KNOW ME (DEFIANT Motorcycle Club)(2)

learned early on how to make the role believable.  As for my father, he could clean up

when he wanted.  
Crest seemed disconcerted to see me.  “You should have called, dammit,” he said

gruffly, before hugging me with a painful squeeze.
I stared at my father.  He had always looked the part he played; tough leader of a

tough club.  He and his best boyhood friend had founded the Warlocks two decades ago,

right before I was born.  My mother, a tightly strung girl from Riverside, was never

able to adapt to the life.  I knew that about Anne Marie Carter before I knew much

else.  I remembered the shouting and the persistently sour look of her face as she

tried to blend into a world she wasn’t made for.  It only lasted as long as it is did

because of me.  And because, despite their opposite natures, she loved my father and he

loved her on a level he hadn’t loved anyone since.  Still, it wasn’t enough.  Anne

Marie took off with a naval pilot when I was five, leaving me in the care of Crest

Tolleson. I’ve rarely heard from her in the fifteen years since then.  I tried not to

think about that because when I thought about it I was angry.
Crest didn’t get over it.  He had all kinds of women sifting in and out but he could

take or leave every one.  It was like when my mother walked out she took a piece of him

with her and he wasn’t eager to find it again.  That was all I saw of love and it

looked awful.
Things turned out for me all right anyway.  Crest turned out to be a capable father and

even though I screamed like hell when he started shipping me off to boarding school at

age twelve, now that I was older I understood.  It would have been too much of a

distraction, keeping all the eyes, not to mention the hands, away from a growing young

woman.  I tried not to let on that I saw the way some of the men looked at me now,

though it went without saying that the daughter of the Warlocks President was

untouchable.  
“Everything all right, Daddy?” I asked and it wasn’t for nothing.  The indomitable

Crest Tolleson appeared haggard and slumped, as if something awful was weighing down

his strong shoulders.
His lips parted, showing a flash of white in his dark beard.  “Of course, kid.”  He

swung an arm around my neck and led me toward the back office.  “Just some club shit.

”  Crest gave my arm a little squeeze as a few of the other Warlocks wandered in and

hailed my arrival.
“What kind of club shit?” I asked my father in a quiet voice.
But he only shook his head with a small smile.  I shouldn’t have even troubled to ask.

Crest was smart and above all he was guarded.  The things he did with the club weren’

t things a man talked about with a nineteen year old coed, blood bond or not.
“For tonight,” Crest said in a tired voice, “I’m just a dad happy to see his

daughter.”
He took me out for a steak dinner but drove the old Malibu.  Ever since I hit puberty

Crest Tolleson didn’t want his daughter on the back of anyone’s bike.  Not even his.
We chatted lightly about school.  Crest listened carefully when I described my classes

and nodded approvingly when I said I planned to remain in Berkeley for the summer and

acquire some extra credits and keep my job at the library.
“Grades?” he asked sternly, cutting up his New York strip steak with characteristic

care.
“Expecting a 4.0 this semester.  Of course.  Like you even have to ask.”
He smiled.  “And boys?”
I wrinkled my nose.  “No one worth mentioning.”
“And why is that?”
I didn’t know how to tell my father what was wrong with the guys I met school.  They

seemed lacking, uncertain, a uniformly distant second to a good book or a hot daydream.
“Too busy, I guess,” I finally said.
Crest grunted.  “You ought to have some fun here and there.”
I raised an eyebrow.  “Actually I think you’re supposed to think up all kinds of

reasons why I shouldn’t have fun.  That’s what a good button up father would do.”
He chewed his steak, winking.  He drummed his thick rings on the table.  “You ought to

be grateful.  I’m a colorful guy.  Not some wet mop in a BMW.”
“Ha!  Don’t I know it.”
My father’s smile faded and he looked at me seriously.  “No shitting, Kira. Sometimes

I’m afraid I may have scared you off life for good.”
“What the hell do you mean by that? I think I turned out pretty okay.”
He laughed lightly.  “I think you’re not done turning out.”
“Bullshit, Daddy.  I’m just so frighteningly awesome you can’t stand it.”
He tilted his head and stared at me fondly for a long time.  “You’re right.”
Later, I wondered if someday I’d be able to look at the last hours I spent with my

father and be glad.  That I had the chance to see him one more time, that he had a few

moments of happiness before all hell broke loose.  But as I hurtled out of the city in