She finishes pouring my cup of coffee and moves on to the next table with her pad and pencil in hand. I listen to her make small chitchat with the customers behind me. They’re traveling from Utah. The good Mormons are looking for a place to stay outside of Los Angeles before they head further north up the coastline to more greener places. They don’t realize who they are talking to and what her background is. To them, she’s a decently friendly, if not rundown face, at a dive restaurant at the side of the highway.
A few minutes pass, and she makes the rounds back at my table. This time, she doesn’t stand so close, and she goes out of her way to not lean over to pour my coffee. The awkward pour splashes out the side of the white cup, staining the paper napkin underneath it.
“Your name’s Shannon, is it?” I ask her, ready to get this over with.
She clicks a nail to her name tag hanging on the corner of her vintage blue dress. “That’s me. Do I know you or something?”
“No. You don’t. But I’m here to ask you some questions.”
“I don’t talk to strangers unless they’re ordering something outside the dollar cup of coffee you’ve got there.”
“Fine. Order me up whatever you like. But then I’d appreciate you sitting down with me when you’ve got a break. It’s about your daughter.”
At the first mention of Del, her face changes. The blood drains from her skin, and her put-on smile disappears. Her brightly painted red lips quiver slightly as she asks quietly, “Del? You know where Del is?” She uses the red vinyl booth for support as she takes a step back.
“Yeah. I do.”
“Where? Tell me where the hell my daughter is.”
Something boils in her. She takes a seat across from me and places her hand on the tabletop, her fingers shaking. I have forgotten how long Del’s been with me now. Four or five weeks is an awfully long time to be without contact with someone you’re used to seeing every other day or so.
From what Del’s told me, she sees her mom often. They share dinners together and have movie nights out, and Del sometimes slips her some money to cover the bills waitressing at the diner won’t cover. Your dutiful daughter abandoning you like that is a major red flag – one that would, in most cases, mean calling the cops. But I’ve yet to hear a word from our detective friends about Del’s disappearance. That alone has got my wheels turning.
“She’s safe… for now.”
“I knew it. I knew when you walked in that you were trouble. Are you with Aaron? Did he take her?”
“Jacob… your ex-husband?” I lead her on.
“Yeah. Jacob. What’s that son of a bitch done to her? I thought we had a deal that he would keep the hell away from her when he left us. Now he’s back when she’s grown up? And what the fuck would he want with her? She’s nothing to him. Nothing!”
“You had a deal with him?”
“Of course I did! He abandoned us when she was a little girl. The idiot tried to fake his death, but he couldn’t run from me. When I found him, I made a deal that he would leave us alone in exchange for me being quiet about his whereabouts.”
I try to stop myself, but the words fall out before I can catch them: “He’s alive? Jacob’s alive?”
She pauses, sensing that her suspicion of me is off, if only slightly. It’s obvious that I didn’t know jack shit about Jacob or her relationship with him outside them being exes. The only information I’ve gotten from the intel folder was that their marriage was rocky and forbidden. She was the last person who saw him alive the night he vanished, but she had told all the boys in the Bad Devils that she knew nothing about his work or where he was hanging. She played the widow or the jilted spouse role to perfection, tricking even the best men on the job.
Shannon’s eyes peer into mine, looking me over again for a second or third time. This time, she was taking me all in, reviewing my tattoos and scars as if they may give me away. She shifts in her seat and scoots near the edge for a quick getaway should she need it.
“Who are you? Why are you here?”
“I’m here because I have your daughter, Delilah.” I hand her my phone. It’s already queued up to a picture I took of Del a couple of nights back. She’s smiling in it as she leans over the kitchen table. I figured when I took it that the look of her smiling and carefree would be the best proof I could possibly have that she wasn’t tied up in some desolate shack and starved to death.
She takes a long, scrutinizing look at the screen and then slides the phone back my way. “That doesn’t answer my questions. Who are you, and why are you here?”
“My name’s Race. I’m the new Vice President of the Bad Devils.”
Her voice goes soft as she leans in and replies, “Yes. I’ve heard about you. Some of the old guys, they still come in here after the meetings. They told me you’ve come from Colorado with the new president. Can’t say I’ll miss the old one; he was an asshole.”
“So I’m told. I’m assuming he didn’t give you what you deserved when your man left you and Del?”
“No. You’re right about that. They didn’t even pay the rent like they promised they would. After a few months, we were as good as homeless. No one would talk to me, let alone visit Del. After all my husband had given them, it was the least they could do…”
“Then what is this agreement?”
“I’ll tell you my secret if you tell me why the hell my daughter is back with you all, and why she hasn’t answered her phone or come by to see me if Jacob isn’t the one keeping her?”
“It’s because I gave her instructions not to contact anyone. She’s not safe. And frankly, I don’t think you are either depending on the story you’re about to tell me.”
“Safe? What do you mean?”
“You tell me. Why the hell haven’t you called the cops and reported your daughter missing? Why haven’t you come around asking for Bad Devils help finding her? And why did you automatically think that your ex had something to do with it when everyone around these territory lines thinks he’s ridden off into the sunset?”
Shannon’s stunned by my interrogation, practically glued to her seat. She inhales and exhales with a heavy sigh and then looks out towards the window. The sky’s turned dark in the short time I’ve been here. A rare storm’s about to come. I can feel the electricity in the air. Something tells me that she knows it too.
“Her dad didn’t die or was taken. All that was a cover. I swear to God, I had absolutely nothing to do with it though. Him leaving us out of the blue – that is the true story. He blindsided me as much as he hoodwinked the club. What I know, what I did get out of him, is that he was unhappy with the leadership and how they never elevated him up to the top. He thought his talents were better elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere? To another fucking club?” I ask in disbelief.
“Yeah. To another club. The Roadheads. The last I heard, he was the second in command. Just like you.”
“Shit,” I manage to get out. “You can’t be serious. Del’s the daughter of...”
“Roadhead leadership,” Shannon finishes my thoughts for me. “And from what I’ve heard, not only leadership but the leader – was elected a few months ago and he’s been riding hell all over the north section of your territory. Some of the girls that come in here have the Roadhead seal on them. I know they wouldn’t be traveling this far south if Jacob isn’t pushing them down into your area.”
I try to control myself, cool myself down, but the anger in me spills out as I slam my fist onto the table. The coffee splashes out of the cup again, and her pot nearly knocks itself over. I apologize under my breath, grabbing a few napkins to wipe up the mess.
“Then why Del? Why do you think he would want her now?” I finally ask.
“Is there reason to think he does?”
“Yeah. One morning, over a month ago now, I took two non-color riders down as they followed her from my motel to brunch with her friend.”
“Your motel room?” Her eyebrow lifts somewhat playfully.
<
br /> “Yeah. My motel room.” I try to ignore this detail and move on to the more important point. “A while later, her apartment was broken into. Nothing was taken. They were clearly waiting for her to come home from her shift. She called me, and I’ve had her ever since.”
“Jacob. It had to be him.”
“That’s what I’m figuring now that I’ve talked to you. You swear you haven’t heard from him? Haven’t seen him around town?”
“No. Not since – not since we made the agreement he would leave her be. That was over five or ten years ago now.”
“And did he give her up easily?”
She looks down at her folded hands and answers, “No. He was a good father – he loved his girl very much. Me... Well, I was worth giving up for that power. But she was a different story.” Shannon sighs heavily. “And that’s why I need to warn you, Race. You’re new around these parts, and not many men are around to remember his history. But her father, Jacob, he’s a man who gets what he wants. And he won’t stop until he does. So if she’s what he’s after, something’s coming for you, and I need you to be prepared. I can’t have anything happen to her. She’s my world.”
“I understand.” I reach for my wallet in my back pocket and grab a few bills. It’s more than enough to pay for the coffee and whatever she ordered me earlier. The urge to get the hell out of here is calling me back to the apartment.
But before I can stand, Shannon reaches for me and takes me by the arm. Her voice breaks as she stares at me: “I have to ask you, Race. Can you protect her?”
“I’m gonna do my best, Shannon. She’s safe where she is, but I’ll move her if need be.”
“Let me see her then.”
“I can’t do that. The more you know, the more of a liability you are.”
“Please, Race. Consider it. A girl can’t go without her mom for long, no matter how bad of a mother I may have been. I have the right to see her in case… in case something goes down and you’re not able to keep Jacob and the Roadheads from her.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I reply sternly. “Not on my watch. I will protect her no matter what the cost.”
She suddenly gets up to stand, looking down at me from on high. She smiles slightly. “Just think about it. And, if anything, tell her I love her.”
“I’ll do that, ma’am.”
She nods a few times, clearly holding back words, but the diner’s filled up now. The dinner rush is here; there’s no time to be emotional or play any more games. This is her life, as sad as it may be. But her world, like she said, is back in my home waiting for answers on who she is.
And who she isn’t.
Chapter Thirteen
Delilah
My hands shake violently as I grasp onto the tiny white stick. I’ve seen these kinds of commercials before. The woman stares at the test. A minute passes, and then, she grins from ear to ear. Her husband joins her as they come together in a loving embrace. And the next thing you know, there’s a nursery painted in some non-gender-specific pastel color with a brand-new crib sitting in the middle of the room. Outside, the sun shines on the happy home, and the couple starts its “happily ever after” as a new family.
I look out the bathroom door to the rest of the empty apartment, and I know I won’t find anything close to that idyllic picture. For me, there will be no doting husband waiting anxiously by my side. The bedroom I share with Race can barely hold the queen-size bed and a dresser. There’s absolutely no room for a crib or a high chair, let alone the toys, the mounds of diapers, and other baby gear that piles up in my mind.
And there is no outdoor space for a child here. There isn’t even a space for a kid to play. Outside these doors is an open drug den and club bar where strippers regularly perform, and hookers cook dinner for the boys working the night shift.
This is not a place for a baby. It certainly isn’t a place for my baby. Or Race’s, for that matter, if it’s his.
If. No. No way. It’s definitely his. It has to be. He’s the only person I’ve been with in months, and he’s the only person I’ve let come inside of me without any extra protection. I thought the pill would protect me from this, but with all the changes going on in my life, I admit that I’ve missed a few days here and there. And there was that one week that I skipped altogether. Could it have been then?
I pull out the calendar on my phone as I desperately try to remember the last time I’ve had my period. I’ve been here for over three months now, but I slept with him that other night as well. I was always great at tracking my cycles so I could plan ahead, but the last mark was nearly four months ago. I can’t be that far along!
I gasp as I look at my stomach. It’s slightly paunchy, but it isn’t round or protruding. I’ve been eating like crap lately. It has to be that. I can’t be…
***
It’s a few hours later, and Ariel is taking me to my doctor’s appointment. She nearly blew my head off earlier when I texted her a picture of the positive tests I took – all eight of them. She insisted on us going to hers, a female doctor, and when I sheepishly told them when my last known period was, the doctor practically begged me to come in first thing so she could check the heartbeat and growth and get me on the right vitamins.
My heart dropped hearing the doctor’s over-the-phone instructions. I should have been more careful, or at least more observant. All this neglect, the occasional drinks with the boys at dinner, and the short bike rides with Race, they could have affected whatever’s inside of me.
The doctor does little to take away my anxiety. She lays me down on a cold exam table and adds some goopy substance to my stomach. Ariel leans closer to the machine as we wait for the sound the doctor tells us will sound like a drum in water. When she finally finds it, it reminds me more of an unstoppable freight train beating faster and faster with the rhythm of my own heart.
The doctor gives me an insane amount of instructions and warnings. There are foods I am not supposed to eat, vitamins I’m supposed to take, exercises I’m supposed to do, and classes I’m supposed to sign up for. Maybe guessing my situation, she avoids mentioning my husband or boyfriend and gives me a pamphlet for a single mom group with the rest of the stacks of informational flyers on baby proofing and labor and delivery policies. Ariel takes them all for me, stuffing them in my purse, as I struggle to find my feet again.
“Based on the scans, you’ve got about five months left,” the doctor says as she takes my hand in hers. “You’re well into your second trimester, so it’s important you take good care of yourself. Eat right, drink water, and try to keep everything low stress.” She eyes me as she adds, “If it gets to be too much, you have a little time – but not much.”
I don’t understand what she means by “little time” until I’ve forced Ariel to pull over the side of the highway so I can vomit in the field. I couldn’t do what the doctor was implying. I couldn’t live with myself knowing that my mom managed to raise me alone despite all the circumstances against her. I get that it’s the doctor’s job to tell me these things, to give me options, but this is… The thought of getting rid of my problem instead of facing it head on is unthinkable. No – I have to tell Race.
I spend the rest of the night in a dark haze. Ariel buzzes around me with her ideas for baby names and her optimistic thoughts on where we could put one of those bassinet things (which, she reassures me, will only take up a quarter of the space of a crib). There’s talk of if it would be better off being a boy or a girl, and what hospital she’s heard is best for giving birth.
The only thing she doesn’t ramble on about is just how I am going to break it to Race. I stare at the locked door, listening to the faint sounds outside. Whenever I hear boots treading on the stairs, my breath is sucked out of my lungs until it fades away.
Ariel leaves after dinner. I’m sure she doesn’t want to be around for what’s next. As she goes, she takes my hands in hers and says, with some mustered certainty, “It’s going to be okay, Del. You know what
– it’s going to be better than okay! We’re gonna figure this out, and that baby is going to be the luckiest kid this side of the world. I promise you.” Her large, doll-like eyes well with tears. Maybe she needs to say it to make herself believe it, but there’s earnestness there too. And like that, I feel like a small, terrible weight has been lifted just slightly off of me.
But that weight doesn’t disappear forever. It comes back in full force a half-hour later when Race charges in. He’s covered in road dust and grime. His leather jacket reeks of cigarettes and who knows what else. And he has to rake his hands through his slick hair to look any bit presentable at the table I sit at. Stone-faced and silent, I try to acknowledge him. I muster a twitch in my lip, but I can't bear to look him in the eyes.
I vaguely hear him ask me, “What the hell is wrong with you? The guards said Ariel took you to the doctor’s today.” He pauses before adding, “You feeling okay?”
Possessive_A Bad Boy Second Chance Motorcycle Club Romance Page 58
