by JA Huss
“No.” I pause to stare at her. “I swear on my sweet mother’s life, I am not fucking with you. The FBI is collecting these girls.”
“OK,” she says. But I can hear the healthy dose of suspicion in her voice. “Keep going.”
“And both times the FBI interfered with our missions so they could intercept these little girls, they failed. The first time—well, this is where you guys come in.”
“Wait. Which guys?”
“Vann. Fort Collins. Belinda. All the other witnesses.” Soshee looks at me with utter confusion before looking back at the highway. “She wasn’t always Belinda. She was Rosalie back then.”
“What?” Soshee makes a face. “What are you talking about? I don’t understand. What does that mean? Belinda had a different name?”
“Umm.” I run a hand down my face and realize I haven’t shaved in a couple days. “Yeah. Kinda. Well… she saw the operation go down when the FBI swooped in and tried to take one of the kids in our shipment from the Caribbean. And they were pissed. Rosalie—Belinda—I just call her Rosalinda to keep it straight—she saw this by accident. And she and I were already done, right? It was over. So I agreed to have her put into the witness protection program and sent up here to Fort Collins.”
“She’s… in the witness protection program?”
“Maybe?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either. I mean, we all thought she was being protected all these years. But then, on the last mission, the same thing happened. The FBI came in and told us they were going to take a girl off our shipment. And we teamed up with the Boston brothers—”
“Whoa. Hold up.” She pulls the car over to the side of the road, puts it in park, and turns in her seat to look at me. “The Boston Brothers? As in… Jesse Boston?”
“He’s my brother-in-law. Married my sister last Christmas Eve.”
“Your brother-in-law is Jesse Boston?”
“Yeah. And I don’t know how much you know about them, but—”
“Know about them? Are you fucking with me right now?”
“No. I swear. This is all true.”
“I’m related to them.”
“What?” I laugh, even though this isn’t funny. Not one bit. “That can’t be. Those guys have no family. Just each other. I know this. Their father and uncle—”
“Were killed. I know. Trust me, I’ve heard that story a million times growing up. ‘Keep your mouth shut, Soshee. Don’t tell anyone, Soshee. Or your mom, or your sister or your little cousins will all be next.’ Because that uncle of theirs who was killed? He was my father, Tony!”
“What? You’re Zach Boston’s sister?”
She closes her eyes and turns her head away to stare out the window. “Oh. My. Fucking God. This cannot be happening.”
“You’re really Zach’s sister?”
“Half-sister. We had different mothers. But yeah. Basically. I’m his sister. He got the cushy city life and my mother and I were sent here to Fort Collins to live with her side of the family after it happened. That’s how I got here. And now you’re telling me… what? That Belinda is part of this too? That you… we’re all… connected to something dangerous?”
I wince and shrug. “You did want a mysterious, intriguing, slightly dangerous date, didn’t you?”
“Oh, my God, Tony. This isn’t funny. This is all bad. They know! They have to know who I am! And that means none of us are safe!”
“I… hate to say this, Soshee, but this is just backstory. I haven’t even gotten to the real problem yet.”
“What?” She looks like she might start crying.
“I’m sorry. Fuck. Maybe I should go home. Not tell you any more. Keep you safe.”
“Are you fucking insane?” Any previous sign of upcoming tears disappears immediately and she becomes all business. “Start talking. Now. I want to know everything. Does this have anything to do with Tara disappearing? I’ve asked Vann like a hundred times what happened to her. I know they all went on some road trip, but then Vann and Belinda came back and Tara didn’t.”
“She didn’t disappear. She’s living with my brother, Alonzo.”
“The fisherman?”
“Yeah.” I smile. Because she was paying attention earlier. “Tara is fine.”
“I don’t know if I would call her fine. She was weird too. I could never put my finger on it, but she always came across as… fake. For some reason. Not that she wasn’t a nice girl. I liked her. But there was just something off about her.”
“Yeah, that’s because she’s one of the witnesses.”
“OK, you’ve said that twice now. What’s it mean?”
“This is where Vann comes in. Because he was the one who noticed that this Fort Collins place is crawling with… witnesses. People who saw something they shouldn’t have. And they all got sent here. And my brother sent me here—I mean, I did come to figure out why I couldn’t get Rosalinda off my mind, but I was actually sent here by Alonzo. To hit up Vann and figure out what he knows. Because we’re pretty sure that the FBI people we’ve been working with aren’t… like… on the up and up.”
“They’re dirty.”
“Yeah. We think so.”
“And now you’re caught up in their dirty plans?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “We think that too. And it doesn’t take a genius to see where this is going, does it?”
“Prison. All of you.”
“Or death,” I add. I don’t want to admit that, but… it’s so obvious. It would be dishonest to leave that possibility out.
Soshee swallows hard and takes a deep breath. “OK. So… let me get this straight. Tara and Belinda both saw something you Dumas people did—”
“No, Tara was in LA. I don’t know what her other name was before she became Tara. I kinda zoned out during that part of the meeting—”
“Tony!”
“What?”
“Oh, my God. What meeting? And how did Tara see something you guys did in Key West if she was in LA?”
“She didn’t. She saw something else. Maybe related? Maybe not? I don’t know. None of us knows. All we know is what Vann told us. He’s the one with the missing information. And now that I know you’re actually related to the Boston family…”
“Now that you know that what? You’re done with me?”
“What? No, Soshee. Not at all. I was going to say now that I know that you’re involved… well, I’m not leaving this town until I figure the whole thing out. I’m not leaving until you’re safe. And if that means I have to take you with me when I go home, so be it. I will not abandon you. Do you hear me? I mean it. I will not.”
She sits in silence for a few moments, the car shaking a little as other cars whiz by on the highway, thinking about how I just turned her whole world upside down in the span of ten minutes.
I’m good at that now, I guess. Turning people’s lives upside down seems to be a bad habit of mine.
“OK,” she finally says. “What does this have to do with what you saw this morning on your way home from Vann’s house?”
“Are you sure you want to hear it?”
She nods. “I’m sure. I feel like my mother and I have been running from this truth my whole life. And I guess we have. Two thirds of it, anyway. I’m done, Tony. Whatever it is you guys are planning, I’m in. I’m all in. So tell me what you saw.”
I do my best to explain the yippy dog and the various people I’ve seen walking him over the past few days. And then how I followed them back to the coffee shop next door to Sick Boyz. “The walker was thinking about breaking in to the shop,” I say. “Like maybe the Vaughn brothers have something to do with all this too?”
“Or maybe they thought Belinda was hiding something in there?”
“She’s not.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she understands even less then I do. I’ve been thinking about this and it only makes sense. All Belinda knows is that she witnessed our illegal s
muggling eight years ago and all she got for her trouble was a fucked-up second chance. I think it’s Vann they’re after. They must know that he’s on to them.”
“Oh,” she breathes. “Oh, no.” She looks at me. “We have to go tell him. Both of them.”
“What about your mom?”
“Shit.”
“Your mom comes first. Vann Vaughn can take care of himself. And I don’t mean that facetiously. I mean they’re the fucking Vaughn brothers, OK? People have his back. We’re on our own here, Sosh. My team is back in Key West. So we go to your mom’s first, then we take this back to Belinda and Vann.”
I say this with a finality she doesn’t even bother to fight. She just puts her crappy car into gear and pulls back on to the highway.
And even though I’ve got a million terrible things on my mind, my mind is slightly distracted by the fact that I’m going to meet Soshee’s mother.
Who is a fortune-teller.
And that might make me even more nervous than the FBI problem back in Fort Collins.
She could see a terrible future for us.
Or… see past my charming side and find the darkness underneath.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - BELINDA
I lean against Vann’s back and hold him tight around the waist as we ride north of Fort Collins. Not because I like the smell of his leather, or because I’m enjoying the feel of his hard abs—well, OK, maybe both of those things too—but the main reason is that he’s a pretty great windbreak.
Mmm-hmm, my inner voice is saying. Riiiight, Belinda. He’s a good windbreak.
I’ve been trying to ignore that inner voice since Vann left my apartment last night but it’s fairly persistent on insisting that I might, in fact, be falling for a man I swore I had no feelings for.
I have insisted, hundreds of times, that I have no feelings for him. So many times, in fact, it’s more like an automatic mantra these days than a well-thought-out decision. And, to be perfectly honest, I’m not even buying it anymore, so it’s no wonder that my inner voice is gloating.
I like him.
Of course I like him. I have always liked him. Anyone who doesn’t fall for the charms of Vann Vaughn is just a liar. They might not want to be his best friend—or girlfriend, as was my case—but he’s an easy person to like.
You just want to look at him. He smiles when he talks. Almost always, without fail. And that smile comes with flashing dimples and bright sky-blue eyes. He has classic good looks. Square jaw, perfectly symmetrical face, tall, lean body that has well-defined muscles, but not the kind his brother Vic is sporting. I have never seen Vann work out and I’ve lived above his garage for several years now.
They have a gym downstairs. The garage houses all their bikes—even their gramps has a bike, though he doesn’t ride it anymore. He rides in their father Vern’s sidecar when they all go out for a family ride. So there’s a bunch of bikes and a whole mess of gym machines. They’re in there almost every day at some point. All of them, even Gramps.
Except Vann. So Vann’s muscles aren’t bulky. They’re just genetically perfect.
I’ve seen him with his shirt off millions of times. These Vaughn men don’t wear shirts at home once the weather turns nice. Of course they don’t. They want to show off their ink. They are like walking billboards for Sick Boyz.
And yes, I can appreciate the sexiness of all the Vaughn brothers. But up until last night I looked at them like… an observer. Not one directly involved with their lives, but on the sidelines.
Now?
Well, I think this ride counts as my very first official date with Vann.
And when we turn onto a road called Bombs-A-Way and stop at a driveway gate announcing our entrance to a place called Shrike Ranch and Vann presses in the code to open the gate and allow us to enter the driveway, I realize what’s really happening here.
He’s taking me to his sister Veronica’s house.
The older sister. It’s a roadblock for a potential girlfriend wanting to date a baby brother much like a mother-in-law can be a roadblock when you want to marry a man.
There is no mother at the Vaughn house. At least that’s what I thought. But once we make it down the long driveway and the huge farmhouse comes into view, I realize my mistake.
There is a mother here. And her name is Veronica.
Vann eases the bike up next to Spencer Shrike’s personal ride and cuts the engine. We get off the bike and as soon as Vann gets the strap of his helmet unfastened, he is practically tackled by a gang of little girls.
His nieces, plus a few visiting friends, start jumping up and down tugging on his hands, and his jacket, and one very small one is trying to climb his leg like a tree.
I cover my mouth with my hand to hide my smile.
Vann takes it all in stride, grabbing a child in each arm and swinging them around until they scream.
A loud, shrill whistle pierces the air and suddenly everyone stops to look at the blonde bombshell standing on the porch, baby on her hip. “Get your little firecracker butts in here! I called you for brunch five minutes ago!” She waves a wooden spoon at them with her free hand. “And I do not want to hear one peep about cold eggs, you tiny heathens! Now go wash up!”
All the girls say, “Awwww,” but they don’t dare talk back. Or dawdle.
There is a whoosh of shirts and a scuffle of sneakers as the gang of girls abandon Vann for cold eggs and disappears inside the house. The porch door closes with a smack and Veronica wipes the back of her hand across her forehead as she comes down the porch steps bouncing her baby. “What are you doing here?”
“Just came by for a visit,” Vann says. “It’s a nice day. Wanted to take Belinda here for a ride. But we have work later, so can’t go too far. Figured I’d come hang with my favorite sister.”
“I’m your only sister,” Veronica says, whacking him playfully with her wooden spoon.
Veronica Vaughn. She is younger than all her other brothers, save Vann. Also known as Ron the Bomb, Bombshell, Ronnie, and I’ve heard her brothers jokingly call her Momshell more than once.
Veronica used to work at Sick Boyz as an artist. Vann inks in her old studio now. But she retired to this expansive farm about twenty miles north of Fort Collins to raise a family with her hot bike-builder husband, Spencer Shrike.
“Hi, Belinda,” Ronnie says. “Have you taken over Sick Boyz yet?”
“Not quite.” I laugh. “But Vic did let me help him do filler last night.”
She rolls her eyes and switches the baby to her other hip. “He’s so magnanimous.”
“I’m not complaining,” I say. “And he said I could use his studio on his days off now.”
“Really?” Ronnie’s eyes shoot up. “Well, that’s an offer he never made me before I had a studio to myself.”
We both look at Vann, who is smiling that I’m-a-happy-guy smile at both of us. “Belinda and I are dating now.”
“Is that so?” Ronnie smirks at me.
“Well, I get one date,” Vann explains. “To prove myself.”
Ronnie points her spoon at me. “Good thinking. Gotta take them out for a test drive before you commit.” Then she looks at Vann. “But seriously, I’m glad you’re here. Because I need a babysitter—”
“No!” Vann says, putting his hands up. “No way.”
“Just pick the little monsters up from school on Monday. That’s all I’m asking. It’s your day off.”
Vann is still shaking his head.
“It’s my car pool day, Vann. And Spencer is having this big bike reveal that afternoon. The press is gonna be there, and we’re getting special photographs in the morning for billboards, and this might be my last chance to take part in an event like this before I’m too squishy and mommed out to do the body-paint modeling.”
Vann groans. “Why can’t one of the other moms pick them up?”
“They’re busy! Why would I be asking you if the other moms were available? You don’t even have to watch the baby. She’s
part of the shoot.”
“They’re all babies, Ron. They need parental supervision at all times or one of them gets a crazy idea and the next thing you know they’ve opened up a fake tattoo shop in City Park called Sick Kidz and have already made thirty bucks when the cops show up to shut it down.”
Veronica points her spoon at him. “That only happened once. And it was Five’s fault. Not Rory’s. You’ve met Five, haven’t you, Belinda?”
I hold out my hand about shoulder height. “Boy genius about this high? Fastidious about his school uniform? Wears it on the weekends?”
Veronica chuckles. “That’s him.” She turns to Vann. “It’s always him. And he won’t be there.”
Vann points back at her. “You lying little momshell! He’s part of the car pool! If I pick them up, he is not staying at our house after school. He has to go home.”
“Deal,” Veronica says. And then she winks at me.
“And you have to feed us brunch,” Vann adds.
Veronica smirks. “How would you like your eggs, little brother?”
Brunch at the Shrike Ranch is no small thing. They eat in the dining room, at a table that seats twelve—every chair filled—and is overflowing with a big country feast. Eggs are just the beginning. There are pancakes, and bacon, and sausage, and even a quiche. Veronica’s husband, Spencer, talks to Vann non-stop over the chatter of ten females.
It’s a nice family, I realize. Not that the Vaughn brothers aren’t a nice family. They are. They’re just… a whole lot of men in that house. You can practically feel the masculinity oozing out the front door.
This house is homey. Not perfectly designed, or particularly tidy, or even opulently upscale, even though you can tell this place cost a bundle. It’s just very… lived-in, filled with love, and contains mostly girls.
It’s a nice break from my normal routine. Which is mostly being alone.
And I realize that if Vann and I do become a thing, and it works—then I will inherit all these people. All those brothers at the Vaughn house. Veronica and Spencer and their pack of girls. Even though I have written off Veronica’s pack of girlfriends as BFF material, they would make a nice backup.
