Topaz: Book 8 of the Steel MC Montana Charter

by Michel Prince

  “So if that was the case how did you end up doing this job?”

  “Maybe I lost the boxes,” she said.

  “Sounds like you were set for college,” Doc replied. “Isn’t that a box?”

  “Maybe we could continue this conversation another time?” Topaz’s phone buzzed in her lap saving her from traveling down a dark road. Having let one tear drop today was more than her allotted amount.

  “Okay. When do you want to set up another video chat?” Doc asked.

  Topaz swiped her finger across the screen to answer the call before it went to voicemail. “Next week same day and time,” she offered but didn’t wait for a reply before disconnecting. “Nanna. Is everything okay?”

  “Oh, Sarah dear. Everything is fine. I was just wondering if you could get some more of that medicine I use for my asthma?”

  “Sure. I’ll go to the clinic today. I’m sure I’ll be able to get you some. I’ll mail them out right away.”

  “Oh, that would be great sweetie. Thank you.” Topaz talked to her Grandma for a few more minutes then hung up as the music got louder for the lunchtime guests.

  Her body was drained and she really hadn’t even spoken to Doc. A full session might hurt her, then again anything with her past was painful. Right now, she knew she was in a pain cycle and at some point, she wouldn’t be able to outrun it. Glancing at the clock, she knew she had about an hour before the mail would be scooped up from the post office. Strange, how she’d learned all the ins and outs of Turnabout Creek. This really had become her home. Roadkill was right, this wasn’t a place, it was her home.

  2

  Dallas “Onyx” King parked his motorcycle at the curb of the clinic. He needed to get a checkup from Red, whether he wanted to or not. Limping his way toward the front, he pulled opened the heavy glass door and walked inside.

  Preacher Girl sat behind the receptionist desk, the glow of the newly married on her smiling face.

  “Hey Preacher Girl. How ya doin’ today?”

  “I’m good, Onyx. You?” The sweet wife of Hack beamed back at him, still absently turning the ring on her left hand. She may be a kid, not quite drinking age, but the sweet Preacher Girl had endeared herself to him.

  “I’m good. I’m here for my appointment with Red.”

  “If you have a seat, we’ll get you back in a few.”

  He nodded and went to the chairs to sit. His leg was killing him, or what was left of it. His prosthetic needed to be adjusted or what he really feared was that he needed a new one and it had to be made. Waking up after he’d lost his leg had been one of the worst days of his life.

  “All I’m saying is you can’t dance to it, so what’s the point,” Dallas told his rookie partner as they turned to patrol the Compton neighborhood in LA. “Life is about finding joy.”

  “Is it now,” Officer Nettles replied in her usually droll manner.

  “Besides, you’re a kid, how do you even know who Pearl Jam and Nirvana are?”

  “Well I might not be old enough to have seen The Beatles in concert—”

  “Ouch,” he replied, holding his hand to his chest. “It’s the criminals that are supposed to fire on me, not my partner.”

  “I can respect the classics,” she replied.

  “The fact you call them classic hurts my soul,” he replied while keeping an eye out for any dangers only to see a relaxed day with kids playing a game of football in their yards. At least, they weren’t playing in the street. That concrete was rough on a kid trying to go out for an over thrown ball.

  “Yep, sorry your high school—”

  “Junior high, heck I might have been still in grade school when Kirk Cobain died,” he rebuffed trying to remember when Smells Like Teen Spirit came out. It wasn’t that he didn’t listen to grunge and the whole Seattle scene, but it couldn’t be a person’s only go to music. You’d throw your neck out with the prescribed dance. Forget metal, grunge is the real headbanging music.

  “Alright, what should I be listening to?” she asked.

  He turned on the radio spinning the dial. LA had a radio scene for sure. You could find anything and everything. Moving past the Spanish, talk radio, current hits he landed on K-Earth and their classic station. The first few beats were starting from The Jacksons hit Blame it on the Boogie.

  “Hey,” she said pointing to a box in the road and he pulled to the side. “We got debris.”

  “I got it,” he said turning up the song. “Now watch this. People will be coming out of houses to dance with me.”

  He shuffled his way toward the box, sliding and flipping from one side to the other. An older woman came out of her house laughing and clapping from her porch. He splayed his hands when they sang ‘sunshine’. Clapping on the beat as Nettles shook her head with a bright smile on her face.

  A slight breeze swooped down the street and the discarded box moved a bit before he could reach down and pick it up. All he could think later was it was his guardian angel flapping her wings because if he’d have bent over instead of performing a spin move, he would have died. Instead, a loud blast made his ears ring as the discarded box exploded sending shrapnel in every direction.

  Searing heat erupted up his left leg as he flew backward into the middle of the street. Head slamming on the hard pavement added stars to the ringing in his ears from the concussive blast. The song now a muffled beat in the distance as he rolled his head to see the woman gone from the porch and Nettles kneeling by his side. One hand on her radio, the other drawn with her gun swooping around the area as if someone was near and actually going to take credit for this.

  Red walked out with a chart in his hand. “Onyx. Come on in.”

  He got up and followed his club’s President and doctor to a waiting exam room. Onyx preferred seeing the man in a leather cut than his long white doc coat. Because who the hell wanted to see a doctor? Hell, anything in the medical profession had his stomach turning. Nurses, Physical therapy, the damn vampires that took his blood. Of course, now that Preacher Girl did that as well as being the receptionist, he tried to not call her that. No reason to piss off her husband, his SEAL training kept him on an even keel most days, most being the operative word when it came to the man and his wife being the tipping point.

  After sitting on the table, he hiked up his left pant leg. “This prosthetic has been bothering the leg lately. I was wondering if you could look at it?”

  “Boots and pants off,” Red ordered.

  “Awe, Hollywood lied when he said I was easy,” Onyx replied as he hopped down and immediately regretted the action as a shot of pain went from where his knee used to be through to his hip.

  “Are you more of a Pour Some Sugar on Me or Pony type of guy?” Red crossed his arms, his hard jaw clenching.

  “You’re nicer to real patients right?”

  “Bedside manner is for babies and women,” he replied.

  Onyx bent to get his boots off. He’d learned how to toe them off, even with his prosthetic, but right now, he wasn’t in the mood to add crying to his bitch like ways. Having been with the Steels for a little over a year, he understood why Hollywood invited him. They’d both been on the force in LA. Hollywood getting a coveted spot on SWAT. One he was also slated to join on when his leg was amputated and he chose cyber-crime to a disability check.

  At least technology helped with that, exceptions being made. Twenty years before, hell maybe even ten, he would have been given what little he had of a pension and sent on his way. He’d made a way, but he still missed the streets. Turnabout Creek and the Steels gave him that. Though he did think he might be the only black man in Montana, besides the two baby boys Braxton and Maddox the Coes had. The pace was slower, but the ability to fight, get into it the mix and more importantly, save women from violent relationships made it worth it. Onyx got back on the table in just his boxers.

  “Let’s see,” Red said.

  Once stable, Onyx removed the lower leg, the slight pop from the suction of his BK or, b
elow the knee limb wasn’t as loud as it had been in the past. Or maybe he’d gotten accustom to the thing. “Suppose you’re used to all these,” Onyx said grateful he hadn’t had to visit Red for his leg before now.

  “You know why they build medical schools by the VA?” Red asked as he sat on the rolling stool and began feeling and turning Onyx’s side.

  “Because medics like to allow students to practice IV’s on them?” he replied.

  “That too.” Red smirked, the man was a former medic who fast tracked through medical school. “Cheap labor. Med school students and residents need practical hours. I’ve seen every kind of prosthetic out there.”

  “Even the fancy running blades?” Onyx asked.

  “Yep, but not many of those.” Picking up the leg lying beside Onyx, Red turned it from side to side then messed with the gel liner. “First off, your leg seems angry and is a bit warmer than the other. I think you might have a slight infection in it.”

  “What do I have to do for that?” Onyx had never had an infection in his leg before. He had been doing excess riding and wondered if he’d irritated it to the point of getting the infection.

  “I’ll give you an antibiotic for it. If that doesn’t work I would suggest we find you an orthopedic, probably in Billings to refit you properly.” Red squished the gel liner between his fingers. “But I am gonna order you a new liner, unless you have a spare. This one seems a bit warn out.”

  Red passed it back to him and he refitted the sleeve on his stump. With Red’s assistance, he reattached his lower leg, the man helping more to check the fit before Onyx stood and made sure his balance and weight was right.

  “Okay, I can do that.” Onyx pulled his pants back on then sat to get his boots tied. “Should I stop riding my bike for a while until this is cleared up?”

  “No, I don’t think that’s necessary. I’m sure I don’t have any samples, so I’ll call in the prescription for you and we can try to get it in the afternoon run. Need anything for the pain?”

  “Nah, I’ll keep to the Tylenol and what not.”

  Red gave him a shrug unphased by the admission. The weed wasn’t Cali quality, but Free, Hollywood’s Ol’ Lady had a good source.

  They both walked out into the hallway when Topaz came in past reception.

  Onyx’s heart skipped a beat. With her, there was a mixture of emotions. His damn cock loved the look of her. There were many women on the compound that could make a man do a double take, but Topaz had a beauty to her, unmatched in his mind. Hollywood teased him about the woman all the time saying the only one you want is the one your stupid ass thinks you can’t have.

  It wasn’t stupid, it was years of seeing the look from people. Size, made him intimidating, at six-four, muscled with broad shoulders he cast a shadow. But his skin made him a threat. One he saw reflected in Topaz’s crystal eyes each time they crossed paths. He’d barely spoke to her in his time there, but the few times it’d been a fight, mixed with veiled accusations about some slight he’d done to her.

  Welcomed by most, Onyx told Hollywood he didn’t mind being the only chip in the cookie, but the more unwelcomed he felt when it came to this woman the more Cali was calling him home. If only her short pixie haircut and adorable dimples didn’t make her a man’s wet dream in the making. Or maybe, it was her moves on the pole. The way her back arched when her hand wrapped around the brass and she spun.

  “Red, any chance the sample man came?” Topaz approached them, avoiding eye contact with Onyx completely.

  “Sure. You know where they are,” Red said then passed off his chart and prescription order to Lil’ Mama in her office before heading to another room.

  Topaz continued her way toward the clinic storage.

  Cocking his head to the side, Onyx couldn’t resist and followed her. At some point, they had to come to an understanding because they didn’t have to be best friends, but they needed more than the light tolerance between them.

  First, she dug in the recycling and found a small box then she cleaned out the clinic’s sample supply of some purple discs. When Topaz caught sight of him in the doorway she snipped, “What are you doing, following me?”

  “I thought you had the hook-up for the good stuff, instead I see you’re just stealing supplies from the clinic and needy patients,” he replied with an arch to his eyebrow. “You gonna tell the mailman he’s transporting drugs?”

  Her face blushed and she turned toward him, chest out and though she wasn’t as busty as the other women, the look was still good. “Mind your own damn business. I’m getting these for my Nanna if you must know.”

  “Sure,” he replied and leaned on the doorjamb.

  “You’re not a cop anymore Onyx,” she said, cutting him deeper than she could possibly know. “So hop back on the Segway and go check out the happenings at the smoothie stand, Paul Blart.”

  “I was joking.” Onyx held his hands up in surrender and tried to smooth over the argument because it was his fault this time. They didn’t have that relationship, and in a way it was killing him. His dry wit got him through some sick and twisted situations as a cop and saved him from eating his gun when he woke up a limb short.

  Hollywood, Red and Hack walked up the hallway, stopping by the supply room.

  “You being robbed?” Hollywood asked with zero concern and the same dry wit that got them both past the hard nights as he peered in the room, “Hey Topaz, how are you doing?”

  “Just fine. Thanks for asking.” She turned to cut between the men. Escaping from the group.

  If Onyx was honest with himself, it was him she was running from with her box of drugs. Onyx regretted teasing her. She took him way too serious sometimes.

  “Breakroom.” Red pointed and the men finished their journey.

  Hack pulled out a chair and sat down. “Ladies, I have to talk to you.”

  Red chuckled, “I’ll lady you, Hack. What’s up?”

  Red and Hollywood pulled out chairs and sat down.

  Onyx leaned against the counter with his arms crossed.

  “Hollywood, thanks for coming straight here,” Hack said to Hollywood, even though the man was still dressed in his Sherriff browns.

  Wearing the leathers of the Steels still made Onyx, uneasy around his former brethren. Even though Hollywood wore the same when he was off duty. Too many biker club run-ins in LA had left a bad taste in his mouth.

  “I was checking out the Hard Road and what was going on in our area,” Hack opened the laptop he tended to have at the ready like most men have a gun.

  “What do you have for us?” Red asked.

  Onyx now wondered if he should be listening. An enforcer didn’t hold the rank any of these men did. Hack was a treasurer and founding member and Hollywood was sergeant at arms. Onyx had fast tracked to enforcer because of his relationship with Hollywood, but this seemed like an executive officer discussion.

  “Three rescues all at once. I was wondering if we can handle that many?”

  “Let’s see if we send a couple men to each, I think we can handle it,” Red answered. “Depends if we’re monitoring or getting involved.

  “I can go,” Onyx volunteered. “You and the LAPD both certified me as a first responder.”

  Having a dying rescue dropped on their doorstep Red decreed all rescues through the Hard Road website, a dark net domestic violence escape site, were to at least be monitored. Some men believe if I can’t have you then no one can, so even the best laid plans can break left and turn into a violent mess. Leaving dead and injured in their wake.

  “We’ll have church tonight and decide who’s going to do what.” Red stretched, then got up when his wife Roadkill waved a chart at him from the doorway.

  Topaz arranged the last of the Advair into the box with a few treats and cash rolled into a mini M&M container. The care package she put together for her Nanna was a regular practice. Using her insurance for some asthma meds, the samples she got from Red helped to bridge costs. Her grandma had been th
e only one who’d been there for her after the tragedy that sent her on a tailspin. Talking to Doc for ten minutes had her mind unearthing up shit it shouldn’t be and she wasn’t in the mood for feelings or emotions.

  Pulling up a chair to the desk in her room, she grabbed her old scrap book from high school. Flipping the pages right now brought up the good memories she held. Her finger kept running over the dried corsage from homecoming.

  Cheerleading was everything to her back then. She had even made captain in her senior year before everything went wrong. New Bend, Arkansas had been a perfect place to grow up, or so she thought. Much like the kids in Turnabout, fun, adventure and security. Dating the quarterback of the football team rounded out a life fit for a Hallmark movie, until it took a turn for the worse and became a Lifetime one.

  The picture from the dance had been turned around in her scrapbook. Unwilling to throw it away, but knowing she’d break down if she saw the smiling kids standing in the perfect pose. Closing her eyes, she floated back to high school, waiting at her locker trying to not be obvious in her want for him to walk down the hall and clasp her hand. Only Onyx swam in front of her eyes instead of her boyfriend, Byron, who had meant the world to her.

  The similarities between the two of them was uncanny. Every time she ran into Onyx she remembered Byron in high school. It was as if he’d grown up and his ghost was haunting her. The pain of it all could crush her completely if she didn’t try to make him the villain tormenting her life.

  Every time she ran into Onyx, did they have to have an argument? She hated that she was so rude to him. It was just the way it had to be. If she thought of him any other way, it would be bad. Even if Turnabout wasn’t New Bend, there were some things that are wrong, no matter how you try to excuse them. Her cousin’s words a warning before a harsh reality.

  She stood and sealed the package to her grandma. Printing on the front her Grandma’s name and address. No return address, she knew better. Where she lived was her business, not her family’s and they’d made it more than clear what would happen if she darkened their door.