Wind Therapy (Sacred Hearts MC Pacific Northwest Book 2)

by A. J. Downey

  I stretched, languidly, arms above my head, cock jutting out in front of me bobbing in the cooler air of my kitchen and her gaze went from startled to hungry as she slowly let her eyes wander the length of my body in an appreciative slow roam.

  “Want some sausage for breakfast?” I asked, grabbing myself and giving my dick a shake, once up, once down.

  She rolled her eyes and her hand dropped from where she’d pressed it between her breasts.

  “Want me to fry it up?” she asked, and my smile grew. There she was my sassy girl.

  “I’m good,” I declared, switching my grip on my junk to a protective one and she smirked.

  She went back to what she was doing, emptying packs, sorting clothes, and tossing odd bits of things into the washer’s barrel before finally closing the lid as it stopped spewing water and started to agitate.

  “Got any big plans for today?” she asked with a gusty sigh that edged on satisfaction for whatever accomplishments she’d made before I got out here to bug her.

  “Just one,” I said carefully, and she swept around the kitchen island to the dishwasher to unload it.

  “What’s that?” she asked, semi-distractedly opening the machine and rolling out the top rack.

  “Finishing our conversation from last night,” I said, leaning back up against the wall and crossing my arms, cock wilting, all arousal fled under the knowledge of how unpleasant this was about to get for her.

  She stiffened and a pair of glasses rattled rudely, a little sharply, as she handled them, the sound ringing loud in the space between us. I stiffened slightly, ready to dodge if she decided to launch one in my direction because I was going to have to be a dog with a bone here, and when you were actively hurting someone – even if it was ‘just’ emotionally, their behavior tended to lean toward unpredictable. I know I’d had my moments where I would have acted out, said, or done anything, just to get the pain to stop.

  I’d outgrown that shit a long time ago, but Marisol? She’d never really been given that sort of room to grow – so I balanced myself to move if I had to.

  She gave me a baleful look from across the kitchen and I looked back. I wouldn’t be swayed, and I telegraphed that with my own look that I shot back in her direction. It was a silent battle of wills that I won.

  “What about it?” she demanded curtly.

  “I need to know how to find him, babe,” I said softly and she turned away from me, rolling out the bottom rack of the dishwasher and plucking out the little bin meant for the silverware, turning, back still to me and pulling open the drawer.

  The clatter of the flatware as she tossed each piece in the drawer in the slot where it belonged was loud.

  “Can’t you just let it go?” she demanded, and I sighed.

  “No, baby. I can’t, and I won’t. This shit’s gone on long enough.”

  She stopped, shoulders hunching with her pain, hands gripping the edge of the counter as she fought down a sob. The strangled noise she made, heartbreaking.

  I stood still, didn’t move a muscle. Her tears were angry, and I was afraid if I touched her now, she could become volatile and I didn’t need her to suffer more guilt, more pain, when the storm passed.

  So, I waited her out some more, and I wasn’t disappointed.

  “All I ever wanted was for someone to do something,” she said turning around. “All I wanted was for someone, anyone, to make it stop.”

  “And no one did,” I said simply.

  “And no one did,” she echoed dully.

  “I’m sorry I showed up late to the party,” I said gently, and she shook her head, wiping her face beneath her eyes and sniffing hard.

  “It’s not that…” she said trailing off and fixed me with her honey-toned gaze. “It’s just… what’s the point?” she asked miserably.

  “Never too late for some street justice, baby. Especially since regular justice just chose to look the other way on you.”

  She bit her lips together and stared at me, mutely, for a real long time. All I could do was wait her out. Let her think it through for herself.

  “It’s just not that easy,” she said. “You know?”

  “For me it is,” I told her. “For you? Not so much.”

  “I don’t want anybody to get hurt,” she whispered.

  “I don’t get why you care,” I said honestly, shrugging the shoulder that wasn’t pressed to the wall. “None of these people gave a shit about you, so why are you trying so hard to protect them?”

  She turned her face, staring vacantly out the kitchen window out over the back, her gaze distant, her expression pinched with indecision as she tried to puzzle it out even for herself.

  “I stopped caring what happens to me a long time ago,” she murmured hollowly. “It doesn’t matter anyway… but Mateo. I’m always afraid of what they might do to him if—”

  “They ain’t gonna do shit,” I said and pushed off the wall. She jumped at the stormy darkness in my tone and jerked her head around in my direction, hugging herself. “I’m the Hades to your Persephone, babe. You just point and I’ll unleash hell.”

  She stared at me long and hard, the wheels whirring and clicking behind her beautiful eyes and I knew I had her. She was smart. It was only a matter of time before she came to the right conclusion – that she would make the right decision and trust me.

  I wasn’t going to leave it alone until she did, and yeah – I knew what kind of monster that made me. Still, some motherfuckers were going to pay. I just wanted my queen at my side, on my knee, as we watched it go down. I didn’t want to drive her further away, I wanted to bring her closer.

  She closed her eyes, and I held my breath. When she opened her mouth it was to say, “My cousin, my uncle’s son, works at an auto mechanic’s shop somewhere on this side of the mountains. I honestly don’t know where my uncle is, but my cousin? He might.”

  I felt a nasty little smile curve my lips.

  “Happen to know where the shop is?” I asked.

  She shook her head but said, “Let me make a call. I could maybe find out.”

  I nodded slowly.

  “You do that.”

  I didn’t like arguing with her. It didn’t feel good, but this? Working with her, having her on board? This felt much better. She and I stared at each other over the expanse of kitchen that separated us and, in some ways, it remained mere feet, in other ways it might as well have been a chasm.

  She eventually closed the gap, coming around the island and folding herself into my arms, pressing herself tightly into my front.

  “They’re still my family,” she whispered dully, and I knew what it was that tortured her then. I shook my head and kissed the top of hers, clutching her tightly.

  “They may be blood, my little zaychik, but they’re not family.” I sighed and closed my eyes. “We’re your family now.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Marisol…

  He dropped it for the time being but not before dropping a thermonuclear bomb in the middle of my heart first.

  We’re your family now… echoed over and over inside my head. His voice, those words, so very strong in their effect, grew fainter as the day wore on. Still, they resonated; picking up strength every time I looked at him and he looked at me.

  I cleaned, took care of the laundry, and generally moved around the house in a bit of a daze. I kept telling myself that this was nothing, that once again this was all talk and no action and that everything would be fine. I couldn’t convince myself of it, though. I knew, deep down, that the juggernaut was in motion and that fundamentally, things had shifted and changed. It was uncomfortable, but then again, change – true deep-seated change – always was.

  It was closer to noon, after I had showered and gotten dressed to complete my chores and to tackle a new project in the house that was getting the spare room sorted, when I realized just how serious he was about everything.

  I opened the bathroom door and he was there, dressed and holding the cellphone he
’d bought me in one hand. He held it out to me mutely, his indigo eyes weighted with the gravity of the situation, with a devastating seriousness in them that usually chilled me to the bone but this time, somehow, it did the opposite. It warmed me, and an excitement fizzed through me.

  Apparently, I was more on board with this idea of revenge than I even realized.

  I took the phone and he gave me a single nod, once down, his chin coming back up slowly, his eyes never leaving mine, and he was just as abruptly gone as he’d appeared on the other side of the door.

  I swallowed hard and leaned forward, peeking around the door frame at the dirty patches on the back of his vest, at the barbed wire wrapped sacred heart emblem on the back of it and I sighed.

  I knew exactly how that felt. My own heart squeezing down painfully as I stared at the shiny black screen of the phone in my hand.

  I swallowed hard and pressed the button, jumping when the thing lit up in my hand and closing my eyes for a second while I berated myself for being so dumb.

  Except I wasn’t dumb. He’d told me just to point and that he would unleash hell and I believed him. I knew in my heart of hearts that Maverick was far more dangerous than any physical weapon I had ever had the occasion to hold in my hand, because as long as I held it, I had control over it. Over the aim, over how it was used…

  If I pulled Maverick’s trigger, the outcome was wholly unpredictable. Unlike a gun where you pulled the trigger once and only one round fired, with Maverick it was more like opening a Pandora’s Box and like Pandora’s Box, whatever was let out wasn’t going back in.

  I opened my eyes and picked out the number I meant to call and let out a sigh, turning out the doorway to the bathroom and turning in the opposite direction of where Maverick had gone.

  I shut myself in the bedroom and mouth as dry as a bone, I made the call…

  “Si, who’s this?” That was Lupe, straight and to the point.

  “It’s me, Marisol,” I said, my accent naturally thickening any time I spoke English with one of my people from back home.

  She gave a haughty laugh and asked, “You get tired of the gringos? Want to come home?”

  “No, nothing like that,” I said and tried to tamp down my irritation. Lupe and I weren’t always friends – more like frenemies. Still, I was hoping she would help me out here. “I was hoping you knew the name of the shop Fernando works at out here, or where it’s at.”

  “Fernando?” she asked incredulously, and I hissed.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t talk to my cousin,” I said harshly. “I know you two had a thing!”

  She harrumphed and clicked her tongue on the other end of the line and demanded, “Why do you want to know?”

  Shit.

  “One of the gringo’s has a car, it’s acting up, I thought Fernando could use the work and maybe…” I trailed off hoping she would bite.

  “Maybe what?” she demanded, the superiority back in her tone. Fucking puta.

  “Okay,” I said exasperated, making it sound like I was giving in. “I’m a little homesick and I thought it might be nice to see some family – even if they do hate me.”

  She laughed and it was a sharp, jagged sound.

  “Mercutio’s Used Tire, it’s on some street called Aurora in the city. I can’t wait to hear how this goes over.” I could hear the eye roll in her voice, the sheer spite and malice abrasive through the line.

  “Gracias,” I told her and sighed.

  “You should have stayed here,” she said.

  “How is Mateo?” I asked and she scoffed.

  “If you were here, you would know,” she said as nasty as can be, and she hung up on me.

  I was going to punch her the next time I saw her, but I got what I needed.

  I sank down onto the edge of the bed and sighed.

  I could stop this. I could lie and say that she wouldn’t tell me – that I didn’t know, but her malicious oily tone with which she spoke to me grated on my last good nerve. All of them… all of them were complicit. Some through fear, others like Lupe were just that big of a cunt, and you know what?

  Fuck them. Fuck them all.

  I got up, gathered my newfound power around me like a cape, and went out into the hall, my traditional skirt swishing around my legs. It looked awkward paired with the random tee shirt I had on, but the laundry wasn’t finished, and I was comfortable as could be and not trying to impress anyone.

  I paused at the edge of the living room, Maverick at his cluttered glass desk, pecking at the keys of his laptop. I froze and said nothing, simply waiting for him to notice me as my doubts began to niggle at the edges of my weak resolve.

  This was no decision to be made for a petty sleight.

  There is nothing petty about anything any of them have done to you… a voice in the back of my head reminded me.

  “What’s up?” he asked without looking up.

  I drew in a deep slow breath. “His name is Fernando. He works at Mercutio’s Used Tire on Aurora.”

  Maverick looked up then and fixed me with his gaze, his expression stone, yet still pride managed to shine lightly from his being.

  “Okay,” he said. “Get dressed, let’s go.”

  “What?” I asked, alarmed.

  “I said, get dressed and we’ll go.” He leaned back in his seat and fixed me with a calm, unreadable look, his gaze roving over me slowly.

  “I…” I stopped before saying it. Before saying I don’t want to go. I didn’t, did I?

  I blinked and he said evenly, “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I can do it on my own.”

  I swallowed hard and said, “No, I’ll go, just let me get dressed, like you said…”

  He nodded carefully and I turned and went back down the hall to our room, shutting the door firmly and leaning against it, feeling like I was caught up on this runaway train.

  Something was being done… so why was I so resistant suddenly?

  I didn’t know. I was scared to analyze it too deeply. All I knew was that as awful as I was feeling, there was a part of me, deep down in the darkest pits, that was like yessss.

  It was confusing, but I couldn’t think about it. I needed to get dressed. We were going, and maybe if I was there, he wouldn’t have to hurt Fernando who was angry with me. Who believed I was a liar and whose loyalty, understandably, remained with his father?

  The ride took us north, through the underground tunnel, which was big, well-lit, white, and still so incredibly scary for some reason. There was this old movie with Sylvester Stallone about some kind of disaster in a tunnel like this, where the lights went out and people were trapped in their cars in the dark.

  I vaguely remember watching it with my papa when I was small, before Mateo. It had been a weekend and he had been drinking his michelada which was cerveza mixed with clamato. I thought it was disgusting, the smell was just blech… but I missed that smell now because it reminded me of him before my world was plunged into chaos and darkness.

  I was relieved when we burst out from the big tunnel, back under the wide blue skies with its faint brush strokes of high wispy white cloud. The sun was bright and a little punishing but the wind washing over us helped some with cooling us.

  The ride was beautiful, regardless of the close tunnel and the high and somewhat muggy heat. I mean, it was quite a bit more humid than I was used to here, but it wasn’t an oppressive humidity. Rather, where the moisture hung in the air and the wind blew over the water, it was just a little bit cooler. Nice, and it got nicer still as we made the approach to the Aurora Bridge. Trees shaded the roadway from the worst of the sun, their broad green leaves rustling in the summer wind, making it several degrees cooler. The short reprieve from the punishing rays of the sun welcome and utterly refreshing until we hit the narrow lanes of the bridge and the world opened exponentially to either side.

  The bridge took us over the Fremont Cut, a narrow body of water that was almost a roadway for boats and ships to come from the Puge
t Sound through the Ballard Locks to pass under the Aurora Bridge into Lake Union. I focused on our right, and the view through the suicide prevention bars of Lake Union, Gasworks Park was on the north end of the lake far down below with its rusting hulk of old machinery surrounded by manicured lawns. It looked particularly inviting and I wished we could go there, just me and Maverick, and sit on the big mound of grass built up there looking south across the lake at the Space Needle as the sun went down.

  It seemed much preferable to where we were heading and what we were doing now.

  In some ways, I hoped my cousin wasn’t there and this trip ended up being all for naught. Then maybe I could suggest going to the park and pretend none of this was even happening.

  Alas, it didn’t pan out that way. Nothing ever really did in my favor, so why I thought this would be any different was beyond me.

  We pulled into the left-hand turn lane in front of the used tire place somewhere past Green Lake but before 85th Street. The building was bright, obnoxiously, so. The main body of the building almost a traffic cone orange, the trim a blinding yellow around the windows, the door to the office and the single big garage bay door that was open on both ends, front and back, to have the ability to pull cars straight through.

  The garage bay with its lift was empty and Maverick pulled right in, my heart sinking when Fernando stood up from a dirty red machine in the corner where he was putting a tire onto a rim.

  Maverick cut the motor on the bike and leaned it, heeling down the kickstand while I jumped off.

  “We don’t got no motorcycle tires, mister. You should have called first,” Fernando called out to us and I pulled the glasses off from over my eyes and the bandana down from over my face. My cousin’s eyes went steely and he frowned.

  “Oh, now what the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “Her?” Maverick asked, groaning as he stood up. “She’s just along for the ride,” he said. “I’m the one who wants to talk to you.”

  “And what the fuck do you want?”

  Maverick yanked his red bandana down and took off his helmet, setting it off to the side behind him on the seat of his bike, which he’d just vacated.