by Nicole James
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kami—
“I’ll go upstairs, and dig out your suitcases,” my mother says, going back inside and giving us a moment alone—our first since the ceremony.
“Thank you for that,” I murmur to Santos when she’s gone.
“For what, protecting you? It’s what I said I’d do.”
I stare out over the long drive, watching the black sedan disappear out of sight. In a minute I’m going to have to go upstairs and pack my bags and leave my mother.
“You okay?”
“How will I ever say goodbye? How will I survive without her? I’m not strong enough.”
Santos steps behind me, his hands landing on my upper arms. “You’ll be strong enough, because you have to be.” He squeezes. “Hey, look at me.” When I do, he pins me with his penetrating gaze, dipping his head to mine. “I’m here. You’ve got me now, and I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Understand?”
I nod, and feel like crying.
“Kami, the women in my family have always been the strong ones. They held the family together. My great-grandma shoveled coal into the furnace during a cold New York winter and then went upstairs and gave birth to my grandfather alone. And just like them, I’m sure you’re stronger than you know. You’ll get through this, and you’ll come out the other side of it, and you’ll do it with your head held high, yeah?”
I nod again.
“Say it.”
“I’ll come through this.”
“With…”
“With my head held high.”
He smiles. “Okay. Now go pack.”
It takes me over an hour to pack up a set of luggage. I fill another box of personal items to take with me, with photos and such. Santos hauls it out to his truck for me.
I turn to my mother and we hug, bursting into tears.
“I’ll miss you, baby girl.” She rubs my back.
“I love you, Mama.”
“I know you do. And that’s what’s going to keep me strong. It’s only one year. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“What happens when I turn eighteen? Santos will expect me to go on my way. Where do I go, Mama? The house will be gone.”
“Don’t you worry about that. I’ll figure it out. You’re not to worry, understand?”
I nod, tears in my eyes. “I don’t want to go.”
“I know, baby. I know. But I need you to be strong, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now dry your eyes, and don’t think about your past. I don’t want you to look back. I only want you to look forward. I know there’s so much changed, but I want you to think long and hard about what will make you happy, truly happy. Okay? Because I want you to have a happy life, Kami, more than anything. Promise?”
“All right. I promise.” It’s a little thing and it makes her happy. I hug her tight.
She releases me and takes my hand, lacing our fingers. “Let’s go. Your groom wants to get on the road, and after all he’s done for us, we’ve kept him waiting long enough.”
We go downstairs, each lugging a suitcase. Santos loads them in his waiting truck, lifting the heavy bags like they weigh nothing.
My mother gives me a final hug and Santos opens the truck door for me. I climb in the passenger seat, wipe my eyes and face front. Before Santos can climb in on his side, my mother stops him. I can hear her voice through the glass.
“Promise me one thing. Don’t let her miss her graduation. My attorney tried to get them to delay my sentence another week, but they’ve already delayed it a year. They won’t budge another week. It’s next Saturday.”
“I’ll try, Barb, but I can’t promise.”
She nods, and hugs him. “I understand. You take care of my baby.”
“I will. That I can promise you.”
She steps back, and he climbs in the driver’s seat. Without another pause, he fires the engine and puts it in gear, heading us toward the road.
As we roll down the drive, I can’t help craning my neck to see my mother one more time. She has her face in her hands, and her shoulders are shaking with her sobs.
Santos reaches over and squeezes my knee. “Don’t look back, babe.”
I turn and face front, silent tears rolling down my cheeks.
We travel for hours, and eventually drive into a storm. The weather matches how I feel on the inside—dark and gloomy and despairing. Lightning flashes in a crackle across the sky, followed by booming thunder, and the rain becomes a downpour. Vehicles drive slowly with flashers on; some begin to pull to the shoulder.
“See if you can get the weather up on your phone,” Santos says while he tries to find a radio station with an update.
I pull up the National Weather Service, and the current radar. “It’s not going to let up for hours. Heavy rains from here all the way up to the Tennessee border.”
“Great.”
We see an exit coming up and a hotel sign glowing in the distance. Santos flips his turn signal on. “There’s not another exit for a good twenty miles. I’m pulling off.”
A car flies past us at a high speed, fishtailing and almost hitting the overpass abutment.
I grab the dash. “Oh, my God.”
“What an idiot,” Santos agrees.
When we get to the end of the ramp, he turns towards the hotel and pulls in. The lot is full of cars, and a couple more are parked under the portico. We’re obviously not the first to throw in the towel tonight.
Santos pulls in behind one of them, managing to get us out of the rain. “Cross your fingers.”
With that he climbs from the truck and jogs inside.
I peer back at the bed of the truck. My suitcases are all soaked, but luckily they’re hard-siders. My box is pushed up against the back of the cab and the forward movement of the truck kept it mostly dry, but if it stays out in the parking lot all night, it’ll be soaked. I wonder if he’s got a tarp.
I text my mother, telling her we pulled off because of the weather, and we’re trying to find a hotel.
Santos comes back. “Got one.”
“Wait. My box is getting soaked, do you have a tarp?”
“No, but we can move it to the cab. Can you hold it on your lap for now?”
“Sure.”
He gets out and grabs it, bringing it around to me. It’s damp, but I’m thankful my things won’t be ruined.
We find a parking spot in the back of the building.
“Which of those bags do you want?” Santos asks.
“Um, the carryon.”
While he grabs it, I climb out and set the box on my seat. He grabs his own backpack from behind the seat and we dash to the door.
Santos swipes us in with a key card, and holds the door for me. “We’re on the second floor. ”
I follow him down the hall to the elevator, rolling my bag behind me, and a few minutes later, we’re in our room.
This is a well-known chain, and the room is nice. I stare at the one bed.
“Sorry, wifey dear, but I can’t afford two rooms, and Kings were all they had left.”
“If you think we’re doing anything in that bed besides sleeping, you’re mistaken.”
He drops his backpack on the floor. “Let’s get something straight right now. If you’re nursing any silly notion I’m interested in you, forget it. You’re just a favor I owed your mom, and that’s all you are to me. Clear?”
“Crystal.” I set my bag against the wall, and rub my arms. “It’s freezing in here.”
“They’ve got the AC cranked. I’ll turn the heat on.” Santos moves to the thermostat and adjusts it.
“Do you have any money for the vending machine? I’d like to get a cola.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Maybe I want something, too.” He grabs the key card off the dresser and we exit the room. The vending machines are near the front desk. Santos pulls out his wallet. “All I’ve got is a twenty. Let me
get some change.”
He moves off toward the front desk, and I stand studying the options.
A guy approaches, swaying slightly, and motions to the snack machine. “You done?”
“Go ahead. I haven’t decided yet.” I smile, waving him ahead of me.
“Thanks. Got the munchies bad, ya know.” He grins back and I can smell the marijuana. He absolutely reeks of it. I notice his eyes are bloodshot as well. I step back, and he loads his money, and makes a selection. The dispenser spins but the bag of chips gets hung up.
“Son of a bitch.” He shakes the machine.
The bag swings, but stubbornly hangs by a corner.
The guy shoves his shoulder into the machine.
“Hey, careful,” I say.
“Damn it. That was all the money I had on me.” He turns his attention to me and moves closer. “You got any extra on you, honey?”
Now I smell the booze, too.
I take a step back as he smiles and sways.
A moment later, he’s yanked out of my space and slammed against the wall. Santos gets in his face, his fist tight in the man’s shirt, pinning him. “She ain’t your honey. Stay the fuck away from my wife or you’ll deal with me.”
The man holds his hands up. “Sorry, bro. Didn’t mean nothin’.”
“I ain’t your bro, asshole.” Santos releases his shirt with a shove. “Get the hell out of here.”
I look toward the front desk. The clerk is coming around it toward us.
“I’m so sorry Mr. Chaves. Mrs. Chaves.” He grabs the man by the arm. “Go back to your room and stay there until check-out or I’ll call the police.”
The man shoves out of his hold. “I’m goin’. I’m goin’. A man can’t even get a bag of chips in this dump.” He stumbles off.
“I apologize,” the clerk says.
“No problem. Not your fault,” Santos replies.
The clerk looks at me. “If you need anything, please let me know.”
“Thank you,” I say, and he returns to the front desk.
Santos feeds some bills into the machine. “What do you want?”
I press the button for my selection, and he gets something as well. On the ride back up the elevator, I can’t help mentioning what he did. “You really took care of that creep. Thanks.”
“No problem, just doin’ what I promised—takin’ care of you.” Santos is now wearing a scowl, so I try to think of something to make him smile.
“Mrs. Chaves,” I repeat the title the clerk called me, trying it out with a sly look at Santos.
“Don’t like the sound of it?” he asks, quirking a brow.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, don’t worry. You’re giving it back to me in three months.”
My smile falters at the way he sounds like he can’t wait to be rid of me. “You know this isn’t easy for me, either. I know you’re stuck with me. Do you think I like feeling like I’m not wanted? Like I’m some chore? You think I like being foisted off on you? I don’t.”
He looks like he’s about to say something, but his phone goes off. He shifts and digs it out of his hip pocket, glancing down at the screen before putting it to his ear. The doors slide open, and we exit the elevator.
“Hey, man.”
In the quiet hallway, I can hear the loud voice on the other side.
“Hey, Saint. Where are you, man?”
“Why, what’s up?” Santos replies.
“Party at the clubhouse. You’re missin’ it. Asia’s askin’ for you.” The voice chuckles.
“Had some shit come up. Sly told me I could take the weekend to deal with it.”
“When you gettin’ back?”
“Tomorrow.”
“All right. Hit me up when you roll in.”
“Will do.”
He disconnects and swipes the lock, letting us into the room.
“Who was that?” I ask. I know I shouldn’t but my curiosity gets the best of me.
“Nobody.”
“Does Mr. Nobody always invite you to parties?”
He pops the top on the can of soda, ignoring me.
“What clubhouse was he talking about?”
“Eavesdrop much?”
I shrug, feeling no guilt. “It was hard not to, as loud as that dude was talking.”
“Just a place they party.”
“Who are they?”
“You just don’t quit, do you?”
“Nope. Who is Asia? And why’d that guy call you Saint?”
He sits on the side of the bed and drags a hand through his hair. “Okay, look. There’s something you need to know. Now’s as good a time as any to get it out in the open.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kami—
I stare at Santos, wondering what awful thing he’s about to tell me, when he reaches out a hand and snags mine, pulling me to sit beside him.
“I’m prospecting for the Kings of Carnage.” He stares at me expecting some response, I suppose.
I frown, because I really can’t make sense of those words. “The Kings of what? Is that like a band?”
He huffs out a laugh. “No, they’re not a band. They’re an MC.”
“What’s an MC?” I wish he’d speak English.
“Lord, you really are clueless, aren’t you?”
I try to get up because he’s being a jerk, but he tightens his hold on my hand, pulling me back down. “Just listen.”
“Fine, then explain it to me. Just don’t treat me like an idiot.”
“The Kings of Carnage are a motorcycle club.”
My mouth falls open. “What, you mean like a gang?”
His eyes slide closed for a second. “Never mind.”
“No. I want to know. What does prospecting mean?”
“It’s what you do to get in. It’s a probationary period where they see if they want me as a brother. You do your time proving your loyalty and that they can count on you. I was a hang-a-round for a year before they decided to let me prospect.”
I take in what he’s saying, but I’m still unclear on exactly what it all means, especially in regards to me. The words fly out of my mouth before I can think to stop them. “Sooo… what about me?”
“What about you?”
“Are you going to tell them about me? That we’re married?”
“Fuck no.” He stands and paces to the window. Lightening flashes, lighting his face as he peers at the sky.
“So, then what? I’ll be a secret?”
“You’ll stay out of sight. It’s not like you’ll ever have to meet any of them. They rarely come by my place. And I sure as hell won’t be taking you around the clubhouse.” He huffs a laugh. “You’re mother would string me up alive.”
“Why, what happens at the clubhouse?”
“Stuff no seventeen year old girl needs to know about. That’s all I’m saying.”
“This was a bad idea, wasn’t it?”
He turns from the window to look back at me. “No shit.”
“Is Saint your MC name?”
“Yeah.”
“So do I call you Santos or Saint?”
“You can call me whatever you want.”
He suddenly feels even more like a stranger, and now he even goes by a different name. “I guess you were right when you said I had no idea what I was signing up for, huh?”
“Well, it’s done now. And it’s only temporary. We’ll make it work. I’ll handle it. You just have to trust me.”
“Yeah. Sure.” I don’t sound convinced, because I’m not, and I don’t care if he knows it. I’m so tired, suddenly. I feel like all the energy is draining out of me. I just want to take a long hot shower and go to bed.
Santos slumps back against the headboard and picks up a flyer off the nightstand. “Looks like there’s a pizza place that delivers. You hungry?”
“Not really.”
“If you were, what would you order?”
I shrug.
“Sausage? Pepperoni?
Everything?”
“Just get whatever you want.”
“Kami, you and I are gonna be spending a lot of time together. I’m trying here.”
“I’m sorry. I suppose you are.”
“So tell me what kind of pizza you like.”
“Everything but onions and green peppers.”
He makes the order. While he does, I go in the bathroom and call mom.
When I come back out, Santos is shirtless, his hands behind his head, watching the news. He’s changed into a pair of sweatpants he must have had in the backpack he carried up.
My gaze travels over him. The last time I saw him shirtless was when he was a teenager, helping his father with the landscaping. His body has filled out with well-defined muscles in his arms, chest and abs. Good God; I can’t tear my eyes away. The ink he has tattooed into the skin of his chest and arms is new, but boy does it work. He looks totally badass.
He glances over to me with those brown eyes that have always been able to see right through me. But hell if I want him knowing what I’m thinking right now. I quickly move to my bag to dig out a pair of yoga pants and a tank top, and I disappear back into the bathroom.
I hear the pizza arrive while I’m pulling my hair up in a band and washing my face. When I come back out, Santos has the box flipped open on the bedspread and he’s munching on a slice.
“How is it?” I ask, cramming my clothes back into my bag.
“Not bad. Have some while it’s still hot.”
I sit beside him and take my own piece.
We eat in silence and watch the weather report, and then Saturday Night Live comes on. I love this show, but I can’t seem to find any of the jokes humorous tonight. Everything that’s happened today comes crushing down on me.
I get up and move to stare out the window, pushing the curtain aside. My mother tried so hard not to let it show in her voice when I talked to her, but I know she’s terrified of what Monday brings. She tried to be upbeat and cheerful for my sake, but I know she’s worried about me, too. She made me promise to check in with her attorney until she’s allowed phone calls.
