by Jayne Rylon
Trevon and Quinn intercepted her on the lawn, frowns and concern clouding their handsome faces. She couldn’t even breathe enough to explain the problem.
“What’s going on?” Trevon asked.
“Letter. From Immigration.” Devra thrust it out so he could read it and explain to Quinn, too.
“They’ve scheduled a mandatory interview with her.” Trevon scanned it again as if reading it a second time would change the ominous tone and sick feeling those words planted in her gut and probably his as well.
“But…you didn’t resubmit her green card application yet, did you?” Quinn double-checked, although they’d talked about their intended timeline the night before.
Trevon shook his head. “We almost have enough. A few more weeks, probably, before I’ll have the fee. I’m sorry.”
She hugged him in an attempt to smother his remorse, then said, “I know. We’re working on it. But…then, why? Why do they want to talk to me? Why not us together? Have we waited too long to apply? Did I break some rule we don’t know about?”
“Fuck! I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. The laws are complicated as fuck. As far as I know, there’s not a time limitation. But I’ve been wrong before.” Trevon started pacing, his brow furrowed as he read the letter again and again, just like she had.
No matter how much he stared at it, he wouldn’t find the answer to their questions. She hadn’t.
“It’s probably nothing, guys.” Quinn stepped between them and grabbed each of them by the wrist. He pulled them together and put his arms around them both. “I hate to see you freaking out like this over a stupid letter.”
“If something’s wrong…these days…” Trevon cursed. “They could send her home. Deport her. And we wouldn’t be able to do shit about it. People, like that fuckwad that came in here a few weeks ago, they’re stirring up misplaced aggression, and innocent survivors like Devra are paying the price. This is bad. Really bad.”
“Devra’s not going anywhere,” Quinn promised Trevon, his voice steely. Then he looked down at her. “You’re not going anywhere. Neither of you are.”
“I have a bad feeling about this, too,” Devra said around the lump in her throat that was threatening to cut off her breath. “Something’s not right.”
“Okay. Here’s what we’ll do: I’m going to talk to Alanso. He’s dealt with this stuff before. He’s from Cuba and his mom had…issues with the process. He knows a lot about this shit. Maybe he even knows of a lawyer we can hire.” Quinn was too busy finding a solution to notice Devra and Trevon’s faces falling.
“We can’t afford—” Devra began before Quinn cut her off with a kiss. It was desperate and hard, but it kept her from saying it.
“We can.” He gestured between the three of them. “You are my people now, like you keep saying that I’m yours. I will fight for you as hard as anyone else I consider my family. Like Roman fought for me. I’m going to call.”
Devra wanted to believe him. Except she knew that no matter how hard he battled, he couldn’t possibly win against the government or popular opinion. If they kicked her out, she’d have to go.
She’d lose Trevon, Quinn, her happy place, and—quite possibly—her life.
26
Quinn flew along the twisty road that linked Hot Rides and Hot Rods. He set a new personal best time for traveling the distance between the shops. Panic clawed at him. Things had been going so well, he should have known it couldn’t last.
He pulled up to the garage, skidding the last few feet, and jumped off his motorcycle practically before he’d come to a complete stop. With his stomach in knots, he strode into the shop and looked around frantically for his brother.
“Hey Quinnigans.” Nola smiled and meandered closer with her arms open for a hug.
He needed one, but he was afraid to take it in case he lost his shit. So he backed away and shook his head. “Where’s Roman?”
“He went for a ride with Carver. Probably getting a BJ on the side of the road somewhere. They should be back soon.” She started to catch on to his agitation. “Everything okay?”
“I don’t know.” He tugged on his hair. “Alanso then. I need Al.”
“He commandeered that empty room in the back corner for a welding lesson with Wren.” Nola winced. “Enter at your own risk. They were super geeked up and wearing all kinds of protective gear. They mentioned the threat of setting yourself on fire if you bug them.”
“It’s kind of an emergency.” At least it felt that way to him. He’d love to be wrong, though.
Nola frowned then. “Should I round everyone up?”
Quinn nodded. He needed his family. The only people who’d never left him.
“It’s going to be okay. Whatever it is.” Nola put her hand on his forearm and squeezed. “We’re here for you.”
Except it wasn’t himself he was most concerned about.
He jogged to the back room and through a shower of sparks. Wren Asbery, the best and finest welder in the entire state, was huddled over a piece of aluminum, face shield firmly in place as she mentored Alanso, who was practicing. Specialty welding—stainless and aluminum—was a skill they paid her very well for from time to time.
They’d talked about bringing someone in-house to be a dedicated resource but hadn’t found the right fit yet. If only Wren would take them up on their offer to come work for Hot Rods and Hot Rides, they wouldn’t have to spend time learning how to do it half as well as she did.
Quinn waved his arms. Wren noticed and tapped Alanso on the shoulder. He stopped and turned to figure out what had interrupted his lesson. They both stood upright when they saw Quinn standing there like the hot mess he was at that moment.
Wren had nearly a foot on Alanso in height, though she probably weighed less than the Hot Rods’ engine expert. Where Alanso was dark, thanks to his Cuban genes, Wren was like an iconic angel. Maybe one of those kind of scary avenging angels, though. She had long, platinum blond hair and eyes that were the lightest gray possible. They seemed to spear into Quinn as soon as she flipped up her face shield. “What’s wrong?”
Was it that obvious?
Alanso whipped off his mask as well. The smile that had crossed his face on seeing Quinn faded fast.
“I need a lawyer,” Quinn said. “A fucking good one.”
“What the hell did you do?” Alanso’s question came out dripping extra thick in his accent.
“It’s not for me. It’s for Devra.” Quinn took the letter from his pocket and handed it to Alanso. “She got this today and it’s scaring the shit out of us. Do you understand what could be happening?”
Alanso read it out loud so that Wren was up to speed, too. “I think you’re right, kid. You need a lawyer.”
“Hang on.” Wren’s lips twisted in disgust. “I think I can do one better than that. I know an ICE agent who’s assigned to this regional office. And he owes me about ten billion favors.”
“Sexual favors?” Alanso teased.
Wren smacked him on the back of his bald head. “Hardly.”
However, the way she said it…Quinn wasn’t sure she was telling the truth. He didn’t give a fuck if she slept with goats so long as she could help Devra. “Please call him. I’ll meet him anywhere, anytime. I need to know why she’s being summoned in like this and what we’re up against.”
Wren used her teeth to remove her fireproof gloves, then fished in the zipped pocket of her welding apron and withdrew her cellphone. For a man she didn’t sleep with, she sure had her agent friend on a pretty easy-to-access speed dial. In less than five seconds, she said, “Jordan, I need you out at Hot Rods on the southeast side of Middletown.”
She was quiet as the guy responded. Then she said, “Okay. See you in twenty.”
Quinn and Alanso looked at each other, then at the tall, classy-looking blonde woman.
“Those must have been like anal-level favors,” Alanso said with a laugh.
Wren sighed. “I wish it was something as simple as t
hat. Something he could take back or make right.”
“Sorry.” Alanso laid off her. They all had their histories around here.
To pass the time they tried to talk about shop stuff in an attempt to distract Quinn. But all that happened was that he ended up pacing the back room and telling Alanso, Wren, and anyone else who showed up about how awesome Devra and Trevon were and the cool things they’d been up to lately.
It had been a while since he’d come home and debriefed his friends.
The entire time he rambled, more and more of the Hot Rods filled the room until they were all there. Roman came running in right around the time Eli asked quietly, “When were you going to tell us you’ve fallen in love with Devra?”
He shrugged.
“Her husband, too?” Roman asked as he stepped closer and flung one arm around Quinn to draw him close.
He nodded.
“We’ll do everything we can to protect her, if it comes to that,” Sally promised. She herself had escaped a cult. And she’d gotten close to Devra over the past month or so. She knew what was at stake here.
Long before twenty minutes had passed, a slender man with close-cropped dark hair who was even taller than Wren marched up the driveway from an intentionally non-descript black, unmarked car. He flashed his badge at Holden, the first person he saw in the garage, and whipped off his mirrored sunglasses. “Agent Mikalski. I’m looking for Wren Asbery.”
“I’m here, Jordan,” she called to her…frenemy? Lover?
A man didn’t come running that quick unless he had some pretty strong feelings.
“Are you okay?” He scanned her from head to toe. His initial concern turned to blatant appreciation as he took in her rugged clothes, which contrasted with her appearance in every possible way.
“Fine. But him…That’s Quinn, and he’s got problems.” She pointed, then took the letter from him and crossed to Agent Mikalski. “The woman’s husband works for Quinn. She got this in the mail today. What does it mean?”
The agent glanced at the form letter and digested it faster than anyone else. Maybe he’d seen similar ones before. He frowned. “Let me make a few calls.”
Tom and Ms. Brown hovered protectively near Quinn while they waited for the results. He had chewed his nail nearly to the quick before Ms. Brown put her hand over his and guided it away from his mouth. Agent Mikalski came back into the room then, his face grim.
“Just say it,” Quinn told him. “Quick, before I puke.”
“It seems someone sent an anonymous tip to the immigration abuse and fraud email address reporting Devra.” He cleared his throat. “You want to see the picture they took of you two making out as evidence, or was it memorable enough that you don’t need the reminder?”
“Motherfucker!” Quinn knew exactly who it had been. That redneck piece of shit who’d gone on a rampage, spewing his prejudice all over the Hot Rides office.
“It gets worse. In addition to that, they filed a report that said she’s working without a permit at Hot Rides motorcycle shop. I assume that’s where you employ Mr. Russell?”
Quinn couldn’t hear anymore after that. His ears buzzed.
“Hey.” Roman guided him to a folding chair and shoved his head between his knees. “Take a deep breath. Jesus, you’re too big to catch if you pass out.”
When the stars faded from his vision, Quinn lifted his face toward the agent. “She isn’t working for Hot Rides, but she hangs out with us every day, so sometimes if the phone rings, she’ll grab it, or if a customer comes in but we’re busy in the garage she’ll say hello or ask them what they need. It’s instinct. It wasn’t a job or any shit like that.”
“I’m not going to sugarcoat this.” Agent Mikalski stared directly at him. “It looks bad.”
“She’s going to get taken away. From her husband. And me. And the life she’s building here. They’re going to send her back to the people and place that killed her father.” His mind reeled. Why hadn’t he considered the danger he was putting her in? “She’s going to suffer. Trevon will be crushed. The three of us will be destroyed. And it’s all my fault. Why do I always do this to the people I care about? I’m a fucking curse.”
“Quinn…” Tom tried to approach him carefully, as if he were a rabid animal. As he should, since Quinn was volatile and on edge.
“Can I ask…?” Agent Mikalski hesitated, looking toward Wren for guidance.
“You can speak freely around them,” she told him. “They’re like us.”
What the fuck did that mean? Quinn whipped his head toward Wren.
She pointed to Eli, Alanso, and Sally. “Those three are married. The rest are coupled up, but there’s more between them all. I’ve spent enough time here to see it clearly. They’re polyamorous and have a special bond like we—”
Wren snapped her mouth closed then and put her hands over it. Whatever it was that had been lost between her and Agent Mikalski gutted Quinn. He might be facing the same fate.
Agent Mikalski tried to reach for her. She wrenched away from his touch, so he dropped his hand. Poor bastard. “Anyway… Are you saying that you weren’t cheating on Mrs. Russell’s husband and that the three of you have an equal, loving partnership?”
“We’re working on it.” Quinn stood. He crossed his arms and spread his legs, daring the other guy to say something bad about it. “I love them. They love each other.”
No one mentioned the third, missing piece of that equation.
Did they love him? He wasn’t sure, but he hoped that if they didn’t yet, they might eventually.
“Then the best strategy you have is to be honest.” Agent Mikalski shrugged.
“Jordan, what are the odds of that working?” Wren looked like she wanted to curse him out or maybe punch him. Quinn had never seen her angry before. “People don’t understand. They judge. And terrible things like this happen because of it. Soul mates are torn apart.”
“I didn’t say it’s a good chance. I said it’s the best tactic,” Agent Mikalski shot her a glance full of compassion and longing. “Look, I can’t promise anything. Wren’s right, this is going to be a touchy situation. I’ll see who I can talk to and what shifts I can swap so I can be the agent who interviews Mrs. Russell. At the very least, I’ll try to make sure the person assigned to her case is someone who supports LGBTQ rights. Polyamory isn’t recognized or protected by the law, though. So it’s going to be a judgment call. Down to the day and the person and whatever other damning evidence they might have against Mrs. Russell by then. Let’s be honest, in the current political climate I’m not exactly a favorite among my fellow agents and bosses—some of whom were appointed by this administration. But I’ll do my best to help.”
“Thank you, Jordan,” Wren said softly. It seemed for a moment like she might reach out to him to touch his hand or hug him. Then she thought better of it, slapped the visor on her welding helmet down, and jerked her head toward whatever she’d been working on with Alanso, beckoning him over.
“Whatever you do,” Agent Mikalski told Quinn then. “The three of you have to have your shit figured out before that appointment. If there’s one bit of uncertainty or inconsistency to her story, she’ll be gone. No doubt. Make sure she knows how you feel about her and that it’s mutual, or you’ll have to abandon this plan and come up with something else, although that photo is pretty damning. I don’t know that there’s any other defense that has even the pathetic likelihood of working that this approach does.”
Quinn nodded. It was time to bare his heart to Devra and Trevon and figure out if they thought he was worth gambling their future on. Unfortunately, they’d already done so without realizing it.
“Another thing...” The agent stepped closer to Quinn and lowered his voice. “If you can help them out so they can file for her green card and change her status immediately that would be the best insurance you have against this ever happening again.”
“I will. Thank you.” Quinn shook the agent’s hand a little harder
than he’d intended. Adrenaline and terror still coursed through him. “Money was an issue, but I’ll take care of it. I’ll do anything for them.”
“Must be nice.” Agent Mikalski looked over Quinn’s shoulder at Wren with a sad smile, as if he was snapping a mental photo that he could take out later and look at in the dark of night. “Could you do something for me?”
“Of course.” Quinn didn’t care what request the agent made, he would see that it was done.
“Keep an eye out for Wren. Look after her like you would Mrs. Russell.” Agent Mikalski winced, then put his mirrored sunglasses on. “I hope you never find out, kid, what it’s like when you’re not able to do that for the one you love.”
“I swear I will. For that matter, I’ve been trying to hire her on at Hot Rides for a while now. I’ll try harder,” he promised.
“She’s worth twice whatever you offered her.” Agent Mikalski nodded, turned on his heel, then strode to his car. He hadn’t put those sunglasses on fast enough to hide the agony in his eyes from Quinn. But Quinn wouldn’t have needed to see it to feel it radiating off the man in painful waves.
Please God, don’t let that be me after Devra’s appointment.
27
“Hey Ollie, it’s Trevon. From Hot Rides.” He tried to sound casual when he felt anything but. “How’s it going?”
“Another day, another trash heap.” Ollie laughed. “What’s up?”
“The bike is ready. Did you have any bites?” Trevon said it fast, just got it out there so he couldn’t chicken out. Pop would understand. He’d loved Devra even if he met her for the first time every day.
“Sort of. I thought I had one guy on the hook. Except he could only come up with forty-eight grand cash,” Ollie said. “Don’t worry, though, it’s worth what you’re asking and then some. We’ll find the right person.”
“I don’t have that kind of time.” Trevon drew a deep breath, then said, “Get him on the phone. Tell him it’s a deal if he can put the money in my bank account before the end of business today.”
