The Biker President’s Runaway Wife

Josie I lost everything in less than a month. My father was in jail for stealing money he hadn’t taken. My husband had taken over the club my Dad had spent thirty years building. And now my mother was lying in a coffin while I waited for a man who wouldn’t even answer his phone. “Mrs. Watson?” The funeral director stood a few feet away, holding a black folder against his coat. He had already given me another fifteen minutes. I glanced toward the cemetery gates. “Just a little longer. My husband should be here any time now.” The lie and hope were becoming embarrassing. I wiped the fresh tears that escaped my eyes. Around me, the few people who had come shifted uncomfortably on the damp grass. My mother had cooked for more people on an ordinary Sunday than had shown up to bury her. Men who used to crowd her kitchen and call her family, hadn’t even sent flowers. I checked my phone again. There were eleven calls. None returned. “Josie.” Marlene, our old neighbor, touched my elbow. “Honey, you should see this.” She held out her phone reluctantly to show me a picture. Bernie was standing outside the motorcycle show, wearing his Steel Outlaws cut. His dark hair was pushed back, and the smile on his face was one I hadn’t seen at home in months. Hannah, his mistress, stood beside him in a low-cut red top, his hand resting just above her ass. Behind them was a blue custom bike Dad had spent an entire winter restoring. “Someone posted it a few minutes ago,” Marlene said. My stomach knotted. I didn’t know why I enlarged the picture with two fingers. There was nothing unclear about it. This morning, I had left Bernie a message telling him to come on time. Instead he had found time to take Hannah to a bike show. I handed the phone back. “Thank you.” Marlene opened her mouth, then closed it. The funeral director was still waiting. I looked at my mother’s coffin, at the white roses I had chosen because she always complained Dad bought her red ones. There was one red one right in the middle of them. “We can bury her,” I said in a hoarse voice. Once she was lowered to the ground, I stayed after everyone left. There was mud on the hem of my black dress, and one of my heels had sunk into the ground. Mom would have told me to go home and change before I caught a cold. She would have made tea, then pretended she wasn’t watching until I ate something. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday, since they declared her dead. I couldn’t. Dad didn’t even know what flowers I had bought. The last time we spoke, he had asked whether Bernie was taking care of me. I had said yes. I had become very good at saying yes. Yes, Bernie was busy. Yes, I was happy. Yes, the bruise on my arm came from catching it against a cabinet. Dad had warned me about Bernie before the wedding, but I had accused him of trying to control my life, and fought with him to marry the man of my dreams. So how was I supposed to tell him what happened afterward? That Bernie had slapped me over a comment I made to one of his men? That he had used his belt when he decided my dress showed too much cleavage? That Hannah could insult me in my own kitchen, but if I answered her, I was the one who had to apologize? I pressed a damp tissue beneath my nose. “Dad needs me,” I told the fresh grave. “I’ll take care of him, mom.” I couldn’t do that while staying with Bernie. For the first time, I let myself think beyond the next apology, the next good mood, the next evening when he might come home and act like the man I had married. I needed a divorce. In the evening, when my taxi pulled up, I found Nash waiting on the front porch. He stood as soon as he saw me. His gray hair was flattened on one side, and he was holding a large envelope beneath his arm. “Where were you?” I asked in a broken voice. He looked down. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” I had managed to stop crying in the taxi. Seeing the man who used to sneak me candy behind Dad’s back ruined that effort. Nash caught me when I reached him. I gripped the back of his jacket and let him hold me for a minute. “I kept looking for you,” I said, sobbing. He sighed, “I am really sorry, Jo.” We went inside, where he waited until I sat before placing the envelope on the coffee table. He said looking at them, “I went to get these at the Chicago Wolves office. Had to wait until the Wolves office was empty.” “What are they?” I asked with a frown. “These are copies of the business records your dad kept. Property papers. His agreement with Bernie.” My eyes widened in shock. “How did you get hold of these? And why?” Nash clenched his jaw. Then he explained. He felt that Bernie fabricated records to show Theo Sanders had stolen money, and sent him to prison. After that Bernie had called what happened to the Chicago Wolves, a merger. He had convinced enough members that Dad had ruined them, then offered to save their jobs and the clubhouse if they joined the Steel Outlaws. Nash had refused. Two days later, his key no longer worked. “What?” I couldn’t believe that Bernie was behind this. I was aware of him cheating on me, but this was another level of betrayal. Nash went on to give more details. I started panicking when I realized the full gravity of the situation. Bernie had backstabbed my father. And all because of me. I wish I had never married him. “Can these help Dad?” I asked in the end. “Maybe. There are things that don’t add up.” He leaned forward. “Keep them somewhere Bernie won’t find them.” “Have you told the police?” He shook his head. “I need to know what I’m looking at first. I’m meeting Theo’s lawyer tomorrow afternoon.” He glanced toward the stairs nervously as if expecting Bernie to come any time. “Jo, pack a bag and get out of here. You can stay with me. There’s something really wrong going on here.” I rubbed my temple, a headache blooming there. “Go to the lawyer,” I said. “I need to change and get a few things. Then I’ll take a cab to your place.” Nash urged, “Come with me now. We’ll get your things later.” I insisted, “I won’t be long, Nash. There are a few things I need to collect before leaving.” He hesitated, then took out his phone. “I’m sending you my spare-key code. Call me when you get there.” He left quickly after that. I carried the envelope upstairs and set it on the bed. I pulled a small overnight bag from the closet. I was opening the envelope when the front door banged downstairs, followed by sounds of loud moaning. I heard Hannah’s laugh filling the air. I stepped into the hallway and looked down. Bernie had her pressed against the wall beside the entrance. Her hands were inside his open cut, and he was kissing her while she hooked one leg around his.