by Ann Grech
“Great mentors that expect you to give it up in the back room where everyone else can hear you but do nothing to protect you. No way. I won’t allow it.”
“He wasn’t forcing me. Stop trying to preserve my damn innocence. You aren’t Momma or Daddy. You’re my sister. Stop acting like them,” Chloe snapped back.
“That’s low, Chloe.” Claire sniffed.
“Tough shit. Get used to it. I can’t handle people treating me like a kid anymore. Let me fucking grow up.”
Chloe heard a motorbike start and roar out of the parking lot that Timmy walked her to a few nights earlier. Why was he leaving? She felt even worse knowing that she’d scared him away from work. Even Mo was whimpering.
“Hey, don’t worry about him. He’ll be back,” Rake said, slinging a reassuring arm around Chloe’s shoulders. Claire’s glare only made Rake laugh. “Relax, big sister. She’s safe with me.”
“Yeah, as if I believe that after what I just heard.”
“Claire, don’t question me. I said Chloe was safe and I meant it. Timmy and I would have some serious issues if he hurt her.” Rake’s stature suddenly loomed a lot larger and more threatening with Claire’s obvious disrespect of him. He may be tall and lanky, but he had a wily strength and he looked like a mean son of a bitch, especially with the scowl his face was currently set to.
“Chloe, if you’d like to step up and say a few words.” The Reverend gestured to the microphone at the head of the two coffins as Chloe stepped up. Timmy was at the back of the group of standing mourners. The small cemetery was packed to capacity and then some, people respectfully avoiding standing on other graves as they said their goodbyes to Chloe’s parents. He didn’t think Chloe had seen him, but he wanted to be there to support her even if he had avoided her the last few days. She looked pale. Tired. He wanted to wrap her in his arms when she didn’t look at the crowd of people as she began to speak.
“My parents raised me to follow my dreams. They supported me when I told them I wanted to be an artist. Daddy gave me my first canvas the very next day. Momma got me into an advanced art program after school.
“My parents taught me to be generous and to love wholeheartedly. They were married for over thirty years and loved each other as much on the day they died as their wedding day. Momma and Daddy were taken away from us far too early. Both had a lot more to give in this life, but it wasn’t meant to be. A piece of my heart will always be missing without them. But as much as it hurts, neither would want us to stop living to mourn them. That’s why my sisters and I are wearing their favorite colors. Claire has the same color blue that Momma said the sky looked on a happy summer’s day. Cleo is wearing aquamarine, the same color of the sea they swam in when they honeymooned in the Bahamas. They told us endless stories about how romantic their week there was. I’m wearing the same fuchsia that the roses in their new garden were. Daddy told Momma that it was their hope flower. They planted it together the day before they died.” Chloe paused and visibly took a deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily. It was almost like she was centering herself again. She hadn’t shed a tear since the funeral had started. Come to think of it, except for the night of the explosion when he’d wiped the tears from her cheeks, Timmy hadn’t seen her cry at all.
“A pretty smart person, a friend, told me to focus on the good things I remembered about my parents, who Momma and Daddy were to me.” Chloe looked up and locked gazes with Timmy, the slightest of smiles tipping her lips. He felt it like a kick start to his system, an adrenaline rush because she knew he was there and yet, his better judgment screamed at him to stay away. She was potent, her frailty and inner strength drawing him like an addict to their drug of choice. The world zeroed in to a pinpoint focus between the two of them, so much passing between their steady gazes, or maybe nothing at all. He wasn’t sure of anything around Chloe. He wanted her with a fierceness that he’d never experienced before and resisting her was becoming more and more difficult. He nodded at her, encouraging her to continue and Chloe seemed to snap out of the trance they were both in.
“This week has been really hard on my sisters and me, but your support and love has helped us immeasurably. You wouldn’t have done that unless my parents meant something important to you too. Please honor their memory by remembering the good things about them, their kindness and compassion, their humility, their love. Remember how the two of them were always first in line to help someone in need. They were always willing to accept a pie or home-baked bread when you couldn’t afford your medicine and gave you a quick smile or a warm hug right when you needed it. Remember them like I do.” Chloe gestured to the charcoal and lead pencil sketch framed in a floral wreath. It was beautiful; so realistic that it could have been a black and white photograph. Her parents were right to encourage Chloe’s talent. It was rare to see someone who could capture expression and depth of feeling so honestly, so completely. She was exceptional.
Claire and Cleo had already spoken so the Reverend wound up the funeral with a prayer, the same prayer that very same reverend had spoken at Timmy’s brother’s funeral. As the caskets were slowly lowered into the ground, destined to spend eternity side-by-side, Timmy stepped away. It felt like too personal a moment for the girls for him to be a part of it. Instead, he walked over to Beau’s plot to pay him a long overdue visit. Timmy always thought about his brother, but rarely visited his grave. Whenever he wanted to remember him, Timmy would ride.
Timmy ran from his problems too. He got on his bike and rode for days. That was how he’d ended up in Rock Springs to begin with. He’d had a bad scene, his sub dropping hard afterwards. Timmy had done his best but had to call in his mentor to help. Master Steven had gladly aided but Timmy’s guilt at being unable to keep his sub safe caused him to ride out of L.A. He’d ridden for hours, stopped for the night, got on his bike and done the same over and over. After taking a roundabout route, he stopped in Rock Springs and hadn’t left. Beau followed him soon after that, when he’d started to feel the heat from the L.A. cops. Timmy waited for the punch of guilt to his gut every time he thought about Beau pulling up on his doorstep and Timmy inviting him to stay. If only…there were so many what ifs that could have changed the course of Beau’s too short life.
When they were kids, they spent a lot of time on their BMX bikes destroying the manicured lawns of their property – irritating their parents to no end – pitching baseballs to each other, and later, when they were older, kissing girls when they could sneak out to parties. Some people remembered their loved ones by tending to their graves. But Beau’s grave only reminded Timmy of his own failures that his brother had paid the ultimate price for. So, he rode his bike instead. The cold air of the mountains lashing at his face always reminded Timmy of flying down the big lawn at his parents’ house with Beau riding shotgun. He thought about those days fondly, remembering the way Beau used to be with him – his little brother, the goofy kid, the pimply boy who just wanted to be cool. Being here made Timmy remember how his brother had come home one day scared. That was rare for Beau. He’d hardened over the years with the MC. He knew he’d pissed off some people, knew that he was going to have to pay a price for messing up a deal for them. If only Timmy had listened to his gut rather than his brother who was trying to cover up his fear with his usual bravado, Beau might still be here.
It was an ironic day for a funeral. The weather was perfect, warm enough for shorts and a tee, the sun shining brightly as they enjoyed the unseasonably warm northern California spring day. Funerals weren’t supposed to be held on days like this. They were supposed to happen on cold, rainy days, days that reflected the somber mood of the people left behind; days like the one his brother’s funeral was held on.
Timmy watched Chloe, Cleo and Claire walk away from the cemetery to the nearby gardens, arms interlinked. Both older sisters were visibly crying, but Chloe was stoic, almost rigid. Timmy was worried about her. She wasn’t coping well. At least her other sisters were grieving. Chloe was bottling everythin
g up. He knew from personal experience that it’d eat her alive.
The gardens next to the church were shady, covered in large fir and maple trees with lush green grass and the spring gurgling beyond the grove of trees. Most of the time brides and their grooms had wedding photos there and happy parents and children held receptions there after church. Today had a much more somber feeling, but even that didn’t seem to slow down the kids who were seemingly oblivious, playing, eating and laughing.
Turning his attention back to his brother’s grave, Timmy spent a few minutes tidying up. He’d never brought flowers with him to decorate Beau’s headstone. Even at Beau’s funeral, Timmy hadn’t placed any, instead donating the money to a drug support charity. He’d felt like that was the responsible thing to do; what the brother he chose to remember would have wanted him to do. Now, seeing all the flowers that adorned Chloe’s parents’, he wished once again he could have done something more for him.
“Hey, Beau. I miss you, man. I’m sorry I haven’t been by in a while, but you know how it is. I hate seeing you here, hate knowing I put you here because I didn’t do a damn thing to stop those bastards. But I’m workin’ on it, bro. I’m getting closer. I’ll break it soon. I know it. Then they’ll be in jail for the rest of their lives. I’ll give you justice, Beau. I promise.”
Timmy stood and brushed off the last leaf on Beau’s headstone before turning around and beginning the walk back to the gardens. He joined Van on the fringe of the crowd. “You usually go to the funerals of all your cases?”
“Nah. This one’s different. I…um…I wanted to make sure there wasn’t any trouble after the way Mr. and Mrs. Hollyoak died.”
“Sure, you keep tellin’ yourself that.” Timmy laughed, petting Mo’s head. The dog sat obediently at the outskirts of the gathering, monitoring every move his charge made. Timmy had trained Mo well, but even he was surprised at how protective of Chloe his loyal dog was. Sobering at the thoughts of why his dog was protecting the girl and what had brought them all to the gardens today, he added, “They’re doing it tough. It’s hard to lose someone you love like that.”
“Yeah, must be. But they’re strong and they have each other. As soon as we find out who did this, they’ll be a lot safer too.”
“Any leads?”
“We have a few but these things always take time. We want to put them away for good not get them on minor weapons charges, if you know what I mean. We need to do this right.” Timmy nodded and wished him good luck before looking longingly at Chloe once more and striding toward his bike. If he didn’t leave now, he’d be taking Chloe with him somewhere private. His dark desires were the last thing she needed on the day she buried her parents.
* * * *
Chloe heard Timmy’s bike turn over and disappointment sparked in her. He hadn’t even spoken to her, so she wasn’t able to thank him for his support. One of her parents’ former customers captured Chloe’s attention again, reminiscing about the times her momma or daddy had engaged the elderly lady in conversation. Not being able to stand it any longer, Chloe excused herself. It was excruciating. Loneliness had been a constant accompaniment this week, even though Chloe had been surrounded by her sisters. Tristan had called and visited whenever he could too, something that Chloe would forever appreciate. Even Jo, a friend who she had only just reconnected with had shown her incredible support. But even with all those people around her, Chloe just wanted a hug from Daddy or a conversation with Momma. She understood the lady’s pain, but couldn’t take on anymore.
“Hey, sweetheart, how you holdin’ up?” Rake slung an arm around Chloe’s shoulder as she took a breather from the forced mingling.
“I wanna go home.”
“Have you eaten anything?”
Chloe nodded; she was grateful for the chance to cuddle into her protective boss and let her guard down for a moment when he squeezed her tighter. She buried her nose into the leather of his vest. Didn’t matter what the event was, Rake wore the same thing; black jeans, a black or white tee depending on his mood and a black leather vest. The one he wore to work had a dragon embroidered on it – the Ink’d Up studio logo. Chloe noticed that today’s vest had a black cross stitched into the black leather making it invisible unless you were standing in the right light to pick up the different textures.
“Sweetheart, I wish Timmy would man up and be there for you. I’m no replacement, but I’ll do my best.” He smiled faintly at her. Chloe couldn’t believe how lucky she was. She’d only known this man for a week and yet she felt a connection with him just like the bond she’d felt with Tristan the day they’d met at college in their first class together. No attraction existed between them. It was more of a mutual respect for each other; friendship in the true sense of the word. To have that happen once in her life made her lucky. Twice made her blessed.
“What do you mean? You’re amazing.”
“You need his shoulder to cry on, not mine. You need to be in his arms, not mine. Tell me, sweetheart, have you cried?” Rake’s callused fingertips ghosted over her cheek in a gesture of infinite brotherly love. She couldn’t answer him verbally. His words hit her like she’d been sucker punched. She wasn’t coping with her parents’ deaths; deep down she knew that, even though she’d been trying to persuade herself that she was okay. She couldn’t cry, couldn’t mourn them. She felt detached from her body, her shattered heart too much to bear. Rake shook his head and kissed her temple softly. “Why don’t you get out of here, Chloe? These people aren’t doing you any good. Go and see Timmy, just be with him. He won’t turn you away if you need him. Let him help you heal.”
She nodded and squeezed Rake one more time before letting him go. Underneath his slim build was a core of strength and Chloe appreciated being able to lean on him at a time like this.
“I can’t do this anymore, Claire. I need to go. Can you and Cleo finish up here?” Chloe pleaded with her sister.
“Sure, Chloe, we’ve got this. I’ll see if Sheriff Peterson can take you home.”
“No, I’ll walk. Mo is over with Deputy Bakos. I need some air.”
“Be careful. Okay?” Chloe nodded and hugged her sisters goodbye.
Swamped by her emotions again, she needed some time alone to get herself under control. She was exhausted and emotionally spent, but if Chloe could make it through the rest of the day, she knew she’d be okay. Picking up Mohawk’s lead from Van, she smiled faintly at him and began the journey to her sister’s house. Nothing was far in this little town and she quickly calmed as she left the throng of people crowded into the gardens. Thankfully, the reporters had already left.
Mo loped beside her, his lead never stretching taut. The dog could overpower her and outrun Chloe without too much of an effort but after Timmy’s command to protect her, the beautiful animal had glued himself to her side. She ruffled his ears and smiled down at his head, which was almost at waist height. Mo paused, tilting his head to one side before he bared his teeth and a deep growl erupted from him. He backed into Chloe pushing her off the path against the low brick fence edging one of the nearby houses when a man, who Chloe instantly recognized as Blade, stepped out onto the sidewalk blocking her path. Snarls and a rumbling bark erupted from Mo as the hairs on his back stood on end and every muscle in his body tensed, poised for an attack.
“You won’t always have that mutt for protection, little girl. And when you don’t, I’ll have fun with that ripe little body of yours. I can’t wait to see how many dicks and fists you can take up your cunt and ass before you tear open like a pretty Christmas present. I’d love to see my spunk and every one of my boys’ cum on your face and your tits when your cunt’s too loose to take us there anymore. I’ve got a place marked out especially for you on my body that your Timmy will ink on me. He won’t even know what it’s for until after he’s finished it. I can’t wait to show him the video we’ll shoot of us breaking you.”
Chloe froze at his words, fear gripping her like a vise. Her throat closed over and her lungs s
hut down as she was paralyzed. Mo pressed harder against her, nearly toppling her over until she steadied herself with a hand on his back. His snarls at the biker became more vicious. Blade laughed and walked back into the house he’d come from and Mohawk instantly transformed, his growls ceasing as he latched onto Chloe’s hand tugging her away from the danger. The dog’s bite was firm but not hard enough to break her skin, urging her to move quickly. Chloe didn’t need to be encouraged. She turned and ran for all she was worth in the opposite direction to the house Blade entered. She didn’t slow until she reached her sister’s home and had the deadbolt securely in place after her. Collapsing on the floor, Chloe was too overwhelmed to even make it to the sofa. Mo sat guarding her, always touching her as if he understood that his proximity gave her the reassurance of safety she so desperately needed at that moment. Her hands were shaking as she dialed 91, but stopped before pressing the final digit. Timmy’s words repeated themselves in her memory: “Call me or Rake, no one else.” No, that was ridiculous; she had to call the sheriff. But, God, Sheriff Peterson made her so damn uncomfortable. Maybe she could call Deputy Bakos instead? But he was at the funeral. Shit. Fear won out over politeness and Chloe brought up the deputy’s number in her cell, calling him and hoping he answered. It rang and rang, then clicked over to his recorded message telling her to call 911 in an emergency. Chloe tried twice more before giving up.
Rake was convinced Timmy would help her, so Chloe called him. Timmy’s cell didn’t even ring, playing his message the same way the deputy’s had. Even though it was just a recording, Timmy’s voice calmed her, washed away her fears as she listened to his deep voice rumble its short instructions. She didn’t bother asking him to call her. Chloe would go and see him instead. Once she got the courage to step outside again. It felt like hours before her sisters arrived carrying bags of Chinese takeout food and laughing at Zane’s impersonation of the gruff fire captain after his lecture on how not to burn cheesy garlic bread under the griller. Chloe pushed the little food she’d dished up around her plate until she finally gave in and placed it on the floor so Mo could devour every morsel. Cleo and Claire watched her like a hawk and even Zane’s gaze kept shifting to her. When her sisters had finally left the room, Zane pulled her aside. “What happened, Chloe? Are you okay? You look even more shaken up than at the funeral.”
