by A. C. Bextor
“What?”
I have to give Cricket this, doing it in a way she can’t deny. This will be the last nail in the lowering coffin that was us. I may as well walk her down to Gypsy’s room and lock her inside, then toss myself off my own balcony in biker badass embarrassment.
Going for broke, I tell her, “If Gypsy’s the one who owns your heart, you have to give it back to him.”
Cricket’s breath hitches. “Leglas.”
“He’ll take care of it this time.”
“Please, stop.”
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but desperate times, desperate fucking menace. “Gypsy will take care of you because he’s the man who’d bleed for you.”
“Oh my God,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around me and holding tight.
“We both know he’d work himself to the ground to give you what you need.”
“No more, Leglas. Please.”
“Sooner or later, you’ll believe what I say is true.”
“I’m so tired,” she expresses in play, feigning a yawn, then smiling against my chest. “So sleepy.”
“I’ll give you that,” I comply, positioning her off my body and into my side. “Shut your eyes. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
As Cricket settles and starts to drift off, I hear her utter a faint, “Thank you for being my friend.”
And for the tenth time tonight, I wonder, what the actual fuck is the matter with me?
“Am I hearin’ what I think I’m hearin’?” Vante’s eyes are wide, frantically searching for answers as they dart between Abram and me.
We’re standing on the forecourt at Saint’s. It’s early, closing in on five thirty a.m. Most of the brothers and their women are just getting to their rooms for sleep.
When Abram called, conveying he had information and requesting a meet, I complied.
I was awake anyway, not having slept much with Cricket at my side. I thought back over all I’d told her. I stopped being pissed about sending her running back to Gypsy. I know once she forgives him, he’ll treat her with care.
After Abram sent a text confirming he was on his way, I went to Vante’s room and woke him up. He’d been pissed, but I’m the VP. His job is to do what I say, and thankfully, I didn't need to remind him of this. He cursed, but did as I told him and followed me outside.
“Vante, quiet,” I clip, not wanting to give his confusion my time.
“You’re tellin’ me to be quiet?” he shrills. “Leglas, are you kidding with this shit?”
Abram, dressed in his usual pressed suit, leans his back against his dark red Mercedes. He takes in Vante’s sleepy, but annoyed, disposition and smirks. The old Russian looks fresh from his bed sheets, coming to us after his morning shower and coffee. He probably hasn’t pulled an all-nighter since he was a kid on Christmas Eve.
Vante shakes his head and leans his body in my direction. I’m taller than he is, but he manages to get in my face. “Leglas, brother, answer me. Are you serious with this shit?”
His surprise is understandable. He’s also pissed, and with good reason. As soon as Abram started talking about the favor I’d asked of him, about a woman I sent him on a hunt for, Vante’s body locked up tight.
Being Cricket is Vante’s best friend, I understood his response. I figured by bringing him into this, I’d risk this exact reaction. I also worked out that I’d be able to curtail his running to the others to share what he knows if it meant getting what I needed from him.
“We’ll talk about it later,” I tell him, shoving my hand in his chest and getting in his face. “This minute, I need you to pull your shit together and fuckin’ listen to what Abram’s tellin’ us.”
“There’s no us!” Vante continues his rant.
Jesus Christ.
“Shut it,” I seethe.
Vante closes his eyes and calms, but only to take in an irate breath. He takes a step back from the huddle and glares. Just as I relax and move my focus to Abram, Vante starts in again. “Are you into stalking now? Who the hell is Belle, and what’s Abram talkin’ about all this lookin’ into her?”
Abram clears his throat to regain our attention, pushing forward with indifference. “Belle is currently living in Denton.”
“Not far,” I assess.
Denton, Illinois, is a small suburb about an hour outside Chicago. The rich dwell there, tucked inside their mansions and empires. This comes to some relief. At least if she’s on that side of the city, she’s not living in the slums or its underground sanctums.
“She doesn’t live alone,” Abram goes on. “There’s a man with her. If he doesn’t live there, he’s inside a lot.”
Vante continues shaking his head in disbelief. I’d counted on him to keep his shit together, but it seems I was wrong.
“Even better, Leglas,” he hisses. “Fuck me, but you’re stalking a woman who’s already got a man.”
“Stop talking,” I demand, visualizing my hands around his goddamn neck.
“No, man, I won’t stop,” he cuts back. “We have enough shit we’re dealin’ with, yet here you are, adding to it. What the fuck?”
“This man,” Abram presses, continuing to ignore Vante’s rising panic. “He comes and goes. Sometimes, he’s gone days at a time. Some, he’s back within hours. I found no rhyme or reason to his routine.”
This man could be her husband. Possibly a long lost family member. I’d always imagined Belle to be married, to have kids, to make a life outside of the one she lost. All of this doesn’t mean hearing the confirmation isn’t a kick to the chest. Rather, it’s a big one.
“Leglas,” Vante prompts, stepping closer. “Tell me what the hell is going on.”
Ignoring him, I push back to Abram, “When you saw her, did she look happy?”
Abram’s lips thin and his jaw tightens. He doesn’t answer.
“I gotta know, so you gotta tell me. Does Belle look happy?”
Giving in, his expression eases. “I did only as you requested, to find her. I didn’t approach.”
Abram reaches into his coat pocket, and does it slowly. After all our dealings and agreements, between the club and his mob, between he and I as men, he’s still cautious of my reactions.
Grabbing an envelope, he flips the top open and pulls out what looks like photos. He looks through a few, studying them carefully, before handing them over.
“Jesus fuck, who is she?” Vante asserts, hands to hips and looking around my shoulder as I go through the pictures one at a time.
The first one isn’t surprising. A dark-haired man in sunglasses, wearing an expensive black suit. There’s not much to him. He’s average height and build. Clean shaven. Businesslike. An average Joe, really. He’s stepping out of an oversized, red front door, attached to a large white house.
The next picture is of him as well, mostly in the same position, except here, he’s folding himself into an expensive foreign black car. A large, bald African American man wearing wrap around shades sits in the driver’s seat, looking forward.
“You got a name for his face?” I ask, showing him which I’m referring to.
“Not yet,” Abram says. “Working on this. I’ve pulled in local favors, running a search.”
Local favors from his kind could mean many things. Cops. Prostitutes. Politicians. Underground drug lords and the like.
Another picture, this one more surprising.
A kid who can’t be much older than ten years old, twelve at most, smiles out into the street. She stands alone, her long blonde hair blowing in the breeze. She’s wearing a white sundress with black polka-dots. Her feet are bare.
Pointing to the photo, I look up for clarification. “Who’s this?”
Abram smiles wide. “I don’t know who or where she belongs, but I can tell you the only reason Belle ever smiled was because of that little girl.”
Dismissing this, I move to the next picture. A woman I finally recognize comes into view. Thick, long, dark hair, nearly black in color, tanned skin, and toned figu
re. This is Belle’s kid sister.
“That’s Letta,” I tell Abram. “Belle’s sister. Two years younger.”
Vante snatches the picture from my grasp and brings it close for inspection. “Two women and a kid we’re stalking. Even better,” he punishes, slapping my chest with the picture in his hand.
“The young girl clings to both of these women,” Abram informs. “I will say, I had assumed the child belonged to Letta. She’s with her more times than not. Gleb says he’s not seen her with the man at all.”
Gleb, being one of Vlad’s top henchmen. This is not what I need, another Russian knowing my fucking business.
Dismissing that, it’s the last picture I find what I’d hoped for.
My heart aches at the sight of Belle. Even after all these years, she’s as beautiful as I remember. She’s standing at the front door of the house, looking into the front yard. Her long dark hair blows in the breeze, her white gown with it, molding itself to her body. She hasn’t changed, hasn’t aged as I’d expected.
Abram glosses over my reaction. “A woman like her, beautiful, living in a house, upper-class, with servants at her beck and call…” He trails off as though I’m supposed to read his goddamn mind.
“Get on with it,” I press.
“She does not strike me as a woman who loves her life, Leglas. By all that matters, she appeared…” He pauses, and my brows lift in urgency. “Defeated.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“This means, in my opinion, Belle hasn’t been living. She’s been waiting.”
Vante, still lost and growing more agitated, sneers, “Waiting for what? What’s happening?”
“Fuck,” I hiss, running my hands through my hair, contemplating on how to move forward.
“Waiting for what?” Vante puts in, this time louder. “What the fuck is she waiting for?”
With Vante’s goddamn insistence, I nod to Abram to answer. He stands from his car and turns to me, but answers Vante. “My guess is that the women in that house are waiting for rescue.”
“Fuck!” Vante hisses, giving us his back.
“If I may, I know this is not what you’ve asked of me, but I’d like to offer my advice,” Abram prods.
“Why not?” Vante presses, then mumbles, “I mean, why wouldn’t we want advice on stalking? Why the fuck not?”
I tamper the urge to strangle the kid and do it slowly as Abram starts. “Let me look into this more. Let me find out if Belle works, if she volunteers. If she ever leaves the home. Surely she doesn’t know me. If you’d be all right with this, I could approach.”
I hand all the pictures back but one. I’m keeping the one of Belle. “Fuck, I don’t know.”
Abram accepts the photos, but keeps his eyes to the one I kept. “You know I’ve seen a lot of women hurt. I’ve protected many.” He points to my hand. “Pictures do not tell a story, Leglas.”
Turning to Vante, I decide now is as good a time as any to hit him with why I pulled him from his sleep. He stares back, curious, but concerned.
“All right, kid. You’re up,” I start, and his mouth falls open. “This is where you find out what the fuck.”
“I’m not in this, Leglas,” Vante instantly insists. “I don’t wanna know shit. No how. No way.”
“Vante, you wanted answers, I’m about to give them to you.”
“Nope,” he denies, crossing his arms over his chest. “I changed my mind. This meeting never fuckin’ happened.”
Abram’s expression sobers, delivering an abrupt and decisive glare at Vante. “It very well did happen.”
Vante’s eyes come back to mine. He puffs his chest and starts with, “Cricket—”
“Cricket’s done with me,” I say out loud to the first brother to know. Vante stops his struggle when realization dawns, and in a matter of seconds, a look of loss comes. Loss he feels for me. “She’s not mine, Vante. She’s his.”
His face pales. “What’d you say?”
Moving this along, I press, “You know that’s truth, I know that’s truth. Only people in the equation who don’t is them.”
His brows furrow. “You’re leavin’ Cricket?”
“I never had her.”
Vante takes in a deep breath. With one hand to his hip, the other moves to his forehead, rubbing over it to relieve the tension. “Jesus fuck. I went to bed last night thinking Fortnite with Ziah sounded like a solid plan for the morning. Instead, my brother, my VP, is bringin’ me in on some crusade to save a woman we don’t know needs savin’.”
“You’ll do this for me, and you’ll keep your mouth shut.”
Astonished, Vante queries again, “You’re givin’ Cricket up? For real? Does she know?”
“Jesus Christ, you can’t be the only one who doesn’t see what’s happening between those two.”
“Nothing’s happening! She’s been back, but she’s not back. I can’t be the only one to see she’s just moving through the motions,” he argues the truth.
Cricket isn’t completely herself, doing exactly as Vante says. However, I know if given the chance, if letting her heart trust in him again, Gypsy will take her on, giving her back to those who love her.
And after our talk last night, I’m certain he’s what she needs, no matter how bad of a taste I’m forced to swallow.
Abram clears his throat and feigns a cough, heavy and loud, breaking my gaze from Vante.
Resigning to the plan, the idea of Cricket and I ending, and the fact that Fortnite is off his day’s agenda, Vante looks to Abram, then to me, and shrugs.
He turns to walk away, and when we have his back, he states, “You two figure this shit out without me. I’m heading in to make my goddamn pancakes. Then, maybe I’ll shower before I put my head in the fuckin’ oven.”
Christ, but my brother is a dramatic little shit.
“Leglas,” Abram calls. “You trusted me enough to find Belle. What we found so far is surface.”
“You think there’s more?”
“I think if this woman matters as much as I believe she does, then it’s important you let me find out.”
“Whatever needs done, let me know.”
Watching Vante jogging up the steps to the front door, Abram lifts his chin. “Do you trust he’ll be all right?”
Vante is a good kid with a good heart. Because of this, if something is going down, and if Belle and Letta need rescued, I admit, “There’s no other brother here I would trust more.”
“So be it,” Abram concludes, opening the door to his ride. “Give me a few days, a week at the most. I’ll be in touch.”
I’d give my thanks, but by the time I look up from the picture in my hand, Abram is already gone.
Jesus fuck, my frayed patience has finally snapped.
Cricket is standing in her room, a white towel draped over her body. Her hair is wet, and her face is clear of the bandage she’s had on since she got back. With over a week passing, her bruises have started to fade. They’re no longer severe shades of purples and greens, but varying tones of yellows and pinks. The stitches under her eye have started to unravel on their own.
As a whole, Cricket’s getting better. Considering I just found out what I did, it’s no wonder Cricket’s coming back to herself.
Fuck me, but I’m pissed enough to strangle her myself.
Clutching the top of her towel, Cricket’s eyes widen, darting throughout the room.
“What are you doing?” she admonishes. I take a step toward her. She steps one back to avoid my advance.
“Ziah talked,” I tell her, my casual voice a lie. “Wanna know what he said?”
Her mouth gapes open. “Ziah talked?”
She doesn’t have clue where I spent my morning. That, or she’s in denial, and considering this is Cricket, anything penetrating in that fucked-up head of hers could be anyone’s guess.
Looking down at herself, she exhales, “Gypsy, honey, I don’t have any clothes on.”
The fact she calle
d me ‘honey’ should dissuade my point. But again, the fact my hands aren’t wrapped around her neck is a miracle in itself.
“You told me you were back in your room for good,” I state accusingly, pointing toward her bed. “I believed you.”
“Well, you should believe me,” she snaps. “Because I am back in my room. You should know. You’ve been in here as much as I have.”
This is mostly true. Mostly.
Last night I wasn’t.
The get-together that the girls scheduled hadn’t gone on late. Reason being, it was for Cricket, and understandably, she still tires easily. The girls spent their evening gabbing in the corner, talking their usual shit, giggling to the point of annoying.
The guys had been doing the same, but the men were louder, more vulgar, and indulged in more than a few cold ones.
I noticed Mia and Sunny surveying in the room, and at the same time, keeping careful watch on Cricket. I also noticed at one point Leglas had a woman on his lap, his hand between her legs, all but working her toward his room.
As badly as I wanted Cricket to see Leglas with his hands on another woman, especially one who was more his type, I also didn’t.
Mia and Sunny saw enough, though. Evidence of this was that they all but dragged Cricket away from the scene in progress. I figured they took her back to her room where they all settled in to finish girls’ night.
Thus, I didn’t follow.
I was trying to give Cricket space. Give her time with her girls. Time she needed to heal, and also time to come to terms that I’m truly home.
With her.
For good.
Instead of going to her room, I went to my own. I laid in my bed, staring at the ceiling, asking myself why I was giving her space after keeping myself away from her for so long.
This morning, over pancakes in the kitchen, Ziah took his time, and also his pleasure, to tell me that last night, he’d passed by Leglas’s room. He played off as though surprised that Cricket had been in there. The entire night. Never mind the fact he mentioned the door was wide open, and they were fully dressed over the bed sheets.
Fully dressed or not didn’t negate the fact that Cricket was in Leglas’s room, in his arms, sleeping soundly at his side. The notion I heard about this, not from Cricket herself, but a kid who has stressed in front of others that I do not deserve her only added to my irritation.
