Charlie's Heart: MC Romance (Burning Bastards MC Book 3) by Ryder Dane Page A
Authors: Ryder Dane
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stunned, she’d never asked Charlie to give up the close knit family unit that he had with the Bastards. She never wanted him to have to choose between her and the group of men that were closer than brothers. She tossed her hands in the air, and let them flop into her lap. Standing up, she continued to face the man that Charlie spoke of with such affection.
“I never asked him to leave the Bastards, I never wanted to put him in the position that you are describing, and I never look down on people. For your information, and not that I consider it any of your business, but I was raised in juvie and foster homes. My parents were the lowlife dregs you are harping about and the last time I saw them, they were headed to prison and I was headed to juvenile detention. I act like a lady by choice, not because I want to lord it over other people. And Mr. Smartassed-Fucker, I do make a difference in people’s lives. So I’m not versed in biker regulations, I am human. You cut me I bleed, you piss me off and I get mad, you fuck with my man and I’ll be the one doing the cutting. Ignore his resignation, he will be back.”
She turned to walk to the door, but turned with her hand on the doorknob. “All you had to do was to pick up the phone and talk to me. We could have avoided this conversation and gotten everything taken care of in a friendly manner. I might be going to hell, but when you die, just remember, I’ll volunteer to drive the bus to pick you up and I guarantee it will be an interesting trip.”
She turned the knob and walked out of the door, quietly shutting it behind her. She looked up and saw the hallway was packed and had to shake her head. She shrugged her shoulders and tried to smile. “He’s still breathing, his face is red, and steam is blowing out of his ears, but he’s alive.”
The crowd backed out of the small area and she walked out of the building with her head held high. She’d be damned if she would let any of them see her break down and cry.
Chapter Twelve
Charlie was headed home. He’d gone to the Vietnam Memorial in Washington D.C. and read every name on the wall. A bare handful were familiar to him, and he took the time to remember and at times speak to the person who had given his life for his country. By the time he walked out of the memorial, he finally felt the heaviness in his heart lighten. His name should have been on that wall. By the grace of God and the survival skills he used at the time, he’d been spared.
He hadn’t been the only veteran that held a one-sided conversation with the dead, and somehow it helped him understand that feeling of guilt for being alive when more deserving men had died. He talked with a few of the old guys, and wiped unashamed tears from his own face, seeing that some were in wheelchairs, some with missing limbs, and even one young man in an Army uniform was there to visit with his grandfather’s shadow. The kid was headed for Afghanistan the next day and Charlie sent up a prayer for God to carry this boy through until it was time for him to come home, and make a family that his grandfather could watch over and be proud to see his legacy carry on.
His stomach had been bothering him for a week before he stopped in at a clinic in Pennsylvania, and they gave him some chalky shit to coat his stomach, thinking that he must be developing an ulcer. It was a bitch pulling over every day to puke his guts up on the side of the road, but he always ate a hearty meal around two in the afternoon and something light for dinner.
Selma would have a fit if he came home with some serious illness, just thinking about her pampering him made him smile and groan at the same time. She had a way about her that gave him comfort and happiness. He missed the brothers, but after his month and a half trip down memory lane, he was ready to settle into a new life and maybe find something to keep himself occupied with in his free time.
The Indian broke down in southern
“I never asked him to leave the Bastards, I never wanted to put him in the position that you are describing, and I never look down on people. For your information, and not that I consider it any of your business, but I was raised in juvie and foster homes. My parents were the lowlife dregs you are harping about and the last time I saw them, they were headed to prison and I was headed to juvenile detention. I act like a lady by choice, not because I want to lord it over other people. And Mr. Smartassed-Fucker, I do make a difference in people’s lives. So I’m not versed in biker regulations, I am human. You cut me I bleed, you piss me off and I get mad, you fuck with my man and I’ll be the one doing the cutting. Ignore his resignation, he will be back.”
She turned to walk to the door, but turned with her hand on the doorknob. “All you had to do was to pick up the phone and talk to me. We could have avoided this conversation and gotten everything taken care of in a friendly manner. I might be going to hell, but when you die, just remember, I’ll volunteer to drive the bus to pick you up and I guarantee it will be an interesting trip.”
She turned the knob and walked out of the door, quietly shutting it behind her. She looked up and saw the hallway was packed and had to shake her head. She shrugged her shoulders and tried to smile. “He’s still breathing, his face is red, and steam is blowing out of his ears, but he’s alive.”
The crowd backed out of the small area and she walked out of the building with her head held high. She’d be damned if she would let any of them see her break down and cry.
Chapter Twelve
Charlie was headed home. He’d gone to the Vietnam Memorial in Washington D.C. and read every name on the wall. A bare handful were familiar to him, and he took the time to remember and at times speak to the person who had given his life for his country. By the time he walked out of the memorial, he finally felt the heaviness in his heart lighten. His name should have been on that wall. By the grace of God and the survival skills he used at the time, he’d been spared.
He hadn’t been the only veteran that held a one-sided conversation with the dead, and somehow it helped him understand that feeling of guilt for being alive when more deserving men had died. He talked with a few of the old guys, and wiped unashamed tears from his own face, seeing that some were in wheelchairs, some with missing limbs, and even one young man in an Army uniform was there to visit with his grandfather’s shadow. The kid was headed for Afghanistan the next day and Charlie sent up a prayer for God to carry this boy through until it was time for him to come home, and make a family that his grandfather could watch over and be proud to see his legacy carry on.
His stomach had been bothering him for a week before he stopped in at a clinic in Pennsylvania, and they gave him some chalky shit to coat his stomach, thinking that he must be developing an ulcer. It was a bitch pulling over every day to puke his guts up on the side of the road, but he always ate a hearty meal around two in the afternoon and something light for dinner.
Selma would have a fit if he came home with some serious illness, just thinking about her pampering him made him smile and groan at the same time. She had a way about her that gave him comfort and happiness. He missed the brothers, but after his month and a half trip down memory lane, he was ready to settle into a new life and maybe find something to keep himself occupied with in his free time.
The Indian broke down in southern
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