My phone buzzes. "Donny’s coming to get you guys," Esther’s text reads.
I glance out the window. I don’t want to be alone with Donny. Not because I’m afraid of him. Despite his wide shoulders and corded muscles, the dude’s a teddy bear. Esther wouldn’t be with him if he was an asshole. But as soon as we’re alone, he’s going to push for me to tell Cliff. I already know it. Maybe I’m being stubborn, but I’ve been taking care of myself my whole life. I don’t need Prince Charming to ride in on his motorcycle and shoot down my dragon. I’ve got my own gun. I’ll slay my own monsters.
Donny pulls up and jumps out, leaving the engine idling. He strides into the clinic, glancing around. His eyes land on me, then flick to Dio in his carrier.
"Oh, thank God," he says. Crossing the room, he engulfs me in a bear hug.
I stiffen, but only because neither Donny nor any of the other guys have ever hugged me. It’s a bit awkward. His embrace is warm, though, and his cologne smells just as pleasant as it feels to be in his arms. I relax against him. It’s a purely platonic hug. Even if he wasn’t with Esther, Donny is old enough to be my father.
Not that age ever stopped me from fucking Cliff’s brains out.
Still, there’s just something benevolent and protective about Donny that’s always made me trust him. Which is precisely why I want him to keep his mouth shut. It’s bad enough I have one River Reaper hovering around me like a nervous mother. I don’t know Cliff very well, but I’ve spent enough time with him to know what he’d do to Eli if I told him. Especially since I know he was away for twenty years.
You don’t do hard time on small offenses like assault.
Donny steps away, blinking away moisture in his eyes. "Looking at that little guy last night," he says, moving over to Dio’s carrier, "I didn’t think he was gonna make it." He peers in through the small holes cutout in the sides. "He’s sleeping. He looks good."
"He does," I agree, joining him. I lift the carrier as gently as possible, trying not to rock Dio around too much. Donny holds the door for me and we head out.
I’m not sure whether it’s my imagination or not, but Donny is driving more carefully than usual, avoiding potholes and bumps, and actually obeying the 25 mph speed limit. He follows Wolcott Street, then takes a very gentle left onto Lakewood.
"We got a good deal on tires." He slows as we near McDonald’s. "You hungry? I told Essie I’d grab something on our way back."
I smile at the nickname. It’s too fucking cute. Give it a few months, and these two will be planning their wedding. I wonder if Esther knows what she’s getting herself into. Donny may be a good guy, but he’s still the club Enforcer. I don’t know exactly what kind of business he handles, but it sure as hell isn’t kitten sitting.
Donny pulls into the drive-thru and orders enough food for an army. I sneak a fry out of the large bag sitting between us.
"Between you and Cliff, I’m gonna get fat." I shake my head in disapproval.
"Red Dog? Oh yeah. Dude loves his Mickey D’s."
I frown. "Red Dog?" My maybe-boyfriend has a weird ass nickname and I’m the last to know about it.
"Yeah," Donny rasps, "from his time in the pen. It started off as a joke, but from what I’m hearing, it kinda morphed after he busted a few noses. He was always walking around covered in other people’s blood."
Lifting an eyebrow, I stare at Donny. "How do you know this?"
His big shoulders rise and fall. "Aw, sweetheart." He drives past the tire shop, heading toward the top of the hill.
"Where are we going?" My pulse thrums in my veins. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand up.
Donny casts sidelong glances at me in between peeks at the road. Though it’s stopped snowing, the pavement is still slick in some places. "I’ve gotta look you in the eyes while I tell you this, darlin’."
"Tell me what?" Now I’m on high alert. I wrap my arms around Dio’s carrier, trying to decide whether I should push open the door and bail, or if I should wait ’til we get to wherever we’re going. It seems pretty ironic that I might have to pull my gun on the guy who gave it to me.
He pulls into the parking lot of an abandoned restaurant. The tires roll over the untouched snow. Donny tucks us far enough away from the road that we won’t be bothered, but turns around so that we’re facing the parking lot exit.
"You’re freaking me out, Donny." I slug down ice cold Dr. Pepper in a feeble attempt to cool my burning nerves.
"I’m sorry, kiddo." He puts the truck in park and turns in his seat. His eyes lock with mine. "We took a vote."
I wait, as still as a deer.
"Ravage and I wanted to tell you years ago, but you know how it goes. We finally got all the guys to agree." Opening the bag of food, he plucks a fry from a cardboard container.
I roll my eyes, partially in relief but also because he’s taking forever to spit out whatever it is. I grab a couple more fries, more to keep myself busy.
"See, I can’t talk to you in front of Essie because I asked her and she told me she doesn’t want to have anything to do with club business. But Olivia . . ." Golden brown eyes search mine, almost pleadingly. "You’ve always been a part of the family."
"Gee, thanks, Donny," I say, "but you’ve only known me for like a year."
He grimaces. "Yeah . . . no. That’s not true. I’ve known you since you were a baby."
My eyebrows furrow. I’m not sure how what he’s saying can be possible. My parents are completely unaffiliated with the club—both them and my biological parents. As far as I know, anyway. My eyes widen, the pieces falling into place. "No," I whisper. Not because I’m denying it, but because it seems impossible.
Donny nods. "Yes, babygirl. Your daddy—your real father—is Mercy Reynolds. He’s one of the founders of the River Reapers. He and Bastard Demmel built this club."
"Demmel?" I parrot.
"Red Dog’s father." Donny’s lips flatten. "Ya’ll have some serious family history to discuss."
Rubbing my temples, I pat around for the door handle. The air in the truck is suddenly too heavy. I shove the door open, then maneuver Dio’s carrier around in my lap until he’s on the passenger seat and I’m slipping out. I close the door and walk away several paces, lighting up as soon as I’m a safe distance away. My kitten doesn’t need secondhand smoke on top of broken bones, bruises, and lacerations.
I turn around, not surprised to see Donny joining me. I hold out my pack to him, but he shakes his head.
"Anything else I should know about?" I feel like my world’s been tilted on its axis. Up until two minutes ago, I had no idea who my birth father was. All I knew was that my birth mother had been fourteen when she got pregnant. She raised me until I was eight. I remember every detail of the day the police came to our apartment and took me away, but I don’t talk about it. There was never any reason to. Lucy’s parents—my parents—have been nothing but good to me, if not a little heavy on the partying.
"Olivia, your daddy’s still alive," Donny says quietly.
My hand stops halfway to my lips. The cigarette burns in front of me. "What?"
"Reason why we know so much about Red Dog is because he was inside with Mercy. One of us visits every so often, catches him up. And he filled us in on Red Dog." Donny touches my arm. "You’re pale, girl."
Hand shaking, I bring the cigarette to my lips. "So you’re telling me," I say in a steady but dead voice, "that I was able to see him, and had no fucking idea?" I think of the week we spent in Lewisburg. I have a father. An alive father. Who is mine. And I could have visited, but instead hopped right back on the train, completely oblivious.
Donny nods. He lets me process this for a few beats. Then, very quietly, he says, "There’s more."
"Jesus fucking Christ." I throw up my hands. "Is this why you bought me McDonald’s? To soften the blow?" I shake my head. "I don’t want to know."
"You do, though." Donny gently takes my shoulders. "Olivia, you do."
I can�
�t believe any of this. For one, why the fuck didn’t Lucy’s parents tell me? And why did I go into foster care if I had a breathing relative? Too many questions swirl through my head, and I’m not sure I want the answers. My father is a River Reaper. That blood runs through me. The club is just as much a part of me as it is Cliff.
"Wait," I say. "Is this why I got the job? Not because of my certification or ability to mix good drinks. But because of the fucking club?"
Donny winces. "We took a vote," he says.
"Fuck your vote." I hurl the words at him. "None of you thought maybe you might wanna get me up to speed?"
"Big things like that have to be unanimous," he explains. "But your job was undisputed. The vote was more of a formality. We promised your dad that we’d take care of you."
"Oh, enough of that bullshit." My cigarette is down to the filter. I flick it into the snow and light another. "I don’t need your charity. I’ll start looking for something else." Or maybe, I muse, I’ll move down to Lewisburg and take something there. Someone’s going to have to be around when my father gets out—and it sure as fuck can’t be this good for nothing club. "A vote," I mutter, shaking my head.
"That would kill Ravage," Donny says. "And your dad." He lifts my chin with a gentle finger. "Don’t you get it, darlin’? You’re with us so we can watch out for you. Your daddy didn’t want you all alone while he’s behind bars." Turning his head, he spits into the snow. "Your goddamn mother—"
I jerk away and hold up my hands. "Enough. I’m done." Turning, I stalk back toward the pickup. I can’t deal with any more of this conversation, with anything else he has to tell me. I need Lucy. She’s older than me, but she would’ve told me if she already knew. I wonder if our parents know.
I pull myself up into the truck, careful not to jar Dio. When Donny gets in, I tell him to take me to Lucy’s. He doesn’t argue. "Just tell Esther I had some shit to take care of," I mutter. My entire body feels like it’s been sucked dry, every ounce of life depleted from the very marrow of my bones.
Even though I know it’s not Donny’s fault, I still hold it against him. During the entire ride to Lucy’s, I keep my mouth shut. He doesn’t deserve my company. I don’t even thank him for the food. When we pull up to my sister’s condo, I grab several containers of fries and wrapped burgers, stuffing them into my purse.
The heaviest of conversations couldn’t kill my appetite.
I nod goodbye to Donny, then climb out, taking Dio with me. He lets out a mew that’s more a sigh than anything else.
"It’s okay, baby," I soothe. "We’re just making a pit stop."
Donny waits until I get inside the door, earning back some points in my book. Closing it behind me, I put down Dio’s carrier. The familiar calm of my sister’s home envelopes me. Then I remember.
Lucy’s at work.
Before I can check out the front window, strong arms grab me from behind.
15
Cliff
Olivia kicks against me, the ball of her foot smashing against my shin. I release her, and hold my hands up, palms out. She whips around, fists up. They drop when recognition dawns on her face.
"You did work," I say, grinning through a wince.
She sags against the closed front door, though, face pale. She sinks to the carpet and draws her knees to her chest.
"Liv?" I cross the distance between us and sit next to her.
Blinking away tears, she shakes her head over and over again. It’s a steady hand that brushes her hair out of her eyes, though, and I know my girl’s going to be okay. Still, I wrap an around around her and pull her close.
"Sorry I scared you," I whisper into her hair.
Her head snaps up, though, as if she’s already showed too much vulnerability for too long. Those eyes ice over—a look I’m more than familiar with. Olivia is trapped in her own prison.
She lifts her chin. "What do you know about Mercer Reynolds?" A cold, calculating gaze searches my face.
"The name doesn’t really ring a bell," I say, "but isn’t that your last name?"
"Mercy, then?" Her face is as hard as white marble, the usual contours of her cheeks gone.
I shrug. "Olivia, what’s this about?" I hug her closer, even though her body is rigid.
"You should know." Her voice is sharp and accusing. "You were in prison with him!" Those eyes glare up at me.
Frowning, I churn the name around in my head. During my sentence, I mostly kept to myself. I didn’t need the usual color-coded protection because I’d killed a child molester. In even the hardest criminals’ eyes, I was a hero—which meant I avoided the others. For the most part, they avoided me too.
I close my eyes and go back in time, floating through concrete halls and a blur of faces. Mercy. The name does sound familiar.
Then I remember.
"He came in after me," I tell her, eyes still closed. "He banded up with the whites. Not the Nazis. There were a few white groups." I remember him sitting at a table in the cafeteria. He wasn’t any taller than anyone else, but he had a presence about him. Jet black hair. And those same goddamn eyes.
My own eyes open, zeroing in on Olivia’s immediately. "I can’t believe I didn’t see it," I mutter.
"So it’s true?" Her eyes fill up with tears, and I can’t tell whether she’s furious or what. "Mercy is alive?"
"You want to catch me up here?" I nod for her to follow me to my room. Even though Lucy has a strict no smoking policy, it’s cold as fuck outside. And I picked up this cigarette smell neutralizing spray shit the other day. It smells like crisp mountains or something equally fake.
I’ve officially been domesticated.
We sit on my bed, my back against the wall and Olivia in my arms. My legs form protective walls around her. Smoke curls into the air for several long minutes.
Then she tells me what Donny told her.
"Did you ever talk to him?" she asks, twisting around to meet my eyes.
"A few times." I glance down at my cigarette, mind spinning. Yet another way that we’re connected. And here we sit, on my bed—the rightful heirs to the club. I suck in a deep breath. "Olivia, there’s something you need to know. About me." And us, but I don’t say so.
She closes her eyes, a long blink. "I just want to know what he’s like. Who he is."
"And I’ll tell you," I promise. "But first you need to know who my father is."
She turns in my arms until she’s facing me. Drawing her limbs into a cross-legged position, she sits with her knees touching mine. "Shoot," she says.
"Sebastian Demmel," I say, nearly choking on his name in disgust. "Or Bastard." I pause, feeling bile rising up in my throat. This is more Lucy’s story than mine. It almost feels like a violation of her privacy. But if we’re going to be caught in this web, then Olivia needs to know the truth.
All of it.
"Lucy’s parents—your parents—worked a lot of the same shifts, so she was always over at my house. I loved her, Livvie. We were both only-children, and there weren’t any other cousins in the family yet." I smile as memories of chasing Lucy around my backyard skip through my head. I take a deep breath.
"She used to stay overnight." Grimacing, I shake my head. "I can’t give you the details, but she started having nightmares. She was so confused. She’d beg her parents to let her stay home, but she still always wanted to see me." I light another cigarette, hands shaking. "Finally, she told her parents."
I look Olivia straight in the eye, pain pulsing in my temples. "Sebastian," I spit out his name, "was . . . hurting her." The familiar searing ripping in my chest splits my heart. My fingers twitch in reflex. I bring the cigarette to my lips, pulling in a long drag until my lungs burn.
"Jesus," Olivia whispers, wrapping her arms around herself. "He was molesting her?"
I nod, my jaw flexing. The fire rips through me. I’m standing in that kitchen all over again. "I’d been out at work. No one else believed her. I didn’t know she was coming over that night. When I got home
—" My voice breaks. I turn away, staring ruefully at the wall. I don’t want to repeat what I saw before the red washed it away.
I suck in a deep breath. "I pushed him off her and shoved her aside. I think she hit her head on the cabinet doors. But she curled up and backed into the corner. Then I lifted him off the chair." I shake my head. "He was so much bigger than me, but somehow I did it. And—" My lips curl into a smile.
In the dying light of the bedroom, I must look like a jack-o-lantern.
Olivia says nothing, though. She just watches me, listening, her chest barely rising and falling.
"I threw him onto the floor. My fists kept pounding into his face." I can still hear the way they sounded, flesh connecting with raw meat. A sort of heavy, wet smacking. "Broke his nose, caved in a cheekbone. And I kept hitting him."
I look down at my hands, the cigarette limp between two fingers. "Then I wrapped my hands around his neck. And put all of my weight into it." I blink, remembering how his legs kicked out, arms jerking. "There was still some fight in him. I snuffed it out."
I look at Olivia again. "I killed my own father, Olivia."
"You saved Lucy," she begins, but I cut her off.
"I enjoyed every second of it," I say. "I didn’t do it to help Lucy. I did it because I wanted to, because I knew it would feel good." I lean forward. "And I would do it again."
"It felt good," she echoes.
"Yes." I stub out my cigarette. "This is what I am, Olivia. This is why you need to stay away from me. Because I snap. I lose control, and the urge takes over." I think of all the men I beat up. The ones who preyed on the quiet men, the few that dared to fuck with me. The time in seg was always worth it.
"One of the few times I spoke to Mercy," I say, "he complimented me. He said, 'Nice form.' And then he walked away. He didn’t even bother asking me to join his group. He knew I didn’t need them."
I show her my hands. "I’ve touched you with these. How does that feel?"
She stares at me with wide eyes. No fear swims in them, though. Her nostrils flare. "Like I want you to touch me again," she whispers.
A Disturbing Prospect (River Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 1) Page 14
