Anyway, the name he used whenever he got arrested didn’t matter now. He had no plans on getting caught ever again. He hated being physically restrained and hated being contained in a small box even more. He’d already done that for too many fucking years of his life. He was done with that shit. He’d kill anyone who forced that on him again.
“Who’s Judge?”
Jesus fuck, more questions. “Owns Justice Bail Bonds and is our sergeant at arms.”
“What’s that?”
“The man who enforces the club’s rules.” He needed to end this line of questioning. If she didn’t stop digging, he would walk the fuck out and end their deal. “Feelin’ like a quiz, teach, instead of a lesson. Am I here so you can learn about an MC, or to teach a dumb fuck like me to read?”
That had her sitting back in her chair abruptly with her light brown eyes narrowed. “You’re not a dumb fuck.”
“You’ll see.”
“Not being able to read doesn’t make you dumb.”
“Not bein’ able to learn does.”
“Someone already tried to teach you outside of school?”
They were definitely not going there. “Chelle, too many fuckin’ questions. Heard what you said to Daisy about questions. I ain’t a mystery to be solved.”
She twisted in her chair, her denim-covered knee making contact with his. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry, but I wanted to teach you to spell your name first. I figured that would be important. I’ll stick to the curriculum, instead.”
Shade closed his eyes, now feeling like a rude dick since she was only trying to help. He just wanted to keep them from falling down a rabbit hole where she tried to find out every detail of his fucking life by asking a million questions.
“I’ll try not to ask any personal questions from here on out. I only have one more.”
He opened his eyes and met hers. She wasn’t pissed, she wasn’t upset, but he could read the disappointment. Seeing that was like a kick in the nuts.
Instead of apologizing to her, even though he wanted to, he said, “Runnin’ outta time.”
“You’re right. Sorry for wasting time.”
“Fuck, Chelle,” he groaned. Fuck him, he caused that flat tone in her voice. It wasn’t only disappointment, it was hurt. Now he really felt like a piece of shit.
He snagged one of her hands she had curled in her lap and pulled it to his lips, brushing them over her knuckles. “You don’t have to do this. I can paint everything you want done and you can just pay me whenever you get the scratch.”
She shook her head but didn’t pull her hand from his. “No, that’s not fair and I want to do this. So... Let’s get started. I’ve never taught an adult to read before, so please bear with me. I’ll do the best I can. I have access to resources that will help guide me and also you. I can also ask some of the teachers for guidance, too, if we run into any issues. I brought home a few lesson books and read through the introductions—”
“Did your homework,” he interrupted.
“Yes, I was trying to be prepared. But first, do you know the alphabet?”
They were back to business. If he had a chance, he’d make up for being an asshole later. If she wanted that. He hoped to fuck she did.
“Yeah. Alphabet and numbers.” He wasn’t as bad with numbers like he was with letters. He could do some basic math. But even that he tried to avoid since he was afraid he’d get it wrong.
One “daddy” managed to teach him to count up to ten along with the alphabet, but then got frustrated when he even struggled with those. At first, the man insisted Shade was doing it on purpose just to be difficult. Then he gave up and called him stupid. And worse.
After giving up, that owner told him he’d only be good for one thing... To be someone’s pet. That Shade should be collared and leashed like a dog. Not to be petted, coddled and loved, but taught obedience.
Used as his owner saw fit.
His next owner removed the locked leather collar but didn’t treat him any better and also didn’t give a fuck whether Shade was smart or stupid.
His previous owner was right. He was only good for one thing. The reason he was purchased, or traded, and why he was sold once an owner got bored with him, or he got too old.
No. Not now.
He forced himself back to the room when Chelle asked, “You just don’t know how to string them together to write and read, correct?”
“Yeah. Can’t put them together.”
She scratched her forehead. “I’m not sure how you graduated high school without being able to take tests and do school assignments.”
That was because he never spent even one day in a school.
Luckily, she didn’t wait for that answer. She was now consciously trying not to dig.
His chest loosened and he finally released the grip on her hand that had tightened when he was yanked briefly into his past. She hadn’t complained but he didn’t want to hurt her, especially during those moments he was dragged backward and sometimes lost track of the present.
She squeezed his forearm and shot him a little smile. “Okay, let’s begin...”
Chapter Eleven
Ten left.
Ten, if his count was correct.
Ten, as long as they didn’t bring in any more males into the Shirley compound.
If they were smart, that was what they’d do, if they hadn’t already. No one claimed the Shirleys were smart. If they were, they never would’ve grabbed Dyna after being warned not to fuck with the Fury.
With his boots propped up on the stone ledge circling the center fireplace, he stared sightlessly at the cold gray ashes at the very bottom of the hearth. The night was too warm to start a fire. Not that he planned on being in The Barn long anyway.
Church was currently deserted. Not only a rare occurrence, but why he didn’t bother to head out to the pavilion to numb himself before hitting his mattress.
Even the bunkhouse had been quiet when he’d walked down the corridor. The prospects would be doing their late shifts at Crazy Pete’s and maybe something was going on at the bar tonight, drawing the rest of his brothers.
If there was, he hadn’t been told about it. Not that he would’ve gone. He tended to avoid Crazy Pete’s and preferred to stick close to the bunkhouse when he drank. Because most of the time he drank until his brain was numb and riding his sled in that condition would be fucking stupid.
He didn’t need to catch a DUI, or wreck his Night Train, which cost him a small fortune, and he definitely didn’t need to break his brain worse than it already was, by splitting his melon open on unforgiving pavement.
He flicked the ashes off the joint he was smoking and tucked it between his lips once more. With a deep inhale, he held the hit as long as he could, the burn filling his lungs.
He released it when his body began to fight for oxygen and watched the white stream shoot toward the ceiling, eventually the smoke particles scattering and disappearing.
He lifted the half-empty bottle of Jack from where it had been propped on his thigh and tipped it to lips, the whiskey causing a different type of burn to settle in his gut.
After two long pulls on the bottle, he set it down on the wide wood-plank floor next to the bus bench, and scrubbed his face with his hands.