heart.
Thank you for loving me.
Love Always,
Your Little Girl
Chapter Twenty-Eight
There used to be a time when partying entailed a clubhouse full of whores, a never ending supply of booze and a brick of the finest weed. A time when the only things the Satan’s Knights MC knew was mayhem and grief, blood and death. The days when their president lived for the darkness and craved a little bit of light. The days before I found my Sunshine.
We used to live only to ride, party and fuck, but now some of us, myself included, have found there is more to life than a clubhouse full of cheap pussy. We found our heart, and passing blunts around isn’t as appealing as it used to be. I love my club, still live to ride, but I’ve got a woman to go home to night after night and her pussy is the only one I crave. In fact, as I stare at the menu the only thing I’ve got an appetite for is Sunshine, not a porterhouse at some swanky restaurant in the city.
It was Wolf’s idea, a night on the town to celebrate Stryker’s homecoming, and though I’d rather be in bed with Reina wrapped around me, I have to agree with my bat-shit crazy brother, Wolf, Stryker deserves a night out. He probably needs more than a steak though, poor bastard spent eight months in Rikers, more than double the time he was sent in there for, all because he kept getting his ass thrown in the hole. Don’t know much about any of the nomads but it’s obvious our boy Stryker has a temper.
Closing my menu, I reach for my drink and try to pay attention to the conversation. Wolf has gone all out, setting us up in a private room at Smith and Wollensky’s steakhouse and everyone has made it their business to show up. It was like we had moved church to the overpriced joint, taking our respective seats around Wollensky’s table just as we do at my table, and as usual the conversation turns to Pipe’s wife’s tits.
“A fake rack never did it for me,” I chime in, lifting my beer bottle to my lips before pausing to point a finger at Blackie. “If you put your two cents into this conversation, I might shoot you.”
Leaning back against his chair, Blackie shakes his head and tries to hide the grin spreading across his face—bastard.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the man of the hour,” Blackie announces as his eyes zero in on a Wolf and Stryker as they walk into the room.
“And his party planner,” Riggs notes, raising an eyebrow toward Wolf as he glances around the room. “Fancy place, Wolf.”
“You’re used to fancy aren’t you, Richie Rich?” Pipe quips. He’s relentless with the rich boy jokes, especially after Riggs brought it to our attention that the oil diggers are in town looking to make nice with their boy.
I stand from my chair at the head of the table and walk over to Stryker.
“Welcome home, brother,” I say, glancing toward the waiter standing in the doorway. “Get this motherfucker the finest bottle of whiskey,” I demand, wrapping an arm around Stryker’s shoulders.
“Thanks, Prez,” he says as I lead him toward the table. As he stands as still as a soldier, Blackie pushes his chair back and rises to his feet to greet his former cellmate. He sizes him up before tipping his chin and biting his cheek.
“How’s the nose?”
Stryker shrugs his shoulders, taking the glass the waiter offered and knocks back the shot before peering at Blackie. As per my orders, Blackie staged a fight with Stryker, broke his nose and got his ass carted to Otisville where Vic was waiting for him. Yeah, I owed Stryker big time.
“It’s good, gives me character,” he replies.
Blackie smirks and wraps an arm around Stryker’s shoulders just as I had.
“Thank you,” he says, his face growing serious. “Appreciate what you did,” he adds.
“No sweat,” Stryker shrugs, pulling up a chair at the table. “I needed the fucking vacation.”
“Yo, bro, we’ve missed your ass,” Linc calls from across the table.
“You missed him hustling pool,” Deuce states. “Kid’s broke.”
“Kiss my ass, Deucey,” Linc replies, before turning his attention back to Stryker. “They have a table outside if you feel like making a quick buck,” he antagonizes.
“Fuck pool,” Wolf says, opening his menu. “I’ve got this room for the next four hours.”