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I’ll deal with it later.
I make my way around the house, walking as softly as a two-hundred-and-ten-pound man can through the grass while pulling out my phone. I’m going to need a ride home. This late at night, there’s no telling how long I’ll have to wait for someone to come pick me up.
I won’t be doing it right outside the Perrys’ house either but a few houses up or maybe at the nearby gas station.
My boots hit the asphalt of the road, and I think I’m home free.
That’s when I hear the distinct sound of a gun being cocked.
I’m in deep shit now. And damn, he’s a sneaky son of a bitch.
“What the fuck were you doing in my house?” the voice I recognize as Isaac Perry’s asks. “And if you want to live, don’t you dare say my baby daughter.”
Holding my arms up, palms flat so he can see I don’t have any weapons in them, I turn around slowly.
My ex-wife’s father looks the same as he did the last time I saw him about five years ago, maybe a little more gray in his short brown hair and full beard. He wasn’t happy with me when Laurel insisted on marrying me after just two months. Today, he’s even angrier with his gun pointed at the center of my face.
“Mr. Perry, sir, I don’t want to disrespect you here, so what exactly do you want me to say?” I always try to be as polite as possible when speaking to men with pointed guns.
“That you were here spying on me or plotting shit for the MC.”
“Won’t that make it worse?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” he responds.
Great.This is a no-win situation.
“Look, if you’re gonna shoot me, then do it. Just remember, I have three brothers who will want revenge.”
A door opens from somewhere at the house, probably in the open garage door that I now notice in the dark.
“Isaac?” a voice that is most likely Pamela Perry, Lyla’s grandmother, calls out. I know she’s lived with the family since their mother died, trying to help out her son.
When the angry father doesn’t immediately answer, the floodlight over the garage comes on, illuminating the entire yard, including me and Perry.
“Isaac, what are you…oh my lord! What in the world is going on out here?” his mother asks.
“I’m handling it. Go back inside, Mom.”
“No, Isaac. Put the gun down,” she demands as she comes closer. Eyes narrowing at me, she asks, “Who is…Barrett Fulton, is that you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good seeing you again, son, but it’s late. Could you two maybe do this whole standoff thing tomorrow?”
“I’m pretty sure ole Barrett here already got what he came for,” Isaac replies.
“What do you mean?”
“How drunk are you, woman?” he scoffs. “I caught him sneaking out of Lyla’s window!”
“Oh! Well, no wonder Ly looked so keyed up.”
“Keyed up? That’s all you got to say after this hooligan defiled your youngest granddaughter?”
“Did you forget that Lyla is twenty-one, not twelve? She’s not a little girl anymore, Isaac.”
“I don’t care how old she is! If she’s going to live under my roof, there won’t be any assholes like him coming and going like it’s a goddamn brothel.”
