Rough (Filthy F*ckers MC #2), Page 2

  “I ain’t parking it.”

  “Alright, then.” His eyes fell to his e-reader. “I’ll get my nurse to push me to your funeral.”

  I stood. “I’m gonna make a sandwich. You need anything?”

  He nodded. “If you’ve got a minute.”

  “Whatever you need, Pop.”

  He exhaled, and then looked up. His slight smile slowly diminished, leaving him with a face filled with nothing but need. “I hate to be a burden.”

  I met his gaze. “Just tell me what you need.”

  “I need my nuts scratched,” he said stone-faced.

  I let out a sigh and flipped him the bird as I turned toward the kitchen. “Asshole.”

  He chuckled. “I wear it like a badge of honor.”

  He was brash and had an abrasive personality, but being exposed to it since childhood allowed me to dismiss damned near everything that spilled from his lips as being nothing more than him masking his true feelings.

  He had a great heart, but wasn’t one to allow his emotions to come to the surface. His attitude, however, was impossible to conceal. In recent years we’d become as close as any father and son could be, and although he wasn’t one to ever discuss how he felt, I knew he loved me as much as anyone could.

  When I was almost finished making the perfect sandwich, I heard a dull thud. I scrambled to the living room and found him on the floor, halfway between his recliner and the wheelchair.

  I bent down and slipped my arm under his shoulder. “God damn it, Pop. What were you doing?”

  “A man’s gotta piss from time to time,” he growled. “And having someone get my cock out is pretty fucking demeaning.”

  “I just asked you if you needed anything.” I carefully lifted him into his wheelchair. “Not five fuckin’ minutes ago.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. “Dig in that pocket of yours and pull me out a handful of dignity, would you?”

  For the first time since he’d slipped and fell, I realized he’d lost much more than his ability to walk.

  And now, knowing it hurt like hell.

  THREE

  Tegan

  I had never considered myself to be religious, but I was convinced God was no longer looking down on me with a merciless heart.

  I held the phone firmly in my hand while I paced my living room floor. “Oh my God. That’s amazing. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “There’s only one catch.”

  “What is it. Not that I care, but--”

  “You’ve got to start tomorrow at 7:00 a.m.”

  “That’s the catch? It’s more like a gift.”

  “It’s refreshing to think you look at it that way.”

  “And it’s full time, right?”

  “Seven days a week, at a fixed daily rate of $200 a day. If you want five days instead of seven, we can get someone to relieve you two days a week.”

  “I’ll take the seven.”

  “Sounds great. We’ll need you to stop in this afternoon and fill out the paperwork, though.”

  El Cajon was only ten minutes away. I fought against my urge to let out a celebratory scream. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “I’m looking forward having you aboard, Tegan. Thank you.”

  “Goodbye, Mrs. French.”

  She hung up.

  I tossed my phone onto the couch and ran to my bedroom. After rifling through the clothes in my closet, I chose an outfit, ironed it, and then ran all the way to my car. Within minutes, I was on highway 67 speeding toward El Cajon.

  A handsome thirty-something year old passed me in a Mercedes, slowed down, and then took another long look. After an unobstructed eyeful of me, he shook his head.

  Completely comfortable with my strikingly odd vehicle situation, I waved. He returned a smile, obviously amused not by me, but by my doorless ride.

  Most women my age would find driving a 1985 Toyota Corolla belittling. The few who didn’t would certainly find driving the same car with one missing door to be so, and probably to a very high degree.

  I looked at it as a blessing.

  I got a lot of funny looks, but the summer’s heat was now bearable.

  Half a dozen odd stares later, and I’d reached my destination. After parking at the curb and walking through the empty parking lot, I stepped through the door and up to the receptionist’s desk.

  The bubblegum chewing blonde met me with a smile.

  “Tegan Rassini to see Mrs. French,” I said.

  “Oh. She left this up here for you to sign,” she said, producing a quarter-inch-thick stack of paperwork. “And, I’ll need a copy of your driver’s license and your social security card or a passport.”

  I handed her the two forms of I.D. “Here.”

  “I’ve marked where you need to sign, and there’s a blank copy for you to keep,” she said. “And, for what it’s worth, this guy’s big. He weighs like 220 pounds.”

  “That’s not a problem.” I lowered my tone of voice to a more masculine one and flexed my right bicep. “I work out.”

  She looked at my arm, and then at me. She seemed unamused. “We’ll see what you say after a few days. If we need to get a hoist in there, we will.”

  “I should be okay.” I reached for the stack of paperwork. “Can you tell me what happened? So I don’t have to ask him?”

  “He was in good health a month ago, I guess. He slipped on a banana peel, fell on the floor, and broke his shoulder, wrist, ankle, and knee. The shoulder’s on one side, and the knee’s on the other. It sounds like he should be in a body cast, but he’s not.”

  “Oh. Wow.”

  “I know, right?”

  “I’m supposed to start in the morning,” I said, trying my best to hide my excitement. I tilted my head toward a magazine-filled table surrounded by three chairs. “Can I fill this out over there?”

  She smiled. “Sure.”

  “Be right back.”

  A seven day a week job that paid $200 a day would allow me to not only pay for the repairs to the man’s motorcycle, but fixing my car was certainly on the future’s horizon. This was exactly the break I had been waiting for.

  Five years of college was finally going to pay off. In no time I would be able to call the big bad biker back and make some sort of believable excuse for not responding to his repeated messages.

  I filled out the paperwork, signed everything, and then handed her the forms.

  “All done,” I said with a smile.

  “Here’s your stuff.” She slid my driver’s license and social security card across her desk. “And, for what it’s worth, this guy’s son is hot as fuck.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Uh huh. He came in here this morning.” She glanced over each shoulder and then leaned forward. “His feet were huge,” she whispered. She raised her hand and spread her fingers apart. “Hands, too.”

  It was more information than I really needed. “Oooookay.”

  Having a man in my life meant spending money unnecessarily. It was a luxury I couldn’t afford. To be honest, I wasn’t interested in men even if they were free. Men did one thing with regularity, and one thing only.

  They left.

  Her smile faded. “Uhhm. It was nice to meet you.”

  I shot her a fake grin. “Same. Thank you.”

  On my way to the car, I called the biker, fully intending to leave a message. My experience with bikers led me to believe that he spent all day on his motorcycle, and I seriously doubted he’d answer the phone. Much to my surprise, he did on the second ring.

  “About fucking time,” he howled. “Why the fuck haven’t you answered?”

  I took a deep breath. He made me nervous. Not a little bit, a lot. The teenage kind of nervous.

  “My phone was shut off, and then I got it back on, but they cancelled my insurance--”

  “You don’t have any fuckin’ insurance?” he screamed.

  “I’m getting it resolved,” I said. “All
I’ve got to do is--”

  “You fucking better. It’s $3,500 worth of damage, and I sure as fuck ain’t paying for it.”

  I fell through the opening in the side of my car and landed in the seat. “I promise you, I’ll get it taken care of. I’m dependable like that. I set my sights on something, and the next thing you know--”

  “My bike’s bashed all to fuck. It better be quick.”

  “It will,” I responded. “I’ve got a new job, and if I have to, I’ll pay for it out of my own pocket.”

  Although I had every intention of getting my insurance up-to-date, paying for his damage out of my pocket was exactly what I was going to have to do, regardless.

  “I don’t give a fuck if you’ve got to turn tricks, you better get me some fuckin’ money.”

  “I will. I really will. That sounded bad, huh? I’ll pay for it. Not turn tricks. No trick Tegan, that’s what they call--”

  “When?”

  Apparently, he had no sense of humor. I let out a light sigh. “I’ll be in touch in a day or two.”

  “You better.”

  “I will, I promise, even if…”

  The silence on the other end reminded me that he had much less interest in talking to me than I had in talking to him.

  Not seeing him face-to-face was in both of our best interests. I found his stand-offish attitude supportive of his lack of interest in me, which made matters that much easier.

  Hopefully his sense of time passing was as non-existent as his sense of humor. I’d wait until I got paid, and then give him a call when I could hand him $1,000 in cash.

  With any luck, by then what little interest I had in him would fade away.

  FOUR

  Pee Bee

  I lifted the eggs from the skillet and carefully placed them on the plate beside the toast. It was fine if he broke the yolks of the over-medium eggs I cooked him, but if I did it before I handed him the plate, there’d be hell to pay.

  I laid four pieces of bacon beside the eggs, and carried the plate into the living room.

  “Well, good god damn,” he said as he sat up in his chair. “I wondered if that was for me, or if you were in there getting fatter by the minute.”

  My mother had bought a special recliner with a tray that swiveled from the arm of the chair toward the center, allowing him to eat while he read or watched T.V.

  I spun the tray over his lap and set the plate down. “I’m not fat.”

  He glanced at the eggs and then looked up, grinning. “Pretty fuckin’ close.”

  “Get your own silverware.”

  He scooped up one of the eggs with his fingers, dropped it onto a piece of toast, and picked it up. “I don’t need any fuckin’ silverware, fat ass.”

  “Whatever. Hope those yolks bust all to fuck.”

  He took a bite of his open-faced eggs sandwich. “I don’t give a fuck if they do. Long as you didn’t break ‘em cooking ‘em.”

  I let out an exaggerated sigh and turned away. “I gotta piss.”

  “Lift the fucking seat,” he said over a mouthful of food. “I’ve gotta sit to piss, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna wallow in your piss when I do.”

  I walked into the bathroom, shut the door, and stepped onto the scale.

  231.

  At 6’-8”, I was far from fat.

  I pissed, washed my hands, and walked into the living room. He was wiping his plate clean with a small piece of toast.

  “What’d you weigh?” he asked as he poked the toast in his mouth.

  I sat down on the couch. “I went to piss.”

  “I raised you, you anal retentive asshole,” he said. “What’d you weigh?”

  “Two and a quarter.”

  “Two-forty?”

  “Two and a quarter,” I said again, knowing if it was much more, he’d bitch. He didn’t understand Body Mass Index or body fat percentages.

  “Two-thirty-eight?”

  “Two-thirty-one,” I said without looking at him.

  He chuckled. “Far sight from two and a quarter.”

  I glared at him. “Six fucking pounds.”

  “Just as well be fifty. If you’re going to lie about your weight, why not lie big? Hell, tell those dip-shits you ride with you’re throwing two and a dime. Maybe you can get one of ‘em to take you out on a date.” His eyes slowly widened. “Which brings us to another subject. When are you going to settle down?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean settle down. Stop being a miscreant, find a good woman, and settle the fuck down, Son. Our time on this earth is limited, you’re aware of that, right?”

  I wasn’t willing to listen to another speech about how I was a man-whore, but I felt a need to defend my club brothers. “Why you always got to be talking shit on the fellas?”

  “I told you when you started riding with that fucking Navarro and the rest of those degenerates that I didn’t like it. It’s nothing but a god damned gang. I didn’t raise you to be a gang-banger, Son.”

  “It ain’t a gang.”

  “The fuck it isn’t.”

  “It’s a club.”

  “Kind of like calling your cock a lollipop, ain’t it?”

  I turned to face him. “I don’t see the connection.”

  “It’s deceiving to the listening ear,” he said. “Now put up my plate before that yolk dries on it. That shit never washes off in the dishwasher once it gets hard. When you get back, we’ll finish this discussion. I’m far from done talking about this.”

  I hated rinsing off dishes. Even so, I took his plate to the kitchen, eager to escape his lecture. As I rinsed it, he began to yell.

  “Hooptie just pulled up across the street,” he shouted. “Cute bitch driving. Looks like the fuckin’ thing’s missing a door, though. What’d you do, hire that girl that wrecked your bike?”

  “What-fucking-ever,” I breathed. “I’m coming.”

  “I ain’t shittin’ ya. She’s a real looker, and the car’s missing a fuckin’ door. Looks like she’d fall out of it if she took a hard right turn.” He started laughing, and then caught his breath. “Looks funny as hell.”

  I put the plate in the dishwasher. “Be there in a minute.”

  “She’s got dark hair that’s pulled into a ponytail, and she’s wearing maroon scrubs, like a doctor. Jesus. She’s cute. Hopefully, she’s better than the last one.”

  I was sure he was joking about the door, but stepped into the living room a little curious, nonetheless. After wiping my hands on the thighs of my jeans, I glanced up and peered through the window. Parked across the street, in front of the neighbor’s house, was the very car that had caused the wreck with my beloved bike.

  What the fuck?

  There was a loud knock at the door.

  “You gonna answer that or stand there with your jaw on the floor?”

  I couldn’t fucking believe it.

  The doorbell rang.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with you,” he asked. “Answer the fuckin’ door.”

  I stomped to the door and yanked it open.

  She looked quite a bit different than the day she slung her door into the front of my bike, but there was no mistaking who she was.

  “What in the fuck are you doing here? How’d you get this address?”

  Her hand shot to her mouth and she went bug-eyed. “Oh my God,” she gasped. “Uhhm.” She leaned to the side, and peered beyond me, into the living room. After a short pause, she looked up. “This is awkward, huh?”

  “What?” I crossed my arms and gave her a stern glare. “Where’s my fuckin’ money?”

  “I don’t have it. Not yet.”

  Completely confused, and in slight shock that she had somehow found me, I stared at her in disbelief. “Then why the fuck are you here?”

  She leaned to the side again, and nodded her head toward the living room. “I’m uhhm. I’m the. I’m your father’s new caregiver. Home Healthcare, LLC sent me”

  It was like a bad fuck
ing dream.

  “God damn it, you big dumb fucker. Let her in,” my father shouted.

  “Are you fucking shitting me?” I asked, my eyes still locked on hers. “You’re here for the job?”

  She swallowed heavily and then grinned a shallow grin. “Uh huh.”

  “She ain’t coming in,” I said over my shoulder.

  “She sure as fuck can’t help me from out on the fuckin’ porch,” he yelled. “Let her in.”

  “She ain’t coming in.”

  “Why the fuck not?” he shouted.

  “Because.”

  The bike crushing nurse and I continued our stand-off. After a few awkward seconds of silence, Pop started laughing.

  “She’s the one you wrecked into, isn’t she?”

  “Enough, old man,” I said without breaking my stare.

  “Look. I’ve been working part-time since I graduated from nursing school.”

  She paused, and met my gaze. Her eyes were gorgeous, and I wasn’t about to fall prey to them. I shifted my eyes away as she continued.

  “This is…this will be my first full-time job. And, I need this income to pay for your bike. It’s a win-win for us both. Without this?” She shrugged. “We’re both screwed.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” I mumbled.

  I stepped onto the porch and pulled the door closed behind me. “I might, and I mean I fucking might let you do this.”

  “I already told you I was sorry about your bike, and I am. There’s no sense and going over it,” she said. “My window didn’t work, my A/C was broken, and I opened my door to cool off. It’s not like I pulled out in front of you or ran a red light.”

  I huffed out a sigh and glanced at her tits. She made a point. Shit happens to the best of us.

  “I’m a really good nurse.” She raised her index finger. “Top of my class. And I love helping people.”

  I looked her up one side and down the other. Her scrubs fit her like a second skin. She was cute as fuck, and she was damned sure built for fucking, but there was one problem. She was small, and my father was a big man. It’d be tough for her to move him from his recliner to his wheelchair.