Ruined (The MC Motorcycle Club Romance Series - Book #1) by Alycia Taylor Page B

have controlled the cops pulling us over and
searching the bikes. Could he?
    That didn’t mean that he didn’t set me up though.
Maybe I was like what Buster said, the guy who was
carrying just in case they got stopped. I looked at Buster and saw what the
rest of my life was going to be like. I suddenly saw red.
    I looked across the room at my dad. He was talking
to Bo and his old lady. Bo had a kid named Mickey who was about twelve. He hung
around the club a lot and Bo’s old lady didn’t quite seem smart enough to
protect her son from this life. She seemed happy as could be to be standing
with her old man. In twenty years that would be Mickey and his boy would be
playing in the back. It was a vicious cycle, one that I had
tried to break.
    Did my dad use this set up to drag me in against my
will? I needed to find out. Whoever did it was going to get the payback they
deserved.
    “Hey, Buster, who do you think set me up?”
    Buster glanced across the room at my dad and said,
“I didn’t live to be this old by answering questions like that, kid, sorry.” I
knew better than to push it. That was all he was going to say.
    I finished my game with Buster and mingled a bit. It
was actually kind of nice to see people I hadn’t seen in a long time. None of
them were exactly upstanding citizens, but they weren’t all bad either. Some of
them worked hard and played hard and some of them found themselves victims of
circumstances they couldn’t break free from . I wasn’t
normally one to judge, unless of course you set your own son up to take your
fall.
    I hung around until I saw my dad, Blake and Bo go out to where the pool tables were. There was always someone
hanging around the clubhouse, day and night. This might be my one and only
chance, so I took it. There were two ways into the clubhouse. I never asked
outright, but I’m sure they planned it that way in the event of a raid. There
was a door in the kitchen that connected to the hallway where my father and his
friends proudly displayed the patches they had taken from other members over
the years.
    I let myself in through that door and stood quietly
for a second listening to make sure no one was back there. I didn’t hear
anything so I moved down past the meeting room which was a
small room with a big table where their decisions were voted on and club
members were made or broken.
    I stopped at the next small room. My
dad’s private office. He never locked it; none of his guys would dare
cross him. I honestly had no idea what he was capable of if he was crossed, but
the fear of God in the eyes of his crew when he was pissed was enough to tell
me that they did fear him.
    I trudged in and moved over to the desk and slid
open one of the file drawers. They were all neat and labeled, part of my
father’s control freak personality. They were all labeled legitimate business
things like invoices, receipts and tax documents. You would think I was in the back
room of a legal establishment.
    I opened a few other things and didn’t find
anything, but I did notice that he was still logged on to his computer. I went back over to the door and looked down the hall to make
sure I was still alone. I was shaking a little bit, again wondering what he might
do if he caught me in there. There was no one out there. So
far, so good. Sitting down in his chair I pulled up his email. I
scrolled through a few of the newer ones and realized that unless it was from a
legitimate business contact, they were written short
and curt.
    Things like, “We’re on for Friday,” or “Things at
the warehouse are set.” It wouldn’t be enough to charge him with anything, let
alone convict him if the authorities ever seized his computer. Once again, good
thing he was smart. Some crooks think you can just delete emails that may get
you into trouble later on. They aren’t smart enough to realize that if you don’t
scrub the hard drive and email server, they are never really
gone .
    I typed in 2011 and hit