by Ivy Black
A rueful smile crosses my face. It seems that everybody could see my situation more clearly than I could.
“Tell you what,” Mark says. “Let me get your things into the guest house, and I’ll let the kids get acquainted with one another. Missy, why don’t you take her into town and show her around. Catch up and all. I’ll have some dinner waiting for you when you get back.”
Missy gives him a quick kiss. “Have I told you lately how incredible you are?”
He shrugs. “I can never get tired of hearing that.”
“Thank you, Mark,” I say. “And I’m glad that Missy found such an amazing man to share her life with.”
He looks at Missy with the purest love I’ve ever seen before. “You ask me, I’d say I’m the lucky one.”
My heart melts as I watch them together, and I feel the wave of envy well up within me again.
***
“Mark is amazing. I am so happy for you, Missy. You deserve it.”
She reaches across the table and takes my hand, giving it a firm squeeze, as she looks me in the eye.
“So do you, Ash. You deserve love and happiness every bit as much as I do.”
A crooked grin crosses my lips. “I think that ship’s sailed. Maggie and I missed out, and I am no longer sure we get a second bite of that apple.”
“Stop it. Yes, you do. And now that you’re out of that godforsaken town, I have a feeling you’re going to find it,” she insists.
The sun is shining down on us from a sky scattered with white, fluffy clouds. It’s warm, but not too warm, and a breeze blows by us, carrying the scent of the ocean as well as the forest. It’s beautiful and it’s intoxicating.
Blue Rock Bay is definitely a modern town, but it’s got a quaint, small-town appeal to it. Harrison Avenue, which Missy says is the main artery through town, is lined with a variety of adorable mom-and-pop shops. The big box and chain stores are hidden discreetly in other, out-of-the way parts of town where they’re easily accessible, but not so easily seen.
It’s a really different dynamic back home. In Erwin, they fight to get the big box stores into town to begin with, then relegate the homey mom-and-pop shops to the far corners. They proudly display those big chain retailers to prove they’re a modern town and one it’s safe to invest in whereas this city seems to harken back to a simpler time and seems to have the confidence people will invest in it whether they have a Starbucks on every corner or not. The differences between Erwin and Blue Rock Bay are literally night and day.
We’re sitting on the patio, enjoying the sunshine, at a cute little boutique coffee house called Holy Beans. I watch the cars rolling up and down the street and I swear to God, this place looks like something out of 1950’s Americana. There’s just something so wholesome about this town. It seems like the perfect place to raise a family, and I get the idea that Cole and I could be really happy here.
“What do you think of our town?” she asks.
“I love it, Missy. I really love it.”
“Think you can build a home for you and Cole here? I, for one, would love to have you living close by again.”
“Well, I’m living in your guest house right now. Not sure how much closer I can get without Mark getting weird about it.”
She laughs. “Trust me when I say, the man will never get tired of being around beautiful women.”
“Well, it’s a good thing he’s got you to look at when he wakes up every single morning.”
“You’re so sweet,” she says with a smile.
I take a sip of my drink and sit back in my chair. “The first thing I need to do is find a job. Once I have some money coming in, I can pay you guys some rent and take the classes I need to take to get my certification.”
She waves me off. “You are not paying us rent.”
“I really am.”
“Uh-uh. You’re not.”
“Missy, I wouldn’t feel right. I’m living in your house—”
“Babe, all that matters to me is that you’re here, you get on your feet, and you find something, and somebody, who makes you happy.”
It would definitely help me get my counseling certifications faster to not be paying rent, but I was raised to never take handouts. I’m already indebted to Maggie for helping me flee Erwin, and to Missy for even letting me use her guest house. Taking more from them is something I don’t know that I can do.
“Ash, we’re family. You’re the sister I never had, and that’s all there is to it. You’re not paying us rent. You’re going to focus on doing what you need to do, and when this is all over and you’re on your feet, you can take Mark and I out for a nice dinner. With wine.”
The laugh bubbles out of my mouth as the tears race down my cheeks. The depth of love and gratitude I feel for both her and Maggie right now is profound. I honestly don’t know how I ever will repay them for what they’ve done for me and Cole. Above the financial considerations, what they’ve done is give me my life back. For the first time in years, I feel like I can actually breathe.
“So, do we have a deal?” she presses.
Wiping the tears from my face, I nod and give her a watery, wavering smile. “We have a deal.”
“Excellent. Then I may as well tell you, we’ll be going to Salvatore’s. They have the best food in town and a wine menu that’s to die for.”
“Anywhere you want to go. It’ll be on me.”
“I am going to hold you to that.”
“Please do,” I say.
As we sit there and I soak in the wonderful atmosphere and the love of a good friend, the sound of a low, deep rumbling fills my ears. I turn and see four men on Harleys slowly rolling by. They’re a rough and rugged looking bunch with long hair, dirty denim, and black leather vests with large patches on the back.
As the second pair riding side by side passes us, the man closest to our side of the street is looking at me from behind dark sunglasses. He’s a big guy, I can tell. His face is square, and he’s got a strong jawline that’s covered by a neatly trimmed beard that’s blacker than night, save for two small patches of white hair, one just below his nose, the other below his bottom lip. And unlike the guys he’s riding with, his is trimmed short and clean, which I find surprising.
He’s definitely looking at me though, because he’s turning his head as they roll by, and I feel my body responding. My pulse speeds up a bit, and there’s a growing warmth in the pit of my belly, that’s making other parts of my lower anatomy uncomfortably damp. He’s just got this primal energy about him, which exudes this sort of raw power that triggers a carnal excitement in me.
My God, I need to get laid.
Across the table from me, Missy is giggling. I whip my head around, focusing on her. My cheeks burn with a heat more intense than what’s flaring up inside of me right now, and I can’t keep the goofy grin off my face, feeling like a kid who got busted with her hand in the cookie jar.
“I totally saw that,” she mocks.
“You saw nothing.”
“Okay, I didn’t. Except that I totally did.”
I squeal with laughter. “Stop it.”
She sits back, her drink in her hand, and smiles, then takes a sip. The look of smug self-satisfaction on her face only fuels my embarrassment even more. Taking another drink, I wipe my mouth and sit up, trying to reclaim some semblance of my dignity. I clear my throat.
“Dark Pharaohs,” I say, recalling the patch on their vest as I desperately try to change the subject.
“They’re our local motorcycle club. Some people call them a gang. It’s like they’ve become the town mascot or something.”
“You sound like you don’t like them.”
She shrugs. “I don’t care one way or the other, honestly. I don’t think they’re anywhere near as bad as some people think they are. Nor do I think they’re the saints other people claim them to be. But the one thing I will say for them, is that we don’t have a drug or violence problem in this city, in large part because of them.”
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I cock my head. “How do you figure?”
“Because they’ve got a zero-tolerance policy. They see somebody dealing on the streets, they handle it.”
“And by handle it, you mean, they beat the snot out of them,” I say, a nervous laugh trickling out of my mouth.
She shrugs again. “All I can say is that our streets are clean and safe, and the Pharaohs are to thank for that. Honestly, they seem more reliable than the cops. As far as dating somebody I love, I’d really have to give that some thought. I mean, they are bikers, after all. They may not be doing any illegal stuff here in town, but who knows what they do beyond the city limits? My guess is that’s where they do their real business.”
It’s an interesting summation of this notorious biker club—the rough and tumble criminal sort but with a heart of gold. Not that she needs to worry, though. The last thing I intend to do is bring that sort of influence into Cole’s life. We ran across the country to get away from a bad man, there’s no way in hell I’m bringing another one in to replace him. Cole will only have good examples to follow from here on out.
“Well, that’s definitely not the sort of thing I want to bring around Cole. I want him to have positive role models in his life.”
But even as I speak the words, I can’t help but see that man’s face in my mind. And even though his eyes were hidden behind his blackout sunglasses, I could practically feel the intensity of his gaze sliding up and down my body, making me shudder. And not necessarily in a bad way.
Chapter Eight
Domino
Cosmo, Poe, Derek, and I roll to a bar at the end of Harrison called Ruby’s, but I can’t get my mind off that little stunner I spotted back at the coffeehouse. Sandy blonde hair just past her shoulders, brown eyes, milky skin that looked soft to the touch, and a petite frame that seemed to have curves in all the right places… the woman was fine. This is one of those times I’m glad to have the military training I did that allows me to notice the small details in the blink of an eye.
“You all right?” Derek shouts over the bikes to be heard.
I nod and flash him a thumbs-up. I was a little surprised Cosmo asked him to tag along, but I’m glad to have him here. Derek’s a good man to have if shit goes sideways. And given what we’re here to do, the probability of shit going sideways is extremely high.
Mike Dorsey is the owner/operator of Ruby’s after inheriting it from his own pops. The place has been in Blue Rock longer than any of us have been alive. Although it’s always been a fairly seedy dive bar, the place is an institution. The townies love it as do some of the tourists who roll through the city.
We pull into the lot and park our bikes. After taking off our gloves and helmets and stowing them in our saddlebags, we gather together. Cosmo is our road captain, so even Poe follows his orders out here, which means Derek and I are taking our cues from him as well. Obviously.
“Okay, so we’re looking for a guy called Rip. He’ll be in a blue ball cap with a blue flannel tied around his waist and a black Metallica t-shirt on. We’re not going in with guns blazing, boys,” Cosmo starts.
“Good thing. I didn’t bring one,” Poe says.
Cosmo looks at him incredulously. “How in the hell can you roll into a situation like this and not come strapped?”
“Not lookin’ to shoot anybody today. My experience is when a man’s got a gun on him, he tends to use it.”
He says the last and casts a critical eye at both Derek and me. We both grimace and pull our pieces, locking them away in our saddlebags. Poe gives us both a satisfied nod. Cosmo, on the other hand, is looking at us like we’re idiots.
“You guys are idiots,” he says, confirming what he was thinking.
“We don’t need a gun to do what we need to do here, bro,” Poe replies. “At least we shouldn’t. If we can’t take down one little crackhead with our hands, we shouldn’t be in the business of taking down crackheads. Especially, not within city limits. Besides, I don’t think Mike wants us shootin’ up his bar.”
Cosmo concedes the point with a nod. “All the same to you, I’m still goin’ in strapped. These crackheads always seem to have a gun on ’em.”
Nobody refutes the point because it’s true. Doesn’t matter though. We can’t get caught with a gun, and we certainly can’t shoot anybody. Not in town. Although our relationship with Sheriff Singer improved after we saved his daughter—Monk’s old lady—there’s only so much he’s willing to do for us. Covering it up if we kill somebody, even an asshole slinging dope in town limits, would most definitely not be one of those things.
Most of the people know we help keep the peace in Blue Rock. The shop owners all seem to appreciate that we deal with the troublemakers who haven’t gotten the memo and will call us when somebody steps out of line. That’s why we’re at Ruby’s. Mike gave us a call to let us know there’s a guy who’s been coming into his bar for the last week, quietly slinging dope, and asked us to handle it.
“Okay, we go in and observe first. We’re just four guys havin’ a beer until I say otherwise,” Cosmo tells us. “We want to make sure we have the right guy, and that he’s actually doing what Mike thinks he is. Not that I doubt him, but I want verification. We clear?”
The three of us nod in unison and it feels like we’re back in the military, getting our orders before an op. Our mission discipline kicks in and that familiar adrenaline rush starts to take over. I don’t know a single person who doesn’t get amped up before an op. And while this may not be the same as kicking in doors searching for Taliban fighters, there may be a very real threat beyond the doors to the bar all the same.
“Okay, let’s go.”
We follow Cosmo into the bar, and I let the door swing shut behind us. The bar is dim, likely to hide the fact that Mike doesn’t do a great job of sanitizing the place. The feel of something sticky on the bottom of my boots only reinforces that point as I walk to the bar. The wood-paneled walls are covered with old concert posters, American flags, and stickers from all over the country. There’s one wall that’s nothing but license plates from other states, and an old-fashioned juke box in the corner… although it’s routed through speakers that are inconspicuously hidden around the bar. Journey is currently playing to the half-filled bar.
There’s a long bar set against the wall to our right that’s chipped and nicked and usually gets a new coat of lacquer once every six months or so. Booths line the other three walls, and round tables that look a lot like the bar, are spread throughout the middle of the room. A doorway in the wall opposite the bar leads to a room with some pool tables and video games. I catch sight of the guy we’re looking for as he moves past the door. Giving Poe a nudge, I nod to the doorway.
“Target’s in the billiard room,” I say.
He nods and whispers to Cosmo. The four of us take a seat on the tall stools that front the bar and one of Mike’s girls, Jessie, a brunette wearing a halter top that accentuates her prodigious rack, drops bottles of beer in front of us. Mike is at the other end of the bar, on the phone, and gives us a nod.
“You boys are drinkin’ free today,” Jessie says.
Cosmo flashes her a grin. “We always drink free in here, darlin’.”
She gives him a wink and heads down to the other end of the bar. I take a long swallow of my beer and look over at Cosmo.
“So, how do we play this?” I ask.
He and Poe exchange a glance, some silent bit of communication passing between them. Both of them are wearing grins on their faces and turn back to me.
“Go try to score,” Poe says.
“Me?”
“We need to verify that he’s dealing. Best way to do that is to score from him,” Cosmo tells me.
“And we want to see how you perform under pressure,” Poe adds.
“What, you haven’t seen enough from me yet?” I ask.
Poe shrugs. “Life is always testing us in different ways. Consider this as us testing you in a different way as well.”
<
br /> I roll my eyes. “Fine.”
“You’ll finally be able to put those theater classes you took in high school to use,” Derek says.
“Shut the fuck up, Prospect.”
He gives me the finger, making me laugh. I take another swallow of beer and slam the bottle down on the bar. Getting off my stool, I walk to the doorway and step into the billiard room. Rip is there perched on the edge of one of the tables, talking on the phone. He looks over, but his eyes slide right off me. I lean against the wall, slipping my hands into my pockets, and wait for him to notice me. He finally looks up at me and I give him a nod.
“Yeah, lemme hit you back.”
He disconnects the call and slips the phone into his pocket. Rip stares at me for a long moment, sizing me up. He’s a short, lanky guy with acne-scarred cheeks, and limp, greasy hair. Rip doesn’t look exceptionally intelligent and I have to wonder what he’d be doing if he wasn’t out slinging dope. Probably flipping burgers.
“You Rip?” I ask.
“Who’s askin’?”
“Lookin’ for a taste of somethin’ good.”
“What makes you think I got what you’re lookin’ for?”
I shrug. “Word gets around.”
He licks his lips nervously and looks around. Rip looks unsure of me as he runs a hand through his hair, but the allure of money keeps him where he is rather than heading out the door like he should be doing. In his line of work, having a stranger roll up on you asking you to sell them some dope never ends well. These pricks are all the same… stupid.
“You a cop? Because by law, you gotta tell me if you’re a cop.”
Pretty sure that’s not how it works, but I pointedly look down at myself, at the way I’m dressed, then back up at him.
“Do I look like a cop? Seriously?”
“That’s what a cop would say.”
I snort and shake my head. “It’s what somebody who’s not a cop would say too, dumbass. Now, do you have some candy or not?”
He stares at me for a minute, swallowing hard. He’s clearly still on the fence about me, so I let out a long, annoyed breath.
