I’m not gonna say I wasn’t kind of pissed. But I accepted it, even though I missed my buddy. I told myself I’d never get myself so pussy whipped that I’d ditch my friends. But I tried not to hold it against him.
When we did see Scotty in school or in the parking lot afterwards, he was starting to grow more and more distant, too. Moody, even. I started seeing a side of him I’d never seen before. He was skipping school more, too. Mal and I hadn’t ever exactly been stellar students, but we showed up enough to keep most of the heat off us so we could graduate and get it the hell over with.
With Scotty making himself scarce, we saw less of Kylie, too, though she was still showing up at school ever day. She was pretty vague when we asked her where the two of them were keeping themselves, and why Scotty was ditching if he wasn’t with her.
Turns out, there was a fuck of a lot more going on than Mal and I ever knew. We should have seen it. As Scotty’s best friend, I should have known it. I should have recognized the signs. But goddamnit, I didn’t. I just didn’t.
What ended up happening to Scotty is something I’ll never forgive myself for. But more than that, it’s something I’ll never fuckin’ forgive Kylie for. She knew, I know she did. And she never did a goddamn thing about it, until it was too late.
If Kylie had never met him, Scotty would still be alive today.
And that’s why I can’t fuckin’ believe that Mal has brought her into the club. After everything that happened, he should fucking know better.
Almost as if on cue, Mal chooses that very goddamn moment to walk through the door.
“I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk to you right now, motherfucker,” I warn.
Mal glances at the section of wall I’ve pounded to a pulp with my fist and has the goddamn balls to roll his fuckin’ eyes at me.
“What did that wall ever do to you, Hale?” he jokes.
“It was the wall or someone’s face.” I stare at him. “I chose the wall.”
“Jesus, Cam. You’re un-fuckin’-believable,” Mal sighs, pulling out a cigarette.
“I’m unbelievable? I’m fuckin’ unbelievable?” I roar, getting to my feet. My hand is sore, but I still got a few good punches in it, and Mal might find that out real soon. “What in the hell did you bring that gash in here for, Mal?”
“For fuck’s sake…” he begins, but I cut him off.
“Are you screwin’ her?” I demand. “Is that why? She’s got you thinking with your dick, too?”
“No, I ain’t fuckin’ her! Jesus! Though I wouldn’t turn it down.” In spite of the tension between us, Mal’s mouth turns up in that sardonic grin I know only too well.
“Then you’re a bigger goddamn idiot than I thought,” I snarl.
“Look, calm the fuck down, all right?” Mal shakes his head. “Look, it ain’t a big deal. I ran into Kylie a while ago. She’s working as a receptionist in this hair salon place in town. The chick I’ve been bangin’ cuts hair there.” He lights up his smoke. “I ran into her again about a month later in one of the bars in town. She mentioned she was looking for ways to make some extra money.” Mal shrugs a shoulder. “Turned out, we were able to use her.”
“Jesus Christ…” I run a rough hand through my hair. “How the fuck did you get Axel to agree to this?”
“Are you kidding me?” Mal takes a drag of his smoke and blows it out. “Shit, a chick like her is perfect for small jobs. She just drives to the location, leaves her truck for a while, our contacts get under the car and grab the product. A little while later she comes back, gets in her car and drives away. She never even sees it. Never even touches it.”
“What’s she moving?”
“Scrips, so far.” Mal shrugs again. “We got an arrangement with someone who works for a pharma supplier who gets them for us from a warehouse. One of the security guards. But Axel’s looking to move her into some bigger jobs.”
“How much are you paying her for this shit?” I ask, disgusted.
“A small cut of the profits. And the product.”
“Jesus,” I hiss. “So she’s a fuckin’ addict. Or she’s selling.”
“Her cut ain’t enough to sell and make much of a profit,” he says, shaking his head. “They must be for her. Or else someone she knows.”
“So, she’s gonna be high while she’s driving for your club? Whose lives are she gonna fuck up this time, Mal? You think Scotty…”
“Jesus, there it is,” Mal mutters. “Let it go, Hale. I don’t wanna hear it.”
“You don’t wanna hear it?” I repeat, incredulous. “You’ve never wanted to hear it about her. Kylie Sutton can’t be trusted, and you fuckin’ know it, brother. You’re putting the club in danger by using her.”
“She’s not gonna do anything,” Mal retorts. “What can she do? Hell, the worst that happens is she gets caught with the product and does some time. She ain’t gonna tell anyone who gave it to her. She knows the club wouldn’t let her live after that. Just because she’s got a pussy don’t change that.”
“You’re delusional, Mal,” I warn him. “That bitch is bad news with good tits. And you’re fuckin’ crazy if you don’t see it.”
I turn and leave Mal standing there, before I give him the same treatment I gave the wall.
Back out in the main room, I blow the fuck by all the other men, including Tank. He starts to get up, looking like he’s about to follow me, but I flip him off and keep going.
I need to get the fuck out of here. I need to ride.
I need to forget.
6
Kylie
“Every time you fuck up, someone else ends up paying the price, Kylie. It’s always been that way, and it always will.”
“Fuck you!” I whisper as I shakily drive back to my father’s house. My eyes are red and swollen from crying. With just those words, Hale pulled me right back into the past. A past that I would give anything to do over again.
Maybe Hale is right to hate me. Maybe he’s right that I fuck up everyone’s lives. I sure as hell have done a bang-up job of screwing up my own.
When I get back to my father’s tiny rented house, he’s fallen asleep on his recliner with the TV on. The plate of cold eggs sits half-eaten on the tray beside him. A wrench of emotions swirls inside me as I stare at his wasted form, his chest rising and following with his rapid, shallow breathing. A lifetime of hard living and poor choices are etched in the wrinkles of his prematurely aged face. He’s only fifty-five years old, but he looks twenty years older.
It seems so unfair to me that he managed to overcome the drugs, only to succumb to cancer now.
I swallow around the pain in my throat as I think about everything he’s been through. Everything we’ve been through. My father is no saint. Some people might say he doesn’t deserve anything other than the disease that’s ravaging his body. But he’s my dad. I have to do everything I can to help him.
Even if Cameron Hale wouldn’t agree.
I take Dad’s plate and scrape off the cold eggs in the wastebasket in the kitchen. Then I pull the old afghan off of the couch and drape it over his sleeping form. I wander down the narrow hallway into the tiny back room with my narrow twin bed, rehearsing in my head what I’ll tell my father about how we can suddenly afford to start treatments for his cancer again.
I’ve already decided I’m going to pretend I got a promotion to full time at the hair salon. I’ll tell him the promotion comes with health insurance for both of us, which of course we currently don’t have. Dad has always been terrible with money and paperwork, so I know it won’t be hard to hide from him that health insurance doesn’t work that way.
With my agreement to mule for the Lords of Carnage, I’ll have money to pay for at least some of his treatments. And I’ll have access to the opioids to help him with the pain.
That night, I lie in bed, sleep eluding me. My mind has slipped back into the past, despite my attempts to stop it. I keep thinking about Cameron Hale’s bearded face today. The way his dark, broo
ding eyes bored into me. Judging me. I keep hearing the rough hatred in his voice, as he basically tells me I’m worthless.
He didn’t always feel that way about me. Hell, at one point, I even imagined maybe he sort of liked me.
Or maybe that was just my imagination. The wishful thinking of a girl who was dating one guy, but sort of wished she was with his best friend instead.
I always felt guilty about those thoughts back in the day, before Scotty died.
And afterwards?
Well, afterwards, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the whole thing was my fault. Like if I’d never said yes when Scotty asked me out, maybe he’d still be alive.
And the fact that I’d always sort of wished Cam had gotten to me first instead?
Well, that just made it worse.
When I do finally manage to fall asleep, I dream about Scotty, for the first time in months. It’s a nightmare that’s familiar to me, though. I’ve had it countless times it since he died.
Scotty is with me in the trailer where I lived in high school. My dad’s gone out somewhere. Scotty opens a drawer in the kitchen and pulls out a baggie, full of small, translucent crystals. He looks at me with a grin of happiness and goes to the table, dumping the crystals out onto the surface. And then, as I stand there in paralyzed horror, he starts stuffing them into his mouth in huge handfuls. As he does, his face begins to melt — then his hands, then his whole body. I begin to scream, but no sound comes out.
I awake with a start, as I always seem to. I’m bathed in sweat. But when I stare into the darkness, waiting for my racing heart to slow…
Instead of it being Scotty’s face I see, it’s Cameron Hale’s.
Cam blames me for his best friend’s death. He always has. Hell, I blame me for it, too.
But he doesn’t know the whole story. He doesn’t know everything that happened.
I shouldn’t care.
But I do.
“Hey girl!” Cyndi calls in greeting when I rush through the front door of Curl Up and Dye, three minutes before we’re scheduled to open. “I was just about to call you.”
“Sorry, sorry!” I breathe, scooting behind the counter and shoving my purse in a drawer. “I overslept, and then I had to get my dad’s breakfast before I left.”
“I thought I might see you at the MC clubhouse last night,” she says coyly, giving me a sly wink as she tosses her light blond hair artfully over one shoulder. Cyndi is always dressed like she’s just about to head out clubbing, even at nine in the morning. “Mal said you were there but you left.”
“Yeah.” Inadvertently, my mind goes back to Mal’s joking remark (at least I think he was joking) about us having a threesome. Not an image I want in my head right now. “I, um, had other stuff I needed to do.”
“Girl, you need to stick around and party with me there sometime!” She giggles, the corners of her lipsticked mouth turning up. “Those men know how to have a good time! And have you seen how hot some of them are?” She smirks. “I swear, if I wasn’t with Mal, I wouldn’t be picky about choosing one of the other ones.”
Cyndi has been seeing Mal for a couple of months now. By her standards, this constitutes a long and serious relationship. She’s started refashioning her wardrobe into what I privately think of as “glam biker chick.” I often hear her bringing up Mal’s sexual prowess when she’s chatting with the other hair stylists — and even some of her regular clients. She’s clearly smitten with him.
I can’t say I blame her. Mal has always been attractive to girls, even when we were younger. When I first moved to the area and started dating Scotty, other girls in school were openly jealous that I spent my time hanging out with three of the hottest guys in school. The years since then have only made Mal more attractive. He’s all muscle, and his sexy, easy grin manages to charm even women who would otherwise be terrified by his leather and his tattoos. Thankfully, I’ve always been more or less immune to Mal’s charms. He’s always felt more like a brother to me than anything.
Cam, on the other hand, was a different story.
Before I can stop it, my thoughts turn to last night at the clubhouse — the first time the three of us have been in the same room since the day of Scotty’s funeral. In my mind’s eye, I see Cam again — the familiar set of his eyes, the sensual turn of his lips, the way the high school boy is still in there, but he’s been overtaken by the man he’s become. Unlike with Mal, there’s no ease or casual charm in Cam’s demeanor. He’s all hardness, anger, and — unfortunately for me — smoldering sexiness.
Shaking myself from my thoughts, I change the subject with Cyndi by complimenting her on the new pair of boots she’s wearing. Clothes are a surefire way to get my friend talking. Sure enough, as soon as I ask her about them, she launches into an excited recounting of the shopping trip where she found them. I turn to the computer, booting up the appointment calendar as she continues to talk.
Seconds later, the owner of the salon comes in. As I smile a good morning at Melda, I breathe a quick sigh of relief that I got here before she did. Melda can’t abide lateness.
“Is coffee ready?” she growls. As always, she’s impeccably dressed and made up, but the morning gravel in her voice is still unmistakable. “I’m in dire need of caffeine.”
“I’m just about to make it,” I say hastily, rising to my feet. “I’ll bring you a cup when it’s ready.”
She grunts. “From now on, coffee’s the first thing you do when you come in,” she mutters, pointing at me with a red-tipped finger.” Without waiting for my answer, she continues on toward her office. “Two creams, one Splenda,” she calls over her shoulder — as though I don’t know her preferences by heart.
“Whew! She’s a little prickly this morning,” Cyndi observes. “Who’s my first appointment today?”
I glance at the computer screen. “Glennis Marston,” I announce. “Cut and color.” And just like that, we’re both in work mode. I go over to the coffee maker and start measuring. “Go on back,” I tell my friend. “I’ll bring Glennis to your station when she gets here.”
The morning goes by quickly. More stylists come, in and a flurry of clients arrive for appointments: haircuts, manicures, makeovers. I’m grateful for how busy the salon is; it’s a distraction from the thoughts that have been preoccupying me all morning. I even take extra care with the clients, offering coffee, tea, or infused water as they check in. It’s relaxing to think of myself as nothing more than a receptionist. Here, for just a little while, I’m nothing but an employee doing my job. My private life outside of work can just fade mercifully into the background.
After lunch, Cyndi is back up front with me, chatting between two of her appointments, when the door bursts open. With a start, we both look over to see a large male form standing in the doorway.
My stomach flips unpleasantly in surprise. Cyndi, on the other hand, seems thrilled to see him.
“Well, hello, there, handsome!” she coos at Hale. “I remember you from the clubhouse last night!”
Cam doesn’t bother to be polite. Barely glancing at her, he steps inside and is across the room in an instant. “I need to talk to you,” he growls at me.
If Cyndi notices he’s being rude to her, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she turns and raises her eyebrows at me with a satisfied smirk. “I thought you said you had some stuff to take care of last night,” she murmurs, giving me a coy wink. “Looks like maybe this was the stuff you were talking about!”
I open my mouth to protest, but then snap it shut. Because honestly, I can’t think of a single thing to say that won’t just make her even more convinced Cam and I were together last night.
Cam, for his part, gives her an uncomprehending glare. “Come on,” he grunts at me, his eyes cold and angry. “Outside.”
“I’m working,” I protest, thankful for the counter between us. “I can’t leave my desk.”
“Oh, girl, don’t worry, I’ll cover for you,” Cyndi interjects, waving her hand at me with an in
dulgent smile. “My next appointment isn’t for half an hour.”
Great. There goes my excuse. It’s obvious from the gleeful look in Cyndi’s eyes that she thinks she’s doing me a favor. I don’t know how she can think Cam is here for some romantic reason, given the way he’s glaring at me. Whatever Cam is here to talk to me about, it is obviously not to chat me up.
But Cyndi has ruined my best excuse — and because I definitely don’t want to cause a scene at work, I follow Cam outside. As soon as we’re out the door, I keep walking to the very edge of the property, away from the parking lot. Because I am not going to have this conversation anywhere near other people who can hear us.
When I’m far enough away from the front entrance, I whirl around and cross my arms protectively in front of me. “Okay, what is it?” I challenge. “What is so damn important that you have to come to where I work and embarrass me like this?”
“I don’t give a flying fuck if you’re embarrassed, Ky,” he snarls. I flinch at his use of the nickname that he, Scotty, and Mal used to call me. Angry as he is, the name hurts worse than any other way he could address me. “I came here to tell you that you are not gonna be muling for the Lords.”
“Jesus,” I hiss, looking around to make sure there’s no one around to hear this. “Will you keep your voice down? And I don’t see how you think you have any say in the matter, Cam. As far as I know, you aren’t president of this chapter of your club. Axel is.”
My voice shakes a little as I defy him, but I’m hoping he can’t hear it. The truth is, I’m intimidated as hell by him right now. Not only that, but as I stare defiantly at him, a sharp pang slices at me, deep in my chest. In spite of everything, his too-familiar features — the curve of his jaw that I’ve traced in my memory a thousand times, the deep whiskey of his irises — set off a painful stab of longing that I thought was dead and buried. But I’m not about to let him see that.
“Axel doesn’t know what you’re about,” he bites out, his eyes narrowing to slits. “I’ll get him to realize you can’t be trusted.”
HALE: Lords of Carnage MC Page 4
