Aaron - Day 15

The blaring sound of a horn caused me to tumble from my couch. The first thing I picked up was my pistol, shoving it into the back of my waist. I crept to my window, peeled back my white curtains, and peeked out into my front yard.

I’d built my house so far in the woods that the only way to access it was by a dirt road that required a truck to navigate. The trail was so rutted, I couldn’t even ride my motorcycles along it. I was forced to truck them out to the clubhouse if I wanted to ride them.

My house and the land I had built it on had all been purchased under a fake name and owner. If my enemies were to ever show up at my door, I knew two things: they meant business and they were there to kill my ass.

After I left the clubhouse last night, I’d made a few more business-related stops and hadn’t made it home until after 9 o’clock this morning. I blinked and rubbed my eyes to knock some of the sleep from them before glancing at my watch. It was 5:30 p.m. I’d popped an Ambien, and until that damn horn sounded, I’d slept like a log.

After dropping my curtains, I clumped towards my front door, sprung it open, and stepped onto my wraparound porch on my two-story cottage constructed of logs.

My hands automatically clenched when I saw who was walking in step behind my father. I’d forgotten all about his crazy-ass proposal that I take the woman as a down payment for the money my cousin owed me.

I was sure my father noticed the cold indignation on my face as I watched the woman trailing him and simultaneously shot missiles at him with my glare. I pictured his ass getting blown to kingdom come repeatedly.

The woman had a purple backpack slung across her shoulder, and her gaze remained on the ground. I couldn’t help the deep crease in my forehead, but any protest on my part at this point was grounds for an argument with my father, and I didn’t want the fucking headache.

Without speaking, my father walked past me and shoved my front door further open. He waved the woman in before he entered and left me standing on the porch like he was the fucking owner of my house.

Before making myself go back into the house, I mouthed, “Fuck.”

“Wait in the kitchen while I talk to my son, Mona,” my father said as he pointed the woman towards my kitchen.

I could have sworn my father said the woman was named Megan.

“Son, no fucking her. Keep your dick to yourself. I know you damn young people and the way you are wired. You don’t care about mixing up the gene pools, and I’ll be damned if any son of mine or even kin of mine get themselves tangled up with some black pussy. God forbid, I end up with a mixed-up grandbaby. Jesus!” My father shook his head and winced like the idea was unholy. “I’ll be back to get her in a few days—three or four. Put her ass to work.” He waved his hand around. “From the looks of this dusty-ass place, you could use her.”

With those words, my father walked out, not giving a damn about anything I had to say. I knew my father better than he thought I did. If his only rule was for me not to fuck the new maid, it meant that he had likely been tempted. His reverse psychology didn’t work on me like it worked on the rest of the MC.

* * *

I walked into my kitchen and found Megan already working. Well shit. Maybe my father was right about this crazy woman trying to keep her sister alive.

She stopped scrubbing one of my plates and glanced back at me when I walked further into my kitchen. I eyed her before gesturing my head towards the back stairs. “Let me show you to your room.”

“Yes, sir.”

My hand shot up as I shook my head in protest. “You can stop with that sir, shit. I’m not my father. I’m not deep into that old-school racist shit either. If you respect me, I’ll respect you. Just don’t piss me off and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”

“Okay,” she said in a quiet voice before picking up her backpack.

She followed me as quiet as a church mouse up my back stairs. Was this seriously the same woman my father claimed had shot Scud?

I twisted the knob and shoved the door to my spare bedroom open. Standing in place, I waved her in. She and her backpack squeezed past me. By the expression on her face, I could tell that she’d been expecting my place to be a dump, but I possessed more standards than anyone would probably give me credit for.

“Clean whatever you think needs it. Cook whatever the hell you can make from the kitchen. Make a list of the groceries and shit you think you might need, and I’ll pick them up tomorrow. Long as you stay out of my way, we won’t have any problems.”

“Okay,” she said in a low voice.

“Do you say anything more than “Yes, sir” and “okay?” I asked her.

“Yes, but I was told to shut the fuck up and be the maid, so that’s what I’ve been doing.”

I can see why that would limit her vocabulary.

“Did my father fuck you? Did any of the other MC members fuck you? Have you been beaten or harmed in any way?”

I was about as mean a motherfucker as you could encounter, but I didn’t believe in harming women or children unless it couldn’t be avoided.

After my question, I saw her swallow from across the room. I was rough, harsh even, and that included the way I talked. I came across as a mean bastard and preferred it that way.

“Your father announced that no one was to fuck the nigger. Two members tried after they got me alone, but after I threatened to tell your father, they left me alone. Other than a few grabs, shoves, and pushes, no one has beaten or harmed me.”

My eyebrow lifted, but there was nothing more that I could think to say in such an odd situation, so I just walked away.