by Deja Voss
Even if it is just Helena Anderson, the quiet girl who sat in the back of class and didn’t pay anyone the time of day.
She’s trying to help you, I think, and the hair on my arms stands up. She’s trying to help Esther. She’s here for a reason, and it’s not to take away the memory of the only woman I ever truly loved.
“You ride?” I ask, opening up the garage door.
“I can,” she says.
This is nothing, I remind myself over and over again as we head down the dirt road, cringing at her touch around my waist, not wanting to admit how good it feels to have a good woman by my side. A good woman? Shit, I don’t even know this girl.
“I’ll be back tonight,” she says. “What do you want for groceries?” For the last year, up until Josie, I’d just been surviving on odds and ends, beer and beef jerky, and whatever Trixie cooked for the boys. She loaded up my fridge when Josie came, but that stock was dwindling fast.
“I don’t care,” I say. “Stuff your sister likes.”
“Ranch dressing and marshmallow cereal it is,” she teases.
I don’t know if I’m supposed to hug her or hand her cash, but I guess that’s been a conundrum I’ve been having with women ever since Esther died. She just smiles and hops in her car, rolling down the window, waiting for me to say something.
“Be careful,” I say. “I know you’re going to talk to Desmond. I don’t trust that fucker. He’s always been off to me.” I know she has a bone to pick with him, but sending her off on her own is setting off alarm bells in my head. I don’t need another woman’s blood on my hands. I made a promise to myself to give Josie a better life than she had before, and her sister turning up dead isn’t part of that equation. “You want me to send one of the guys just in case?”
“What?” She laughs at the suggestion, seemingly amused. God she’s really changed since high school. This woman before me is fearless. “Brooks, I am the last person you have to worry about. Besides, he’s got a boner for me. My feminine wiles will be a lot more useful than beards and brass knuckles.”
I still don’t like it. I’ll send Micah or one of his security guys down after her to keep an eye out. If she’s going to be doing secret missions for the club, she’s going to need protection.
“Fine,” I say. “See you later?”
“Yeah, sure,” she says, turning the keys in her Jeep, Stevie Nicks belting out Gold Dust Woman through the speakers, one of Esther’s all-time favorite songs, and I have to just turn and walk away before I punch out the stereo. She turns the radio down and shouts after me. “You want my number or something in case Josie needs something?”
“I’ll know where to find you,” I yell over my shoulder, pacing towards the clubhouse. These little coincidences are killing me. These constant reminders are suffocating me. It’s not Helena’s responsibility to give Esther the dignity to rest in peace that she deserves. It’s mine. Mine and the club. The club who failed to protect her when she needed it the most.
“Go follow that Jeep,” I say to Micah as I slam the door to the boardroom behind me.
“Well hello to you, too, prez.” He rolls his eyes at me, and I know I deserve it.
“Sorry,” I say, taking my seat at the table. Everyone goes silent, pursing their lips, stroking their beards, eyes nervously darting around the room. “I just need a tail on her. She’s going to talk to Desmond, and I don’t trust him.”
“You scared he’s going to cop a feel or something?” Gavin laughs. “Is that why you kidnapped her sister?”
“Fuck you.”
I don’t know how he can even joke about stuff like this. Esther was his sister. Why he’s not feeling the same kind of pain I am burns me up inside. He’s been my best friend my whole life, but lately, I just want to punch his face. He wants me back to ‘normal,’ but he’s going to have to learn to accept this new normal.
“What color?” Micah asks, standing up from the table and grabbing his pistol from the locked box we keep right inside the doorway during church just in case things get heated.
“Red. She’s blonde. Five feet two inches? Give her some space, but don’t let her out of your sight.”
“Will do,” he says, shooting us all a salute before closing the door behind him.
“What’s on the agenda for the day, boss?” Gavin asks. He already knows the answer. I whip the green notebook out of my pocket and open it on the table.
“Five more to go,” I say, looking over the list of debts that need collected.
“Come on, chief,” Clutch, our treasurer, says. “We really don’t need to play this game for five grand. We’re good. We’re flush. There’s better things we can be doing with club resources than chasing around a bunch of low-level scumbags for pocket change.”
“It’s not five grand.” I pound my fist off the wooden table. “It’s a woman who gave her life for this club. Her whole life. Before she even knew any better. These people took from her because she was too kind to say no. She gave her last breath trying to help this club.” I feel the warmth in my face rising, my blood pulsing through that vein in my neck like it’s going to explode. “I don’t know why you’re not all out there pounding the streets every day trying to figure out what the hell happened to her. You sure as hell were quick to take the shit she left you in her will.”
“Don’t be like that,” Goob says, standing up from the table. “She was my sister, too. You don’t think this shit drives me fucking insane? She didn’t want us running around collecting debts for her, or she would’ve told us about it from the beginning. She never did anything without planning out everything down to the most minute detail. We’re looking in the wrong fucking place. If this is what you gotta do to help you sleep at night, by all means, brother, I’m behind you one-hundred percent, but don’t pin this on her. Don’t pin this on us.”
“Miles Ford,” I say, pretending like I didn’t just hear his desperate plea. He made perfect sense, but I don’t want to hear him. I just want to stick to my master plan. My routine. My ‘normal.’ “The junkyard guy.”
“Oh, I like Miles,” Tank whines. “He always hooks me up with parts. Can we just move on to the next one?”
“I’ll go myself,” I say. “If you guys aren’t on board, I don’t need any of you. You’re right, Goob. I can’t pin this shit on you. This is between me and Esther.”
“You know that’s not how this shit works,” Goob says. “We’re a team.”
“We’re just tired of watching you self-destruct, boy. Esther wouldn’t have wanted this, and you know it,” Heat says. “Esther wanted you to be happy. She wanted all of us to be…” I hear the catch in his voice, and I know the old man is having a hard time holding his shit together as much as I am. He knew Esther from the day she was born. He knew exactly what she went through. The old man has always been a father figure to all of us, and I take what he says seriously for the most part. In any other circumstance.
“Better I self-destruct than drag you all to hell with me,” I say with a shrug, standing up from the table. “You guys go play moonshiners or whatever you feel like doing. I’m going to the junkyard.”
I pick my pistol up out of the locked box and slide it into the waistband of my jeans.
“I guess I’m going to the junkyard, too,” Tank says. “But if he has any parts for a 1928 Harley BA, we’re taking those instead of the cash.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s gonna let you take whatever you want,” Goob laughs. “Come on, guys.”
“Five more to go, I guess,” Gavin says. The guys in the room collect their weapons and follow behind me. It feels good knowing my brothers have my back, even though I am fully aware that I’m being completely self-serving. They want to move on and honor Esther’s life. I want to hang out here and wallow in her death.
Either way, we’re going to go fuck shit up.
The roar of our bikes in the parking lot of the clubhouse is loud enough to wake the dead. I hope she can hear us. We’re going to fuck shi
t up for you, Esther, I think.
“You’re going to fuck shit up for you,” her voice rings through my ears.
CHAPTER 10
HELENA
I t doesn’t take long before I realize I’m being followed. I didn’t expect anything less from him. In the time of our short reunion, I can tell Brooks has kind of become a control freak. I guess that’s just what happens when you lose the one thing you want to protect more than anything in the world.
I don’t need his protection, though, as hot as the very thought makes me. I definitely don’t need a man to influence my decisions right now, even though I can’t deny the fact that everything about him makes me hot and bothered in all the wrong places. I wonder why I didn’t just become a club slut. Why I didn’t just accept my small-town life? Why I had to go so far off the rails of my roots and become a cop? Obviously, my decisions didn’t make me happy.
I’m definitely not better off than any of them. Shit, at this phase, I’m worse off.
The white van is riding my ass, and I slam on my brakes about three feet shy of the upcoming stop sign. Whoever it is lays on their horn, and I stick a middle finger out the window. I’ve never had a chaperone in my life. If Desmond is really that messed up, this obvious as fuck surveillance van is just going to make things more difficult on me.
I put the Jeep in park and get out of my car at the stop sign. There’s no cars around, and I walk right up to the white van. The man behind the wheel is a good-looking guy, he kind of reminds me of an older version of Gavin, his black hair sprinkled with salt and pepper gray, and the leather cut with the Mountain Misfits logo reads Micah.
“Dude,” I say. “I know you’re just following orders, but I need to take care of this on my own. This guy I’m going to see is a cop. He’s going to spot you from a mile away in that creeper van and get spooked.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, miss,” he says. “I’m just on my way to the dry cleaner. My suits were all dirty, so I had to wear this old thing.”
“How can you even keep a straight face?” I laugh. “Please, Micah? Park the van somewhere. If you’re really that worried, you can ride along with me. You gotta sit in the back, though. He can’t know you’re with me.”
“You sound like you know what you’re talking about,” he says. “I’m just supposed to be looking out. Just in case.” He parks his van on the side of the road and follows me to my Jeep. I open the door to the backseat and try to shove some of my stuff around to make room for him. “Are you living in this thing or what?”
“I’m in the process of moving,” I say. I laugh as he crams himself in between tote bags and he pulls a pile of clothes still on the hangers over his body, just his head peeking out. “Who are you, anyway?”
“I’m Micah,” he says. “Who are you?”
I can’t even look at this pile of clothing monster. It’s just too ridiculous. I am really flattered that Brooks sent backup, but now I feel like I’m on babysitting duty.
“I’m Helena,” I say. I get back in the driver’s side and continue down the road. I can’t stop stealing looks at him in the rearview mirror, partially because this is kind of fascinating, partially because he really is a hottie, even though he’s wearing my little black dress as a hat.
“You single?” he asks.
“Yeah. Are you?”
“No,” he says, point-blank. This guy really isn’t much of a conversationalist. I wonder what his girlfriend is like. Probably perfect. It seems like every girl who hangs out with these guys sets a standard of wild and free and dark perfection that I can’t wrap my nerdy brain around.
I park on the street in front of Desmond’s house. His parents both passed away years ago, and he had never moved out of their house to begin with, so it was only natural for him to continue living here. It’s a nice little ranch house, but I can tell by the way the weeds are growing up through the bricks in the driveway and the paint chipping on the shutters, he isn’t keeping up with it.
“Stay here,” I warn Micah. “I’m just going to go in here and talk to a friend. You don’t have anything to worry about.” Is that the truth? Kind of? I put on some bright pink lip gloss and spray dry shampoo in my hair, raking my fingers through it. I know I don’t have to go overboard, but I look like a girl who rolled off some biker’s couch and got in her car.
“This looks like serious business,” Micah says, laughing at my shim-sham primping routine. “Is that mascara?”
“No,” I say, slipping the black tube into the pocket of my jeans. “It’s pepper spray.”
I shoot him a wink as I open the car door and jump out. I smooth my t-shirt and shake out my hair one last time, and take a huge gulp of air as I walk up the driveway. His SUV is parked outside of the garage, and by the time I get to the front door I can hear the TV through the open window. I ring the doorbell, scoping out my surroundings in the process.
I can hear his footsteps plodding through the house. I see his fingers separate the cracks in the mini blinds. When he doesn’t immediately come to the door, I ring again.
I ring.
I knock.
I start to get pumped up, remembering why I’m here to begin with. This shady asshole has been lying to me for a year now. He deserves a piece of my mind. Not too much. Enough to leverage a little bit of information out of him, though.
“DESMOND!” I shout. “I know you’re in there! Answer the door before I jump through the window!” I’m not above busting out the screen if I have to.
“I’m coming,” I hear him whine. “Let me put some pants on… shit…”
I can deal with that excuse. Please put some pants on. Maybe even more than one pair. How about a full body snowsuit, even?
The door opens with a creek, and Desmond stands there, a sad frown on his freckled face, looking like a dog who’s about to get beaten. He’s disheveled, his traditional cop mustache looking a little less than tidy, and his face pocked with acne. He used to shave his head. Now, his intensely receding hairline is visible. I hope I haven’t aged as poorly as he did.
“What the fuck, Desmond,” I bark, pushing my way into his house. “Why did you lie to me about Josie? I thought you were my friend!”
“Helena, I can explain,” he says, reaching for my shoulder. He looks so much bigger than the last time I saw him, like he’s been putting in some serious time at the gym, his bicep damn near ripping his t-shirt at the sleeve. Maybe he’s even doing steroids. I don’t want to ask. There’s more important questions I need answers to.
“Can you explain how, when I rolled up to my dad’s, my sister look liked she’d been choked out and used as a punching bag?” Just thinking about the marks on her body makes my stomach do flip-flops.
I’m not even going into the kidnapping. I’m not even going into my dad’s condition.
“What?” he stammers. “Oh, Lena, I’m so sorry. Things have just been crazy around here. I don’t know what all you know, but…” he trails off as I jerk away from his grip.
“Why did you lie to me? I trusted you. I thought you were on my team. I thought you cared about me.” Hours. I’d spent hours on the phone with this asshole over the last year. His stories always seemed to collaborate with Josie’s, but I guess he could’ve just as easily been feeding me back information that I had already given to him. It did seem too good to be true. I’ve never been able to trust anyone my entire life, so why I would hitch my star to this pathetic wagon just makes realize how selfish I’ve been acting even more. More salt in those wounds.
“I swear, I’ve been keeping an eye out. This last month, though…” The reason why Desmond was never a good cop was because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He was so proud of his job, he’d be the guy at the local bar loudly bragging about his arrests to anyone who would listen. He had no filter. He didn’t understand privacy or discretion. I can tell by the way he’s shifting his weight back and forth from foot to foot, nervously biting on his lip, he’s about to sing like a bird ab
out whatever is going on in his life right now, and as much as I want to kick his ass for putting Josie in jeopardy and lying to me, I should probably try a different tactic.
“What’s wrong, Desmond?” I ask, tracing my fingers up his arm. “You look great. You look like you’re working out. You look healthy.” I lick my lips and smile at him, trying to hold back the urge to wretch. Maybe if I was just into abs and arms, he would look great. I know what’s behind his body, though. He isn’t the kind of man who commands respect, so he has to demand it. He’s just a sad little boy looking for someone to pay attention to him, and now he fucked off his only ally. I need to hold that sentiment in as deep as I possibly can, though.
“It’s all I can do, Lena. Everything is out of control right now. The gym is the only thing that keeps me out of the bar or off the stuff. I’m trying. I’m really trying.”
“Well that’s a shame,” I say. “I was kind of looking to party. I could go for a beer. Or maybe something harder.” I know I’m being evil. He let me down, though, and I’m going to poke holes in every single weakness of his I can fathom. It’s not just for Josie anymore. Brooks saved her. The least I can do is repay the favor by shaking him down for a little information.
He raises his eyebrows and smirks.
“I knew you’d come around,” he says. “I really shouldn’t, though. Obviously, you know I’m no longer on the force.”
“So what’s the big deal, then? Let’s get fucked-up and you can tell me all about it!”
His eyes are darting all over the room. He looks over his shoulder suspiciously. He opens the front door and looks outside and pulls it shut with a slam, locking it behind him.
“Little jumpy?” I ask.
“It’s nothin’,” he says. As much as I hate being locked in this house with him, I try to remind myself that it’s just Desmond. He wouldn’t hurt me. I feel the pepper spray in my pocket for reassurance. He starts tearing through a drawer in the living room end table until he fishes out a little wooden locked box. He runs down the hallway, and I hear a loud thump. Maybe I should’ve grabbed my pistol, too. He’s acting erratically, even for him.
