by Sophia Gray
“How serious could building taxes be?” Ethan asked, looking at William questioningly. It seemed like a small thing for everyone to be so concerned about. Expensive, sure. But the only thing more certain than taxes was death, and they’d find a way to pay for it. “I mean, it sucks, but we can--”
“Nah, it’s more than that now.” William took a deep drag and exhaled smoke, looking like a pissed off dragon. “Ran into Rogers. Guy’s this close to gettin’ his colors.” He held up his thumb and forefinger a scant millimeter apart. “Tells me today that he’s backin’ out.”
“What?” Ryan demanded, standing up straight from his leaning position and looking surprised. “He sure as hell didn’t say anything to me when I asked him about the ride last week.”
William nodded. “Yeah. Asked him about that. He said his wife’s gettin’ real antsy about the bad spin in the press. They’ve got a kid on the way. I ask him what spin and he hands me this.” William lifted himself up, pulled a folded and creased newspaper out of his back pocket and handed it to Ethan.
“Motorcycle Club or Biker Gang? Nevada State Representative Gregory Stratton Questions the Difference.”
Ethan snorted. “Are you kidding me?” He tossed the clipping down onto the sheet beside the folder. “This isn’t exactly news anyway. We’ve never had a totally clean reputation.”
“No,” Taylor agreed. “The reputation might not be new, but the fees are. It’s not just the building taxes, Ethan. He’s upping the taxes on our dues and our colors.”
“And he’s pushing like hell to limit where and when we can all ride,” Ryan added, his face darkening with anger. “Something about us being a danger to responsible motorists.”
Ethan stood up, anger flooding him with sudden adrenaline. “What?”
“Have you had your head up your ass these past few months?” William demanded. “This has been everywhere.”
Ryan and Taylor took a few steps back, eyeing the two of them warily. Ethan felt his jaw clench and he had to resist the urge to step forward. He stopped himself though. He respected William too much to say any of the things that ran through his mind. William had been his father’s best friend. He’d been an honorary uncle from the time that Ethan had arrived in Nevada at the age of fifteen. He was a founding member of The Angel’s Keepers and he knew the club inside and out. Because of those things, Ethan counted to ten before he spoke again.
“Okay,” Ethan said when he’d stopped seeing red.
He pushed his hands down into his pockets and glanced at the Flathead. Getting it had taken up a lot of his time. And he’d gone on the poker run out to Lovelock. His schedule at the mechanic shop he worked at had been tight since two guys had quit right when the summer rush started. He’d been working a lot of overtime.
And then there’d been Rachel. And Carey. And Brittany. Too bad she’d moved on to someone else; he could have used some stress relief right about now. He had to admit that he hadn’t put as much into being the president as he should have lately.
“Get me up to speed.”
“Things are shit,” William said, lighting another cigarette.
“Specifics,” Ethan snapped. He liked William, but if he was going to give respect, he was damn well going to get it back in return.
“Anything related to motorcycle clubs that Representative Stratton can tax, he’s taxing,” Ryan said with a shrug. “It’s pretty much that simple.”
“So what are you gonna do?” William asked.
Ethan was momentarily at a loss. Then something that had been at the back of his mind for a while rose to the front. “What if we got a tax-exempt status?”
“Not sure we could.” Taylor answered readily. So his treasurer had already thought of it. It didn’t surprise Ethan, but it was disheartening. If Taylor couldn’t work it out, there probably wasn’t anyone who could. “It’s part of the umbrella we fall under,” the treasurer went on. “We fall under social and recreational clubs. He argues that we’re gangs and not a social club, the idiots higher up believe him, and there you go. No tax breaks for gang members.”
Ethan rubbed his chin. “Okay. So we just have to be a more charitable group of bikers, I guess.” Everyone looked at him suspiciously. “Hell, I’m not planning force you guys to make cupcakes,” he said with a grin. “The ride’s cancelled. We’ll have plenty of time to get something good and charitable together.”
“Not talking about any charities ’til I’ve had some beer,” William said gruffly, pushing himself up from the stool and looking just as pissed off as he had when he’d walked in. Well, Ethan thought, looking at Taylor and Ryan’s more hopeful expressions. You can’t please all of the people all of the time. “Get up with Kenny and Jimmy and tell them to meet us at The Hole. We’ll have a real meeting.”
Ethan didn’t think they were likely to get anything done at the bar, or even be able to hear each other clearly, but William was clearly not going to be talked out of this. He nodded in reply to the other man’s request. “Sure thing.”
“This shit was a lot easier when your old man was in charge,” William muttered as he turned to the door.
Ethan didn’t answer that. It had been easier. Easier on him, too. He’d only been a Road Captain then. Organizing the rides and poker runs and keeping the members’ bikes maintained had been a hell of a lot more fun than running the whole damn club. And Marcus Billings hadn’t had a State Rep with a pointless vendetta breathing down his neck.
He watched them leave and then sent a text to Kenny, his Vice President, and to Jimmy, the club secretary and most organized man on the face of the earth. While he waited for their answers, he started packing up his tools. There wasn’t going to be time to work on the Flathead today after all.
Chapter 3
Amelia
Amelia woke up with her head pounding. She’d forgotten to close the blinds and the bright morning sun that poured into her room from her large balcony window felt like an insult. She sat up slowly, putting one hand over her eyes and rubbing her temple with the other. Then she began to piece last night together. Lauren’s party, about a thousand shots, a blur of a cab ride and then...her father threatening to cut her off? One of those things was not like the other, but it felt right.
She replayed the evening again, adding details slowly but surely. Yep. He’d definitely accused her of trying to flush his career away. There had been tension between them since she’d graduated from college the year before, but nothing like this. He’d never been so obviously ashamed of her. Sure, coming home stumbling drunk wasn’t something any parent would really love to see their child do, but he’d been harsher on her for ditching Anthony than he had been for the drinking.
They would have to talk. Maybe today he would be calmer, more rational. Amelia vowed to do her best to be as logical as she could. There was no way she could keep living this way. She needed to find a way out of the walls that closed in around her every day. If he would help her with an apartment and a car, she could find work and slowly distance herself from him. If she presented it the right way, surely he’d say yes. She didn’t want anything crazy. Just a life of her own.
Amelia got up slowly, testing her balance. She wanted to take a shower, but she knew her father would be leaving soon, so she settled for brushing her hair and putting it up in a tight bun. Then she dressed in clothes that were casual, but that at least didn’t smell like cigarettes, spilled alcohol, and chlorine.
When she was satisfied that she looked fairly respectable, she walked downstairs. The smell of breakfast greeted her and twisted her stomach, but she sat down at the table beside her father. He was reading over some papers with a pen in one hand, his coffee going cold in front of him. It was his usual pose. The word relax wasn’t found in Gregory Stratton’s vocabulary.
Amelia poured a glass of juice and looked at the bacon thoughtfully. It smelled pretty good. Maybe she could eat something after all. A rumble from her stomach contradicted her and she took a cautious sip of juice ins
tead. When it stayed where it was supposed to, she took a longer one.
“Have you thought about what I said?” Gregory asked without looking up from his notes.
She tried for some levity. Her father did have a sense of humor buried somewhere under his professional exterior. It couldn’t hurt to start with a smile. “About how you won’t buy me pretty things anymore if I’m not perfect?”
The glance he gave her was pained. So much for her attempt at humor. She glanced down at her plate and sighed.
“You should be prepared to take this seriously, Amelia. I am.”
“Why the sudden interest in my behavior?” She’d seen that look in his eyes before and it meant there was no talking him out of what was about to happen. Amelia was suddenly a little afraid that her logical approach wasn’t going to do the trick. She remembered that he’d mentioned setting her up with Anthony as part of the plan. A life of stilted conversations and boredom.
“Have you been payingany attention to my campaign?” he asked, his voice already tight with annoyance. “The last thing I need right now is you creating headlines!”
“What could they say?” Amelia demanded, hurt by the fact that he was more concerned about his campaign than he was with their already strained relationship splitting at the seams. “State Representative’s Daughter Does What Most People Do and Enjoys a Night Out With Friends? Where’s the scandal? Look at what Lauren Dorfman does in her spare time!”
“Her father isn’t a politician and I’m not taking any chances!” Gregory dug through the stack of papers beside him and pulled out a newspaper. “Look at this.”
A young man smiled out at her confidently. The headline over him asked if it was time for Gregory Stratton to exit Nevada’s political arena and let new blood take over. The opinion piece that followed pointed out that Stratton might be a little out of touch with today’s voters. Given his “war on drugs” party last night, Amelia was inclined to agree, but she knew better than to point it out.
“They’d rather have youth than experience,” her father said flatly. “But I’m not going down without a fight and I don’t need any distractions.”
“My life counts as a distraction?”
He looked at her steadily. “Yes.”
“It might make you look young and hip,” she said bitterly. “Having a daughter on the party circuit.”
“And how will it make me look when she comes home pregnant?”
Amelia rolled her eyes. “Times have changed, dad. They won’t stone me for it anymore.”
Gregory yanked the paper back across the table and slammed it down on top of the stack so hard Amelia winced slightly. The plates and cutlery rattled. “I’m not discussing this,” he hissed. “Either you play by the rules or you find your own way. I’m sure I don’t need to point out howuseful your degree in human services will be in getting a job.”
Amelia’s hand clenched on her glass and she put it down with a loud thump. Her father wasn’t the only one who could abuse dinnerware to make a point. “I could get a job with that degree right now!”
Gregory laughed. “Sure you could, honey. And where would you live with your minimum wage salary?”
“Wouldn’t it make you look better if I did something like that?” she demanded, trying to remember what she’d originally planned and bring the conversation around in a way that would satisfy him and get her the hell out of this house. “Selfless Gregory Stratton and his selfless daughter, helping the poor. Dad, it couldn’t possibly make you look bad.”
“What could you possibly accomplish?” he asked, and the genuine confusion in his voice made tears well in her eyes. “There’s nothing you can do for these people. They live the way they live because they want to. They can’t be taught.”
She felt sick all over again, and it had nothing to do with her hangover. “Dad, you’re supposed to care, too. The last time you were running, you talked about bringing jobs here and helping people rebuild after the economic crash.” She’d been proud of him then. He actually had helped create some jobs back then and the economy had taken a slight upswing.
“I do care! I care about keeping our meaningful citizens safe!”
“Meaningful?” She pushed her chair back, sick from her stomach and in her heart. “I don’t care if you do cut me off. I--”
“I’d rethink that,” he said, calm again. He looked at her with derision as she started to walk away. “Come back to me when you’re less emotional. There are a lot of things to work out.”
# # #
Amelia stomped upstairs and into her bathroom where she turned the shower on full force. She hated how childish it all felt. He’d practically told her to go to her room!
What she hated more was what her father had said. Taking care of meaningful citizens? Poor people were poor because they wanted to be? She agreed more and more with the opinion piece. Her father was out of touch. Out of touch and possibly even dangerous to people who were counting on him to help them. If he lost this race it was because he deserved to. She would leave as soon as she had some things together. There was no way she could stay after that argument.
She stepped under the pounding spray, holding her breath and letting the hot water pour down on her throbbing head. More of her father’s words reverberated through her mind though and her indignation turned to worry. If she did leave, where would she go? He wasn’t going to let her take any money and she didn’t have any friends that she wanted to talk to about this. Except Aubrey. But Aubrey wasn’t exactly close by. And Amelia liked her too much to feel okay asking to borrow money from her. She was stuck at home for now.
Whatwould she do with her degree? Where would she live if she didn’t live with her father? She knew what she could expect to make and it wasn’t enough.
Who was she kidding? She’d never make a difference anyway. Unless...would she be able to do more if she stayed in the political scene? Anthony might be boring, but he’d also want to look good, to bring his father more votes and status. Amelia’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. She might hate the life of a political kid, but she knew it inside and out. She could stay in, work from the inside, and maybe actually do something that meant something.
Or was she rationalizing so she didn’t have to leave her comfort zone? She glanced around at the grey and white swirls in the marble tile that surrounded her. It had been imported from Italy when she’d wanted the bathroom redone after high school. The soothing gray blue on the walls complimented the tile perfectly, just as the interior designer her father had hired had told her it would.
Amelia glanced out of the steamed-up glass shower door and looked at her Japanese orfeo. Made of hammered steel and deep enough for her to sit in up to her neck, it was the showpiece of the room. Candles and jars of expensive bath salts that she bought on whims and then somehow never actually used were balanced on the wide rim. She didn’t even actually know how much she’d spent and the realization made her feel even worse.
There wouldn’t be any of this if she lived on her own. No more meals out. No more days at spas or boutiques. No more pampering in general.
It wasn’t necessarily the stuff she’d miss, though. It was the fear of how she would be without it. Bitter ex-rich girl? She’d met a few in her time and she’d felt bad for all of them. It was the last thing she wanted to be. Being her father’s puppet wasn’t exactly at the top of her list either, however. All of her thinking had brought her right back to where she’d started.
Amelia sighed and reached for the shampoo, tilting her head back and lathering up, letting the sweet scent do what it could to make her feel better. She needed to decide. If she was going to give in to her father – and she usually did – she wanted to give in on her own terms. So what did shereally want?
There were a lot of things, but there were probably only a few that she could actually manage under the radar. Her mind raced over everyone she knew. Lauren’s freedom stood out. Lauren, who flitted from man to man with a smile and absolute confidence. A
melia had never been able to do that. Probably why she was still a virgin.
Her hands went still as she thought of Anthony. Would he expect her to go to bed with him? That was a completely unappealing thought. There’d been no hint of a spark between the two of them. Maybe he didn’t want her either. Amelia was more relieved than insulted.
She thought about losing her virginity to Anthony and it looked bleak. Passionless. Lauren always said rich boys were terrible lovers.
When Amelia had asked her why, she’d smiled bitterly and said, “Darling, they never have to work for anything. Give me a working-class man in bed any day.”
Amelia had always taken it with a grain of salt that every trust fund free man was good in bed, but Lauren had much more experience and knew a lot more about that sort of thing. Amelia had considered it a few times, but there’d never been anyone who’d been anything more than a moment of curiosity. She wanted more than that. She wanted a man who could make her need him, even if it was only for one night.