Page 23 of Last Mile

“Isn’t throwing punches all part of being in an MC?”

“Ah, I see you’re subscribing to the shitty image most people have of bikers.”

“I’m sorry if it sounded like I was stereotyping you. I guess I’m just ignorant when it comes to what real MC men are like.”

Leaning in closer to her, I said, “Since Marley is considering joining an MC, it’s probably a good idea if you take the time to really know what you’re talking about. We’re not all gun- wielding hellraisers who terrorize towns.”

“You’re not?”

From her tone and expression, I didn’t know whether she was serious or teasing me. “Last time I checked, we get along pretty well with most of the people here in town— you know, the law-abiding ones.”

“Bishop—”

“As for a weapon, I would ask you to pat me down to check for one, but I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

“No. It wouldn’t.”

“At least I offered.”

With a genuinely apologetic look, Samantha said, “I’m sorry if I insulted you and your club.”

I shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s not like I’m not used to it by now. Even before I patched in to the club myself, I saw the way some people treated my dad. Then as soon as they heard I was John Malloy’s son, they treated me differently. That kinda shit happened from the time I was in school.”

“That was a really shitty thing to do to a kid just because of who his dad was.”

Staring down at the floor, I replied, “Yeah, when I was young, I got my feelings hurt easily. By the time I got to be a teenager, I probably gave them a reason to judge me by having a chip on my shoulder.” When I dared to look at Samantha, she was looking at me with respect.

“How did you get over it?”

“I finally decided that I didn’t give a shit what people thought about us, because deep down, I knew who we really were.”

After Samantha and I stared at each other for a few seconds, I shook my head at her. “Damn, five minutes alone with you and I’m singing like a canary with all my secrets.”

Samantha chuckled. “I’d hardly say you’re giving away anything too revealing— like the club’s secret handshake.”

“True. It’s more like I don’t usually talk like this to women.”

“Let me guess. You don’t do a lot of talking period when you’re with a woman.”

“Pretty much.”

“I can’t say I’m too surprised by that.” She hopped down off the table. “So since you said you were always beating the shit out of guys, I guess it’s safe to say that you were pretty good at boxing, huh?”

“I won a lot of division titles back in the day.”

“Were you as good as Jose Legra?”

I widened my eyes in surprise. “How the hell do you know who Jose Legra is?”

“Don’t all women know their Cuban boxers?”

“Fuck no.”

“Truth is that I wouldn’t know my boxers if it hadn’t been for my father. He always watched the Friday night fights. Even if he was working, he would tape them. He was a huge fan of Legra as well as Luis Manuel Rodriguez, Kid Gavilan, Sugar Ramos⁠—”

“The fourth greatest boxer named Sugar after Robinson, Leonard, and Mosely.”

Samantha smiled. “I’m not sure my father would have agreed with you on that one.”