“Ouch! Shit! Careful!” he bellowed after I applied salt water over the gash near his chin.

We were sitting by the counter. Miranda, the nice girl who was manning the shop that morning, couldn’t help but giggle at him.

“Be still and you’ll make this a whole lot easier and a whole lot faster,” I reminded him.

“It’s just a wound,” he argued resentfully. “It’ll heal. You don’t have to clean it up.”

“Uhm, correction, mister. It’s just a wound, one of many. We’ve barely even started.”

The boys really did a number on him. Spots of blue and purple and red were scattered all over his face and his arms. It’s likely that he has more lacerations and bruises underneath his clothes.

That thought made me feel worse.

“Are we done with my chin, at least?” he asked impatiently.

“Not yet,” I said. “I have to apply an antibiotic ointment.”

“For what?”

“To guard against infection.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Save your tough guy act for when it really matters.”

I opened up my first aid pouch only to discover that I ran out of cotton. That’s a big problem. I didn’t want to touch the ointment with my finger. It’s icky. So I searched my bag for something else I could use. The closest that I could find was my unused concealer blush. I thought twice about using it. It’s a Bobbi Brown, after all. But my guilt got the better of me. With a heavy heart, I squeezed the antibiotic tube over the bristles of the brush.

“Hope you understand the sacrifices I’m making just to clean you up,” I mumbled. A little louder than I meant to, it seemed, as he heard parts of it.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked incredulously. “Your sacrifices? Do I have to remind you that you’re the one who started this mess in the first place?”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry about that,” I apologized unapologetically.

“What’s your glitch, anyway?”

I almost laughed with his usage of the word glitch. That’s so nineties, back when computer hacking was supposed to be cool. I guessed he couldn’t help it. It’s his generation after all.

“I hate my father,” I answered as I rubbed the brush over his wound. “I wanted to piss him off. That’s my glitch.” I made sure to derisively emphasize the last word.

“Is that why you’re back here in San Mateo?”

I hesitated about responding to his question. But he got into trouble because of me. I guessed he owed a modicum of an answer.

“I need my father to sign some papers,” I told him.

“Really now? You could’ve just sent them over via a courier service. One day delivery, one day back. That would’ve been easier, right? Could’ve saved us from all this shit too.”

“He won’t sign them if I won’t deliver the documents personally.”

“Yeah? Why? What are they? Checks for your monthly allowance?” He was being scornful. He was still mad about yesterday.

“They’re waivers for my mom’s estate.”

“Oh.” His tone suddenly changed. He dropped his sarcasm, replaced by a timbre of pity and remorse. “I... I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. She died three years ago. She left behind a house and a car and a small sum in her bank account. My folks... they separated but they’re not really divorced. She was committed on her refusal to sign the papers. He was never interested in going through the inconvenience of a proceeding. No papers came because they were both too lazy to file for nullity. Growing up, that gave me a bit of hope, you know? That somehow, they’d end up together again.”

“I understand. Maybe they still love... loved... each other?”

“I doubt it. She wouldn’t have died a lonely, miserable woman otherwise.”

“And this waiver... you want your dad to sign off from any claims to your mom’s properties?”

“They’re her properties. She got them when she moved to LA. Unfortunately, California law considers them to be joint properties of both wife and husband... which they were, legally at least.”

“Heh! That’s why I always have a prenup ready.”

“You do?” I asked in shock.

“Yeah. Got one right here, in my wallet. I had this... thing... with a lady attorney a couple of years ago. Had her draft one for me.”

“You keep a prenup in your wallet? That’s... That’s... That’s ridiculous!”

“Hey! You’ll never know when you’ll get married, right? One night in Vegas is all it’ll take. Love at first sight, that sort of shit. Next thing you know, you wanna spend the rest of your life with her... and a drive-thru chapel is just nearby. You can’t blame me for being prepared.”

“Yeah, I can’t,” I remarked while chortling. It’s amazing how he made me laugh immediately after talking about my mom and the sad fate that befell our family.

“You said that your dad won’t sign them if you weren’t here,” he reminded me. “Why’s that?”

“Because he’ll just think that I want the money for myself,” I replied with a tinge of loathing as I remembered how my father always thought of me as an irresponsible brat.

“You don’t?” he actually had the audacity to ask. “Ouch!” he yelled as I pressed the brush hard against his open cut.

“Of course not!” I vehemently said.

“Then who’d get the dough?”

“I dunno. I haven’t thought about that yet. Maybe I’ll give it to some charity or something. Or to a relative in need. God knows I’ve got lots of those.”

“So, anyone can have the money except your pops?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I told you. It’s not his.”

“You’re fighting for principles, huh?”

“You can say that.”

He was quickly becoming intrusive. I had to change the subject before he’d venture into a topic that I wasn’t comfortable discussing.

“Wow! You’ve got nice cheek bones,” I commented as I coursed the brush to the wound above his left eyebrow. “Perfectly angled nose, too. And a solid jaw. My oh my. You’re quite a handsome man.”

“Straight shooter, aren’t ya?” he remarked with a smug smile.

“What?”

“Most of the girls I meet, they like to play it coy. But you... you’re the type who’d rather skip the foreplay. I could tell. Which is good because.... ouch! Ouch! Ouch!”

I pressed the brush deeper into his wound like it was a cigarette butt I wanted to extinguish. He has been such a gentleman before, and his sudden show of pruriency came totally unexpected. And that infuriated me.

Miranda, who has been cleaning some mugs in front of us the whole time, couldn’t help but laugh even louder at the sight of what should be a tough biker screaming like a little girl.

“Just so you know, you’re not my type,” I told him firmly.

“That’s what they all say... initially,” he continued with his highly arrogant approach. He made me regret complimenting him.

Thankfully, the doors of the chapel opened. The patches were finished with their church. They emerged from the room one after the other, their faces painted with grim seriousness. I couldn’t blame them. They were at war. Their lives were in danger. Every breath they took could be their last.

As the patches crowded around the counter, Miranda began to serve them coffee. Lowlife had to fall silent as he was still in hot water.

My father was the last to come out. That was my chance to confront him.

I dropped the concealer brush on the counter and hurriedly grabbed my brown Givenchy satchel. I dashed towards the chapel and blocked his path before he could completely exit the room.

“The answer is no,” he quickly answered before hearing me out.

“Pardon?” I asked, confused by his sudden statement.

“If this is about getting a hotel room in San Mateo, I can’t allow that.”

“No,” I told him. “But, yeah... that’s part of the agenda. Anyway, we can discuss that later. I have something more important to ask from you.”

He could’ve easily invited me inside the chapel for some privacy. Instead, he held my elbow and led me to the farthest end of the counter. He never allowed me inside their sacred chamber. That’s how much he was devoted to his club... and that’s how lowly I was in his life.

I snatched a brown envelope from my bag and presented it to him.

“What’s this?” he asked as his eyes squinted while inspecting the paper casing.

“Waiver. For mom’s estate.”

“I see,” he said as he nodded. “And you want me to sign it?”

“Yep.”

“Which means I won’t get my share from the properties she left behind?”

“That’s what a waiver does,” I answered with a nervous smile.

“So... who gets the money? You?” he wanted to know.

“No! Of course not!” I denied. “I haven’t thought about it, really. Maybe I’ll give it to some charity. Or a needy relative. God knows we’ve got lots of those.” I basically repeated what I told the prospect.

He rubbed his chin as he eyed the envelope. His gaze darted from the parchment to me and back again. He was silent for more than a minute. He was probably thinking. I should allow him that luxury.

“Well...” he finally broke the quietness. “No.”

“Wait... what? No? Why?” I was panicking.

“You can fool other people, Sam. But you can’t fool me. You’re my daughter. I know you all too well.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” I asked angrily. “This has nothing to do with me!”

“Are you sure about that?”

There was something about the way he delivered his question that was both queer and terrifying. It was like he could see through me, through the walls I have built around myself, through the inner workings of my heart and soul, through the truths that I, myself, continuously deny...

He interrupted my rumination by pulling out a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his kutte.

“I knew this would come in handy, today of all days,” he mentioned as he handed over the neatly folded sheet.

I opened it up.

My eyes almost popped out of their sockets when I read its contents.

My father... that sneaky, scheming son of a bitch...

“You visit Nordstrom every other day,” he spoke with mechanical detachment. “Harrods every weekend. Neiman Marcus twice a month. You dine at the Ritz once every two weeks and twice the day of New Year’s eve. You have records for every store at Rodeo Drive. And how about your online purchases? I counted around six hundred items before I stopped out of sheer exhaustion. Should I go on?”

I shook my head. I completely spaced out. I was holding my credit card record for the last three years. There was no way I could deny what he was alleging.

“H-How... How did you get this?” I asked defeatedly. My voice was shaking.

“I have friends in the right places,” he casually replied. “I called in some favors.”

“You... You have no right... this is an invasion of my privacy!” I tried to argue, an attempt that I knew was futile.

“Sam... you’re neck-deep in debts,” he spoke the words I was afraid to hear. “With your current FICO score, you’d have a hard time finding a good job. Are you even employed anywhere, presently?”

I bowed my head, too ashamed to answer.

“Did you even finish your degree?” he continued.

“Why don’t you ask your friends in the right places?” I responded shrewdly. “I’m sure they know the answer.”

“I don’t need them for that,” he shot back. “I called CSU. They said that you stopped enrolling since the second trimester three years ago. That’s around the time when your mother died, right?”

“As if you care about that,” I countered, angered once more as I was reminded of how he treated me and my mom.

“I should,” he said. “I paid - and I still pay - for your tuition. You were supposed to finish up your schooling last year but I heard nothing from you. So I kept sending the checks.”

I didn’t know what to say. He was a step ahead of me. I felt like a total idiot for failing to remember that. He has always been a step ahead of me... and a step ahead of many other people. It was his job. He was the president of a motorcycle club.

We spent a few more minutes in silence. I focused my eyes on the envelope I brought with me which was lying on the counter, just to avoid his gaze. He has been staring at me the whole time, waiting, perhaps, for me to explain myself. How could I do that? He had me cornered. There was no escape.

“Can I... Can I at least get a hotel room,” I finally spoke, hoping to put an end to the discussion that has awkwardly spiraled into absolute ignominy.

“No,” was his resounding answer.

“Why not?” I grumbled.

“You know what happened yesterday. War was declared, and we’re up against some really terrible people. They know who you are. They know you’re here. They will be waiting for you, wherever you will go, until they find the opportunity they need.”

“Opportunity for what?”

“The opportunity to win the war before it can even start. They may abduct you and demand our surrender for your freedom. They may torture you until I give them what they want. They may kill you if they lose their patience. Regardless of what they’ll do to you, one thing is certain - it won’t be good.”

“So what then?” I began to complain. “I’ll just stay here, in this stinking donut shop, until your stupid war’s over?”

“No. You’re too valuable a leverage. No place in this city will be safe for you, even if we’ll guard you the whole time.”

“Okay. Good. That means I can just go back to LA,” I remarked, savoring a refreshing dose of deliverance.

“No,” he surprisingly answered.

“What? Why not?”

“Because if they have the tiniest capacity to think - which they do - then they have already prepared for that. The Godless has a chapter in Los Angeles, and with that kind of presence comes a network of contacts. It will be easy for them to track you down.”

“No shit?!” I responded with exasperation. “What am I supposed to do, then? Dig up my mother’s grave and replace her body with mine? I’m sure it’ll be safe there. No one would know, right?” My irreverence was deliberate. I was fuming mad. I always hated feeling helpless.

“Do not disrespect your mother’s memory,” he admonished me.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. Disrespecting her is your job, not mine,” I caustically answered back.

I was expecting him to get angry, to lose his cool, to scream at me with so much fury that he’d lose his composure. None of that happened. Instead, he turned his revolving stool until he was facing the patches who were scattered all over the store.

“See them?” he asked. “They’re good men. Excellent soldiers. And they trusted me to lead them. Now, we’re at war. They know that their lives are forfeit, that they have pledged themselves to die for the club. But they have families, loved ones they care deeply for. I have the responsibility to keep the dearest people in their lives safe. Tonight, I’m going to order a lockdown. Every member of their families will be here where they will be protected round the clock.”

“Yeah, okay,” I commented irately. “What’s that gotta do with me?”

“The Godless... they’ll be expecting you to be here.”

“And that’s bad?”

“That’s good. Because you won’t.”

“I won’t?”

“This will be our chance to get you out of San Mateo.”

“And where am I supposed to go?”

“Down south, to Essex.”

“Essex! Why Essex?!” I asked in shock. Essex is a virtual wasteland. It’s like a post-apocalyptic town in the modern world. Why would my father want me to go there?

“We have a chapter there,” he said, unperturbed by my agitation. “They will keep you safe.”

Geez! If he wanted me safe, he could’ve just sent me to the Bahamas, or to Bali, or to Bora Bora. But I couldn’t suggest that, not after he enumerated all the expenses I incurred the past three years.

So I just sighed with frustration and consoled myself with the thought that whatever war they’re waging, it would be over soon. I wouldn’t have to be in that godforsaken place forever.

“Okay, I’ll just visit some old haunts and some friends and I’ll be ready to drive to Essex by tomorrow,” I informed him, hoping that he had a spare car parked somewhere which I could use. It’d be hellish to drive one of their vans more than halfway across California.

“No. Not tomorrow,” he said as he shook his head. “You still don’t realize the gravity of the situation, Sam. You will have to leave today.”

“T-Today?!” I uttered rather loudly, appalled by his declaration. “What time?”

“Right now.”

“Right now?! Oh, you gotta be kidding me...”

“I’m not, and you won’t be driving anything.”

“I won’t? So how am I supposed to get there? By grabbing a cab? The bus? Or, wait... lemme guess... you’ll use that Uber crap on your phone, huh?”

“No. One of the boys will be bringing you to Essex.”

Oh no. Not another bodyguard! Has he forgotten what happened yesterday when he tried to put me on a leash by assigning the prospect to watch over me?

I noticed him staring to his left, towards a man who was sitting alone in one of the tables.

Bang Bang.

I tried to hide the smile that was quickly forming on my face. This bodyguard thing, maybe it wasn’t that bad an idea. I’ve been dreaming about exciting adventures with that hunk of a specimen since I was old enough to appreciate boys, after all.

But then, Bang Bang stood up, leaving the table empty and revealing a stool that was previously behind him... a stool with someone sitting on it.

My eyes widened in horror. I looked at my father. He was still glaring at the same direction, observing the guy who was left in that corner of the store. It seemed like a joke, but his demeanor expressed otherwise. He was dead serious. His mind was set. My fate was sealed. And I began to dread the ten hour drive that I was cursed to spend with his chosen one.