Free Resurrecting Ghosts (MC Romance) (Kings of Chaos Book 4) by Shyla Colt Page B

of twenty-one questions I’m sure she’s playing.”
    I rush through setting the table, careful to keep an eye and an ear on the conversation happening across the room in the living room.
    “So, Skull. What do you do?”
    “I co-own the Chaos Bar and Grill with my best friend, Shadow.”
    “Don’t any of you have real names?” my mother asks.
    “Of course we do, but it takes respect and trust to learn them.”
    Boom. Get her baby. I mentally cheer him on as the conversation goes back and forth with thinly veiled barbs.
    “Respect, that’s an interesting word.”
    “Hmm,” he says
    “How do you know my daughter?”
    “I’ve known her for years through Blue.”
    Mom rolls her eyes.
    I grit my teeth.
    Skull stiffens.
    “Of course, that’s how you met. How long has this been going on?”
    “Over six months. The more important thing you need to know is it won’t be ending anytime soon. So, we’ll just have to get used to each other and agree to disagree on some things.”
    My mother sputters.
    “Tables set, let’s eat.” I place a gentle hand on Skull’s shoulder and squeeze.
    “We’ll be talking tonight,” my mother seethes.
    “Oh, I planned on it.” I fix her with a hard look. Regardless of her opinion, Skull is a guest in her house and my man. Her behavior is appalling, and boundaries are long overdue.
    ***

    Skull
    It’s a verbal duel. Shots are being fired between mother and daughter like an old spaghetti western. As I watch the interaction between Ruthie and her mother, her aversion to opening up to others is finally explained. Her mother has a, my way or the highway attitude. I get that her ex left her and it messed with her head. It doesn’t give her the right to take her issues out on her children. Or should I say, kid? I don’t see Rochelle getting any of the same treatment. I see the family dynamics. Rochelle is the baby and the darling. With her tax accountant husband and Rowan, she’s living the All American Dream. Physically, Ruthie and Rochelle are similar. They have the same dark red hair, green eyes and slight builds. Where Ruthie’s skin is all peaches and cream, her sister looks like a porcelain doll. Boring.
    I reach down and squeeze Ruthie’s thigh. To show my support. She turns to me with big eyes, and I lean in and capture her lips. She moans and I slip my tongue in her mouth. If her mother is going to bitch, we’ll give her a reason for it. We part for air. “Relax,” I whisper against her lips. I pull back and nod, pleased with Ruthie’s dazed expression. Mission accomplished.
    Ruthie clears her throat. “Mom, can you pass the rolls? I’m pregnant,” she blurts out.
    “What?” Her mother’s knife clatters onto her plate.
    “The rolls, please,” Ruthie repeats.
    “You really are following in your father’s footprints, aren’t you?” her mother accuses in a venomous tone.
    It’s a tone that has me reconsidering my stance about not hitting women.
    “Are you kidding me?” Ruthie replies.
    “You’re too young to remember what it was like being taunted by—by those damn bikers.”
    “What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, lost by the quick switch in topic.
    “Oh, you didn’t tell him, did you?” An evil smile curls her lips up. “I’m sure you’ve heard of my ex-husband, Gunner Gruppe.”
    I go silent, as I try to place the familiar name.
    “You had no right to do that!” Ruthie jumps up. Her chair slams onto the hardwood floor.
    “Why? Are you worried about what he’ll do? You should know in detail after your father’s books. Those damn publications ruined us. Now, you go back to the source?”
    “No. Dad’s inability to think about others, alcoholism, and drug use did that.”
    Gunnar Gruppe… Gunnar— the truth hits me over the head like a sledge hammer. Gunner Greg is the writer known for getting in bed with an M.C. and writing a lengthy, detailed novel about their inner workings. “Is she telling the truth?” I ask, seeing