Ride Steady (Chaos #3)(173)

Like the joker card, it was his design, so he could change the deck to whatever the f*ck he wanted it to be.

So the card the guy was inking slanted over his heart next to the joker was the queen of hearts.

And butterflies.

* * *

The back door flew open and Carissa flew in carrying the handles of a LeLane’s paper bag in one hand, a massive stack of magazines tucked in her other arm, her purse over her shoulder, and wearing her khaki’s and LeLane’s polo, Converse on her feet.

Joker was at the stove.

Travis was unsteady on his feet as he ran to her, shouting, “Moomah!” then he took a header, landed on his hands and knees, tipped his head back and giggled.

“Googly,” she greeted, dumping bag, magazines, and purse and cutting her eyes to Joker. “Please tell me you’re browning the ground beef.”

“Seein’ as I got a text five minutes ago tellin’ my behind to do that and I’m standin’ at a stove… yeah.”

She smiled at him, bent, scooped up her kid, gave him kisses, tickles, and snuggles, then put him down again and came right to Joker.

Her eyes were shining.

“Did you see it?” she asked.

He nodded. “Tyra bought twice as many as you got over there.” He jerked his head to the counter where she’d dumped her shit.

“Did you read it?” she pushed.

“Uh… yeah,” he answered.

“It… is… amazing!” she cried. “So amazing. So cool. So you! And the brothers. I’m framing it. Every page!” she declared.

“Figure you will, bein’ a goofball,” he muttered, fighting his smile.

“Don’t make me annoyed when I’m this happy.” She jumped suddenly and yelled, “I have to change! Be back! There’s ice cream in that bag, toss it in the freezer, sweetie, will you?”

Then she didn’t wait for him to answer. She pursed her lips and blew him a kiss, which he thought was cute, and he usually loved it when she did that, but not so much right then when she just got home and he would prefer something a f*ckuva lot different.

He didn’t get it.

She raced out of the kitchen.

Joker turned down the meat, bent, nabbed Travis, and planted him on his hip.

“Joejoekah, loo lah, kah kah.”

“I hear you,” Joker muttered as he walked to the bag, took the ice cream out (three tubs), and put it in the freezer.

Then he went to the magazine, grabbed the top one off the stack, set it to the side and flipped it open.

He got to the page and whispered, “There it is, boy.”

“Dah, noo, fah, lah,” Travis replied.

“That’s what I think,” Joker said.

He stared down at the picture.

It took up both pages. One of his builds, a bike, purple, f*cking brilliant pinstriping, and even he had to admit the framing was inspired.

In big writing at the top it said, Custom Cool and under that, smaller, it said, Denver’s Chaos Motorcycle Club, led by design mastermind Carson “Joker” Steele, takes custom rides to the next stratosphere.

The brothers were gathered around the bike in the garage. All of them. Joker at the front wheel, arms crossed on his chest, Tack next to him, arm slung casually over Joker’s shoulders, his boots crossed at the ankles.

The back wall was behind them, their tool chests and equipment lined up at the bottom against it, a massive Chaos flag stretched across the wall above.

Boz was smiling like a lunatic, but the rest of his brothers were staring at the camera natural, looking badass.

It was a f*cking great picture.

He flipped the page to a better one.

Top right corner, a side shot of Joker in Carissa’s arms, his hands deep in her back pockets, their attention focused on nothing but each other.

They were smiling.

Under it, it said, You can’t have bikers without biker babes. Steele with his fiancée, Carissa.

“Moomah,” Travis mumbled and Joker looked to the kid to see his eyes on the magazine, his fingers twiddling his lip.

“Yeah, son, that’s your momma.”

Travis looked to him. “Moomah.”

“Yeah, boy.”

Travis took his fingers from his lip and curled them around Joker’s. “Joejoekah.”

“Yeah,” Joker whispered. “I’m your Joker.”

The boy wobbled a second then dropped forward and landed a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on his hand and Joker’s mouth.

He wobbled back.

“Love you too, kid,” Joker whispered.

Travis giggled.

Then he twisted and reached to the floor.

Like he would do if he could do it for as long as he could do it, Joker gave Travis what he wanted and put his ass on the floor.

* * *

“This shit f*ckin’ rocks,” Boz declared, scooping up his third helping of Carissa’s chili and dumping it on a bed of chili cheese Fritos.

Watching his brother do that, Joker thought it was good his woman had made a vat.

He went to the fridge, nabbed a couple of cold ones, popped the tops, and walked them out, going straight to Linus, who, in the crush of people, was standing by the window in the dining area, Candy perched on his hip.

Joker handed a beer to his friend and got a mumbled, “Thanks, Car.”