by Marata Eros
He looks like a little angel.
Charlie doesn't remember his mom. She died when he was one.
I make sure I tell him who she was.
Anna would be twenty-seven if she’d lived. Now there are only memories. I keep them alive for Charlie.
“Did Mommy see my text?” His voice is as light as my heart is heavy.
“She saw it. Mommy has a special TV in heaven.” I swallow past the lump in my throat.
“Rose?”
We turn, and I let Charlie slip down. He slides his little hand inside mine as I turn to smile at his teacher.
“Hi, Carla.”
Her warm smile never changes. I've known her a long time.
She was a friend of Anna's.
I picked this district so Charlie could be with someone else who loves him. Open enrollment, it's called. I'm grateful.
“Here,” Carla hands me the cell. The state has provided a cell for Charlie as a weird little-known contingency.
I fought for the mandate. He is the first child of this age to have one. Children who suffer the death of a parent through violence have more rights.
All children whose parents die should have rights.
But I hadn't uttered objections to Charlie’s special treatment. Charlie can text me when he wants or whenever he needs. He doesn't know very many words, but the pictures are great. And soon, he'll be texting what he learns.
I can't wait.
I lift the little cell. “Thanks.”
Carla grins, ruffling Charlie's hair. “No problem.”
“Mommy saw my text in heaven with her TV,” he exclaims in excitement. “My Lego castle!”
Castle. I smile. I guess to Charlie, it must seem like one.
A tremulous smile takes the place of the big grin Carla wore a minute ago. She fingers the ends of Charlie's hair, which tries to spring back in uncooperative curls. That was from Anna; my hair is only wavy.
I suck in a shaky breath as my eyes meet Carla's. “I'm sure she is so proud of you.”
He puffs out his little chest. “Yeah!” He pumps his fist, running for the Smartcar.
“Slow down, partner!” I yell after him with a chuckle.
He doesn't of course, then jerks open the car door and hops inside.
“Lots of energy,” Carla says.
“Yeah,” I agree with a tired little sigh.
We stand in awkward silence. A breeze comes up just then, undoing more of my hair and lifting Carla's tangled frizz around her head like a dark halo.
“Do you need me on Tuesday?” she asks quietly.
I need something. But I shake my head. “No,” I answer in a low voice. “You've got Charlie.”
My face jerks up, eyes boring into hers, waiting for a verbal confirmation.
“Always,” she answers immediately.
My shoulders loosen.
Carla opens her arms, and I move into them.
She squeezes me hard. “For Anna.”
I nod because I can't speak.
*
The meat sizzles as I churn the last bit of ground beef in a frying pan.
Charlie crosses his arms across his chest. “I don't like enchiladas.”
I know that look.
“I'll put extra cheese in.” I raise my eyebrows, waiting for the young prince to decide.
He seems to consider my idea, his little fingers cupping his chin. God, he's cute.
I pull out my trump card. “You can't go to Papa and Nana's unless you eat your supper.”
Guilt pangs riot inside me, but I hold the course, sticking to my tone like glue. He's got to eat, and he needs to visit his extended family.
My parents have been really good. They take Charlie every Friday night, and he visits them three nights a week while I exercise. I get Saturday to myself too. Actually, I'm thinking they want me to move on, have some kind of a life outside of the tragedy of four years ago.
The courts would have loved to give Charlie to them, but they're too old.
Anna and I were dream children. We came after doctors told Mom she couldn't have kids. She was forty-two, and dad was forty-four. What does medicine know about miracles?
Anna was born first.
We’d had a picture-perfect childhood from parents who thought they would never be blessed with a family.
Then tragedy came and wrecked everything.
But not before the gift of Charlie. Mom and Dad help, but the burden of a young boy when they're almost seventy isn't fair.
Besides, I wanted Charlie.
And he wants me. I see love in the shining gazes Charlie gives when he thinks I'm not looking, and the ones when I am.
He caves. “Okay, Aunt Rose.”
I nod. “Good choice, sweet pea.”
Charlie scrunches his face. “Sweet pea is a baby's name.” He frowns.
“I call you that because you smell sweet,” I say, folding the meat, cheese, and beans into a tiny tortilla.
I pretend I'm considering something, humming a little tune. “I could call you ‘dirty worm’ instead?” I nod as if I'm agreeing with myself. “Yes,” I say with finality.
I bring his plate to the table, set it down in front of him, and slide into the seat opposite him.
I plop my chin in my hand. “Eat your supper, dirty worm.” I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
Charlie purses his lips.
I smile.
He starts cracking up, and a laugh bursts out of me too.
When he can breathe again, he says, “I think sweet pea's okay. For now.”
I nod solemnly.
“For now,” I agree, thinking about how sad it'll be when I stop calling him that.
*
“Hey, Dad.” I kiss Dad on the cheek, and he wraps me in a bear hug.
“Princess,” he says with a wink and bends over, opening his arms wide. Charlie jumps into them.
“Dad,” I chastise, “your back!”
He nods. “That'll be the day when I can't pick up my grandson, right, Sir Charles?”
Charlie nods in awe. Dad is very formal with him, always calling him Sir Charles and treating him with the utmost respect.
I love Dad. It's so great Charlie has a positive male role model.
I hate the alternative.
“He's had supper?” Mom asks.
I get my eyes from her. My parents still look good for their age. Mom plays tennis at the local fitness club, and they golf together. Thinking about them golfing brings a rueful smile to my face.
Dad's been known to toss a golf club when he misses a shot. I must get some of my fire from him.
I answer Mom, “Yeah, enchiladas.”
She taps Charlie on the nose. “Did Rosie give you extra cheese?”
“Yeah, but I had the squishy beans,” he says, pulling a long-suffering face as Mom carries him away.
“Protein!” I call out loudly as they disappear into the kitchen.
Dad chuckles. “Squishy, huh?”
I nod. “Yeah. He's a texture kid. If it has the wrong ʻfeel,ʼ he's not a fan.”
“I understand completely,” he says with gravity, and I shoot Dad a smile. Two peas in a pod.
Dad gives me a head-to-toe look. “Wish you weren't going running. It's almost dark.” His gaze moves to the sidelights that flank the door. My parents live in a modest split level house from the late 70s at the end of one of the many cul-de-sacs of Scenic Hill. The park is at the foothills of the development.
I've been going to the park since I was a kid. I’m not stopping now. Drake won't control me through fear. I'm not Anna.
I don't say that to Dad. It would be cruel.
Instead, I lean forward, rising to my tiptoes, and kiss him on the cheek. “I'll be careful, Daddy.”
His lips flatten, every bit of how he feels in the tenseness of his body.
But he lets me go.
5
Noose
Vince sits at the head of the table, fingering a medallion.
<
br /> The gold circle looks like one of those cheap-ass 1970 holdovers from when dudes wore the open collar and had five chains to show their wealth or wow the chicks.
I know better.
It's a solid-gold medallion from a war buddy who didn't make it. Vince earned a purple heart after that little showdown. He's a deliberate dude-and the closest I've come to a dad in my life. My old man split when I was a toddler.
I just had my whore of a mom.
She meant well, but using was more important than taking care of some kid with no man around. And if she didn't have money for her drugs, there was always her body.
So the state took over.
Foster care was a carousel of hell. I learned a lot about the absence of mercy. Being a Navy Seal taught me how to be a man, though. Real men are selfless. That's being brave. Not acting tough or feigning shit.
Doing the right thing for others when there's no audience because you believe it—that's real.
Vince keeps that system going in the club. We don't want men who pretend. We don't want citizens. They don't get it.
They don't get us.
“Money in the bank?” Vince opens church.
“Yup,” I reply instantly.
“Problems?” His intense eyes shoot first at me then at Snare. New bank, new dog on a leash. Solid question.
“No. No problems,” Snare confirms.
A flash of the Chaos Rider slides through my head.
I must make some sound, because Vince turns sharply in my direction, eyebrows rising.
I blow out an exhale. “Saw a Chaos Rider going in as we were coming out.” I shrug. I just want a record of it. That might mean something; it might mean jack.
Vince narrows his eyes. “Don't like it.”
My gut tightens. That was my feeling. I sure don't like hearing it from Vince.
“Coincidence,” Snare offers, throwing out his palm.
A few others murmur agreement.
Vince plants his elbows on the solid-wood table that stretches nearly the length of the room. “Coincidence is for assholes.”
Snare barks out a laugh. “True. But the dude wasn't hiding his presence. And he came in after us.” He folds his arm, lifting a palm off his tatted bicep.
My heart rate does a little speeding.
Rose.
Vince leans back with a nonchalance I know he's not feeling. “I don't like a Chaos sniffing around where our money's held.”
“It's not near everything we have. Peanuts, Viper,” our Treasury officer says.
Vince drums his fingers on the polished wood. “I still don't like him being there with a new bank. Hell, that pencil dick Ned—he'd suck his own cock if he thought it'd get him more money.”
Everyone laughs.
The image of Ned putting his hand on Rose rises in my mind.
The sound of a pen snapping in my hand wakes me up. Lariat, Snare, and Vince look at me expectantly.
“Holding out on us, Noose?” Vince asks quietly, taking in my tension.
Fuck. Need to come clean. “I've got a hard-on for this girl.” Enough of a boner I know everything about her now.
Snare plunges his forehead into his palm.
Vince throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, that's rich. And?”
I shift my weight.
Vince's smile dies on his face, dark eyes glittering at me. “We're not talking pussies here, Noose. We're talking green and MC.”
I give a miserable nod. “Yeah, gotcha.”
A beat of silence drums between us.
He can't contain his surprise. “Spit it out, son.”
I look at Vince, tearing the soft hair band out and raking my long hair back. Strands that are still damp from the shower stick to my fingers. I flick them off with an irritated jerk. “The chick that took the money…”
Vince's eyebrows knot. “Yeah? What, a teller?” He gives Snare a hard glance, eyebrows glued to his hairline.
God love Snare—he doesn't say a word.
“Yeah.”
“What do I do with this?” Vince asks, meaty palms out at his side. “Am I pulling hen's teeth here?” He slaps his palms on the wood table, and the sound echoes.
“I looked into her.”
“Just fuck her, and get it out of your system, Noose.” His voice is even, the simplicity of his suggestion is the therapy I want.
If only I could.
Smoking’s not allowed at church, but damn, do I want a drag for this confessional. “She's got a tie to Chaos,” I admit slowly.
Talking erupts.
“Fucking knew it!” Snare growls.
Lariat shakes his head, palming his chin, and the other members of the club start shooting questions like bullets.
Vince hooks his fingers in his lips. A whistle splits the voices like a sword.
Everyone shuts up.
“How?” Vince asks.
Lariat opens his mouth to speak, and Vince gives him a sharp glance that clearly says, Shut the fuck up. He turns his laser-beam stare on me. “Do we need to take care of this broad?”
“No!” I erupt, half-standing.
The brothers give me startled glances.
I don't back down. I don't know what's happening, besides the slow unravelling of who I am, but nobody's gonna hurt Rose.
That I know.
My outburst gets Vince's full attention.
“About four years ago, one of the Chaos Riders was brought up on murder charges. Killed a girl, Anna Christo,” I explain in a savage growl. I knew I recognized that guy.
“Did he?” Vince asks.
I look him dead in the eye. “Yeah.”
“Charges didn't stick?” Snare guesses.
I nod curtly. “They paid a dirty judge. Blamed some minor drug use on her part, some juvy experimentation.” I flip my hair back, cracking my knuckles. “Anyway, the chick's dead.”
“What's this got to do with our bank girl that you want to bone?”
Heat rolls over me, warming my guts. “His name's Drake Corbin. Road name, Diablo.”
“Fucking Diablo? That girl is tied up with him? How?” Snare asks.
I nod. Things couldn't be fucking worse.
Chaos runs girls and does worse than what we'll dabble in. No line is uncrossable; no shred of morality remains for them. It's all about power, and if people get crushed in the way, then so be it. Though we miss thugdom by just a slim margin, we're old school—real old school.
“Anna Christo was her sister.”
“Fuck me.” Snare dumps his head in his hand again.
“Want my opinion?” Vince asks.
“No.”
He gives a short laugh. “Well, you're getting it.” His eyes hold mine like a trap. “You bang every piece of tail that trots through our doors—”
“Or not,” Snare mutters.
I glare at him.
Vince nods at the remark and continues, “And when you finally find old lady material, you choose some girl that's mixed up with our number one rival.”
I wipe my damp palms on my jeans. “I don't want an old lady.”
“Uh-huh.” Vince raps his knuckles once on the table.
“I don't think it's fair that this girl's gotta deal with this scumbag. Ya know how Diablo can make people disappear. Probably the only reason she's not gone yet is it would point a finger at him.”
“What can the brothers do for you?” Snare asks. He was there at the bank; he saw me unwind for this girl. And I haven't laid a finger on her.
I'm so fucked. I press my fingertips on the table. “I want to offer her Road Kill protection.”
Voices explode again.
Vince hits the gavel on the placard. “Hey!”
They all stop talking. “Do you? You've met this girl once? You've never even done her?” Vince's eyes are wide, his body tense.
“Yeah.” I know I sound like a pussy. Maybe it's nothing between us. Maybe she'll hate my fucking guts.
Maybe Rose won't.
&nbs
p; Vince grunts. “Fine. But on the QT. That's all we need is to start a war with Chaos for a chick you haven't even banged.”
I shut my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “There's another thing.”
“Fucking glorious. Drop the bomb, Noose.”
“Diablo made a kid with this girl he killed.”
“Oh shee-it,” Lariat says in a vague voice. “Let me guess—this teller girl's got the kid.”
“Bingo.” I set my eyes on each brother, finally coming back to Vince. “Her name is Rose.”
“Rose.” He seems to taste her name on his tongue.
The silence is deafening. “Diablo's gonna consider this kid his property,” Viper says as a statement.
Lots of assenting voices agree. Not a single kid from the brothers isn't considered a precious commodity. Old ladies too.
We protect our families.
Chaos is no different in that respect. They're club. They're fucking merciless, but they're still club.
Just not our club.
“He lost his rights to the kid for four years, and the time's up.” My eyes sweep the assembled brothers. “There's a hearing coming up. He's gonna want his rights.”
“Why would he kill the mother of his kid?” Vince asks, shaking his head.
“Diablo?” I ask. “Fucker is serial brutal with women. He can't have normal sex or relationships unless he's causing someone pain.”
“You fuck him?” Lariat asks with a laugh.
I'm out of my seat and fisting his shirt from across the table, hauling him an inch away from my nose. “No, but there's been plenty of sweet butts who have, and they quack like fucking ducks about strange rangers.”
“Noose,” Vince says.
I release Lariat. He gives me a sullen look, smoothing out his cut, which got all twisted up with my hold.
“He's right. Our sweet butts wouldn't go near that club.”
“They won't go near the club because we don't want their sloppy seconds,” Snare says.
We all nod. The club whores don't get passed around to other clubs.
“It's just their word,” Wring says.
I nod. “Yeah, but why would a sweet butt lie? Most of them just want to be somebody's property eventually.”
My comment is met by silence. It's the truth. That tends to shut people up.
“I don't normally give a shit how other clubs get off,” Vince says, and good natured laughing crawls around the room. “And if Chaos has some riders who like shit rough and the bitches are willing—have at it. But”—his eyes catch the anger I level on him—“if there was a girl that was unwilling, say, caught up,”—he does air quotes then lets his fingers drop—“and Diablo fucked up and killed her, and now he's after an innocent.” Vince shrugs. “It's really not our problem. Unless you want to throw down for her, Noose.”
