Biker's Regret: Reclaiming My Secret Mafia Heiress

Picking up a package

Riley and Cannon

Cannon

My shop makes money but not enough for all the mouths I am technically responsible for. We move weapons and drugs. No trafficking women or children of any sort. Needless to say, we have relationships with the police, the military and some mob families. After another successful run we meet up in a lot just outside of town. We have a lot of ex-military men and women who I take care of. In return they give me their skillsets. Its how i run an autoshop and a biker gang without a problem from the police.

“Okay men. Great run tonight. Let’s head back home and celebrate. Drinks are on me.” I yell as the men with us cheer and rev their engines. Jimmy walks over to us and gives me a nod. I motion for him to move beside me as we walk. “Give me an update.”

“We had three men in the bar covering her all night. She had no problems. I did notice she got some messages on her phone. Then her mood changed.” Jimmy tells me as I pause.

“Anything on what the messages said?”

“She kept the phone on her. Couldn’t grab it to see.” He shakes his head.

“Get Ronnie to copy her phone. I want access to everything she sees. Understood?” I tell him as he nods. Ronnie is our computer genius. She works our cyber unit moving money around to accounts that no one can find.

“Copy that, the men are there with the closing of the bar now with Ms. Norah. They will escort them home as usual.” Jimmy finishes up as I nod with appreciation. We protect the town. There is little to no crime. But there is another biker group three towns above that have been trying to move in on our business. We are not giving up what we made here. This is our town, and I am willing to fight to make sure that we keep it.

“Alright, everyone mount up,” I yelled while I pat Jimmy on the back. We hop on our bikes and head back into town. Once we get back to the compound, it's around three in the morning.

When I say compound, I mean my auto repair shop. Right behind it is a lot for cars to be worked on. Then behind that wall is a few acres of land. My large custom-built ranch home is there. It is where everyone hangs out. There are homes that they build on their own or with our help scattered on my land. This land was in my family. My mother left it to me. I didn’t know that growing up. My father kept it and I never found out about it until after his death. So now I own the land. I build on my land. I fought the town for permits. You know all the things that make the world go round.

I feel like I have it all together, but there is one thing missing from my life. Riley Cross.

We get back to the compound and the beer and food is flowing. Upon entering my main house, straight ahead is a large living room with sectionals and a big screen television. To the right of it are two large kitchen islands that lead into the open floor-plan kitchen. Across from it is the large custom-made dining room table that can seat up to thirty if Manson and Turkey aren’t seated. They are two of our eldest men. Fierce killers but amazing men.

Then there is a large fireplace that is big enough for us to damn near sit in. I built that fireplace brick by brick. There are a few bedrooms to the right for newbies. To the left is a pair of double doors that lead to my wing. My oasis. My happy place. It’s like my own home attached to the main house. My bedroom looks out towards the lake that is on my land.

I walk into my office passing and joking around with the men who are still up. The smell of wings and beer fill the air. I swear you would think it was three in the afternoon. I move towards the safe after I close the door. I place the money inside and close it.

“Knock, knock.” I heard and I told them to come in. Ginger walks in. She is my money woman. Smart as hell. She did accounting for the government before she was injured while traveling for work. She lost her leg below the knee. Her trauma was too much. The medical assistance she received was too little. I helped her and gave her the best available, including the best prosthetic. She decided to stay and help us out. With her by our side, we have increased our money three-fold.

“Hey Ginger, what are you still doing here?” I ask. She has a cute studio that is above the stores on main street.

“I wanted to go ahead and work on some funds. Make sure that everything was on pace. But I wanted to show you something.” She walks over with her laptop and shows me some numbers. “There is money that is showing up that I am not accounting for. But I know all of it, correct?”

“Yes, you absolutely do.” I lean in reading over the numbers. “When?”

“There was a deposit last week. I have no idea who did it. It was an electronic transfer for one point five million dollars. There is no way that was done through you or me. So…”

“We have someone dirty in our mist.” I growl as I rise.

I walked up the steps of Ms. Norah’s porch. She has this massive two-story Victorian with white trim. I hold the package I bring in my left hand as I knock on the door. It is around five in the morning. I know from my time living here that Ms. Norah was up early for her yoga and nineties hip-hop. She is such a wild creature and this world is lucky to have her.

“Well, good morning, Cannon. You missed my yoga session. I thought you would be here ready for some upward dog.” She smiles, welcoming me in.

“Now, Ms. Norah, last time I did that, I pulled something on my back.” I smiled as she chuckled. “Here, I brought some fresh pastries from Lynn’s shop.” I handed her the box wrapped in a pretty ribbon. Clear plastic displaying the assortment of warm breads. The scent of sugar rising from it.

“Come on in here darling. I have the food almost done. Take a seat and keep me company.” She smiles, knowing that my eyes keep wondering to the steps. Wondering if she is here. If she knows I am here. Well, honestly, I know she is here. If she so much as breathes, my men tell me. “She should be up any minute now. My playlist always gets her moving. It’s usually around my Tupac era that she joins me.” Miss Norah moves toward her stove stirring the pot of grits. She moves, taking a platter down and sitting it in front of me. I began to place the pastries out for display.

I hear the movement from upstairs as I continue to chat with Ms. Norah. “Tell me, how was last night?”

“It was a good night. I’ll be heading to the bank in a bit.”

“Ms. Norah, allow me to handle that for you.”

“Cannon, now you know I can handle myself,” she tells me, and she is correct. There is a gun in almost every room of this home that she has stored and ready. She carries a champagne pink Glock 43K on her whenever she is outside. Yes, this town is safe, but she is still a smart woman. A smart woman who makes a lot of money. She places a large tray of sausage and bacon on the table. Then turns to scoop the last of the eggs onto a plate. Just then she arrives. I swear it's like a breath of fresh air for my soul. Her hair a disheveled mess. Like a family of birds have nested there. Her face is clear of all makeup and God, she is beautiful. Her lips looked fresh and needing me on them. Her oversized T-shirt with Bugs Bunny, the Tasmanian devil and that duck on it. Wearing hip hop clothes from the nineties and a pair of black boxer shorts.

“Aunt Norah, why is your music so loud?” She asks, rubbing her eyes, then they focus on me.

“Good morning, Bird.”