by Bijou Hunter
“They wrote me off after juvie.”
“Wrote you off?” I ask, not understanding his meaning.
“Stopped wanting me around.”
“But they live around here.”
“Yes. In fact, my parents live in the same house I grew up in. My sister and her husband, Rick, live a few blocks away from my parents.”
“Where’s that?”
“West side of Rawlins.”
“That’s the whore side?”
Blackjack snorts. “No, the south side is the whore side. The west side is the fuddy-duddy side, and the north side is where the hicks live. You live in the best part of town.”
“Can I meet your family?”
His sexy face twists into a shocked frown. “For fuck’s sake, why would you want to?”
“I want to see pictures of you as a baby,” I say and take a big bite of the pie. “Mothers have pictures like that.”
“I can get you those pictures. Shit, I’m sure there are a few on Facebook.”
“I want your mother to tell me stories about your childhood. I want to know if you wet the bed or ate paint.”
“No to pissing my bed and eating paint, but I did like to chew on glue.”
Smiling, I take the last bite of my pie. The sugar makes me happy and tastes way better than the eggs.
“I want to meet your parents and have them tell me why they wrote you off. I like hearing stories.”
“Do you at all fucking care what I want?”
“You care enough about that for the both of us.”
“You should care too.”
“I care more about getting what I want than if you are sad to see your parents.”
“You’re shitting on my good mood,” he mutters before slapping a twenty on the table. “You pay the bill while I warm up the truck.”
“I want to drive.”
“I’ll let you drive once I warm up the truck.”
Even suspecting Blackjack is lying, I take the twenty and stand in line while he warms up the truck. Around me, babies cry, kids whine, and adults bitch about the bad weather. I keep up my walls and think of what I love. The crew, Duffy, Oz’s kids and cats, and even Tana despite her trying to keep me from eating cookies for dinner one night. Those people are special to me, and Blackjack is now too —even though he conned me out of my truck keys.
➸ Blackjack ★
If any other woman asked to meet my family or talked about making babies before I’d even felt her up, I’d leave skid marks in my rush to escape. Yarrow is like no other woman, so I don’t ditch her at Denny’s but take her along on my visit to the trailer park.
The rain lets up by the time we arrive at the park where many of the local hookers live and work. I lead Yarrow along the mud-covered paths until we reach Alma’s trailer where one of her customers exits. I ignore the guy until I catch him checking out Yarrow.
Grabbing his jacket, I yank the fucker back to the porch where I loom over him by several inches.
“What?” he asks, terrified.
“Never look at her again, or you’ll lose your eyes.”
Yarrow pulls her blade and twirls it in front of the guy’s face. “We can use this,” she announces cheerfully.
The guy nearly looks at her when she speaks but then he remembers he’d prefer to keep his eyes. Nodding at me, he backs away once I let go of his jacket. Yarrow watches him hurry away until I tap her chin.
“Put the blade away, or you’ll make Alma piss herself.”
“I’m not scared of that little girl,” the hooker says from the doorway.
I size up the thirty-year-old blonde with her smudged mascara and too-bright pink lipstick. “You ought to be. She’ll cut you long before I will,” I say before gesturing for Alma to go inside.
We step into the cramped, messy trailer where I’m startled to find her two kids watching TV.
“You shouldn’t have them here when you’re working.”
“It’s fall break. Where are they supposed to go?” she asks and opens the fridge.
“You could take time off.”
“Not with what I’m bringing in.”
“Is that your way of bitching about our take?”
Alma dumps hot dogs into a pan before frowning at me. “No, that’s me saying times are tough.”
“Don’t you have daycare?” Yarrow asks, still twirling her blade.
“Who’s the girl?”
“She’s part of the crew that rolled into Rawlins months ago. I’m sure you’ve heard of them.”
“They’re killers, huh?” Alma says. “Heard you used to be working girls too.”
“Do the other whores have kids?” Yarrow asks.
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you make a schedule so you can take turns watching the kids while the others work? You can each kick in money to the girl not working that day.”
“Sounds complicated.”
With Alma’s elementary-aged kids staring at me, I lower my voice to say, “If someone rats you out to child services, paying off the cops won’t be enough to keep you safe.”
“Who would rat me out?”
“Someone who wants the trash cleaned out of the park. That way, they can rent these trailers to better people,” Yarrow says. “The mayor is telling the business owners about the new jobs coming and how new residents will show up after that. Did you not know that?”
Alma frowns ugly at Yarrow who hasn’t made eye contact with the hooker since we arrived.
“Save the dirty looks,” I tell Alma. “She doesn’t care what you think. So maybe you ought to give that daycare idea some thought. Wouldn’t hurt for your kids to grow up not knowing how their mom earns her living.”
“Is that the only reason you came by?” Alma asks, frowning at me now.
“I heard the cops were showing up here a lot lately.”
“Yeah. They keep asking if we’ve had any male friends over.”
“Even more reason to get that daycare shit in order.”
“Are you planning to do anything about the cops?”
“Of course.”
“Next time the cops show up, call this number,” Yarrow says and hands Alma a business card. “Tell them you’re calling your lawyer. Don’t tell them anything else. Don’t let them in your trailer unless they have a warrant. If they try to come in any way, get the cops’ names so we can go after them.”
“Go after them?”
“Legally,” I say since lying makes me feel warm inside.
Yarrow immediately shakes her head. “No.”
I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and enjoy the feel of her soft skin. There’s something gorgeous about how little she gives a shit about saying the right thing.
“I’ll let you clean up,” I tell Alma since she reeks of cheap cologne and semen. “You ought to organize that daycare idea. That way, your kids don’t have to know what you do for a living.”
“Nothing wrong with what I do for a living.”
“She’s right,” Yarrow says, twirling the blade so close to her face that I’m certain she’ll lose an eye soon. “My mom was a hooker, and I turned out fine.”
I don’t know if Yarrow honestly thinks she’s fine or if she’s messing with Alma, but the point seems to get through to the hooker. She glances worried at her kids. No doubt she prefers they don’t grow up to be like my blade-wielding crazy fox.
Yarrow finally returns her knife to its holster once we walk outside where the rain again falls in a chilly mist. The hood of her sweatshirt comes up before I reach her and then she sprints into the rain like an excited kid. I swear I even hear her laugh. By the time I reach her in the truck, she’s sitting in the driver’s seat. I’m too wild about this crazy woman to care how she stole the keys when I wasn’t looking.
➸ Yarrow ☆
Shopping is one of my least favorite activities ever. Walking around a store is worse than a visit to the doctor but not as bad as going to the dentist. When Blackjack say
s he needs to stop at Wal-Mart to pick up a few things for the townhome, I nearly jump out of the truck even though I’m driving.
“The fox who lived in the townhome before me didn’t buy shit,” Blackjack says while grabbing a cart.
Shivering from the cold rain, I still consider making a run for freedom. He probably realizes I’m not on board with this trip because he takes my hand and tugs me along.
“Help me shop for my place.”
“No.”
Despite saying the word, I don’t pull my hand free. My fingers feel too good wrapped in his warm, rough hand. I block out everything except for Blackjack, and the store doesn’t seem so loud, bright, or dull.
“I need lights for the townhome.”
“There’s a light in the kitchen.”
Blackjack squeezes my hand and smiles. “I want more.”
Leaning into his body, I ignore the squish of our damp clothes pressed together. “If you hurry, I will strip for you when we’re back home.”
“No dice. I’m not a man who pisses away his cash. Before I do, I want to really look at my options.”
Rolling my eyes, I keep hold of him as we arrive in the lighting aisle. Blackjack studies the few floor lamp options while I ditch him to check out something called a lava lamp.
“What are these for?”
“They’re decorative lights. Not really helpful if you want to see.”
“Does it float like in the picture?” I ask, picking up the display lamp.
“Let’s buy one, and you can see what it does.”
Grinning, I stick the green and blue lava lamp in our cart and return to hugging Blackjack’s arm.
“Ready to go?”
“I haven’t found anything yet.”
“Oh.”
I let go of him and wander down the aisle while he evaluates the differences between two nearly identical floor lamps. Passing clocks, I stop at a display of wall décor. I’m struck by the sight of a multicolored elephant painting. I read the label—Elephant Gum by Maria Varela.
“Can you put this on the wall of your place?” I ask without looking to see how close he is to me.
“You’re killing me,” he says in my ear just like the first day I realized he was special.
I tilt my head to find him bending over until his chin rests on my shoulder. “How come?”
“Do you have any idea what the club bros will say when they see this shit?”
“See how the different-colored flowers make the elephant’s body. Isn’t that cool?”
“No, but I can’t deny you. It’s why you’re killing me.”
Grinning, I step back so he can add the picture to the cart. “Shit, this picture ain’t cheap.”
“I have money.”
“Fuck that. I should pay.”
“But you’re very poor, and I’m not. I think you should save your money for rent.”
Blackjack laughs so loud that he scares a lady down the aisle. I like how she hurries away from us.
His laughter doesn’t scare me away. Instead, I wrap my arms around him and squeeze as hard as I can. I don’t worry about hurting a man of his size and power. Blackjack can handle my hug, just like he handled me trying to gut him.
“If I’m putting a goofy elephant on the wall of the townhome, you’ll need to have dinner there tonight. Deal?”
“What will we eat?”
“Does that really matter?”
“There’s a lot of food I don’t like.”
“But you like me, right?” he asks. When I nod eagerly, he caresses my back. “Then the food won’t matter.”
I should tell Blackjack about all the stuff I hate but keep my mouth shut instead. That’s what he wants, and I need to learn to put him first. Sometimes anyway. It’s what I learned to do with Ginger and then the crew. Selfishness feels right, though. Shouldn’t I protect my needs first? Except selfishness isn’t the right choice with people important to me. That’s why I do things I don’t want to do if it makes Ginger happy. Now I’ll do the same for Blackjack.
Chapter Eight
Life Lesson #8: candy isn’t a meal
➸ Blackjack ★
My stance since getting out of juvie has been to never ask anyone for help. Either I do shit on my own or shit doesn’t get done. Until now.
Yarrow’s place has a flat screen just out of the box and likely never used. Wanting to hang it from the wall, I consider doing it alone. Then again, I can see myself dropping the damn thing. Yarrow might not like the TV, but she’ll notice if I break it.
Giving up on my long-held stance, I ask Oz to come over and give me a hand. Part of me even hopes he’ll say no. He doesn’t, of course, since he’s got daddy lectures to give me.
“Moving fast with Yarrow, aren’t you?” he asks as soon as he looks over my tools.
“No.”
“Are you aware she isn’t totally convinced the world is round?”
“She’s hot enough to be a flat-earther.”
Oz scratches his jaw and changes tactics. “If this thing with Yarrow goes south, it could fuck up the bond between our club and the crew.”
“Shut up.”
“Hey, I’m your fucking president,” he growls.
“Exactly. You’re my president, not my father. You aren’t Yarrow’s father either, so stop sticking your nose into shit that isn’t your problem.”
“If I tell you to stand down, you’ll stand down,” Oz says, trying to intimidate me with his size.
“Are you also telling Glitch to stop sniffing around Clove’s pussy? Or maybe you can tell Vile to put his fucking kid on a leash. No, you won’t run their lives, but you’ve got to jump headfirst into mine.”
“What is your deal, asshole?”
“For fuck’s sake, no one gave a flying fuck about my life until Yarrow. Now you want to take away the one good thing I’ve known since I was a kid. How the fuck should I react?”
Oz sizes me up as if preparing to throw a punch. If he does, I’m more than ready to take it. Getting kicked around is one of my few skills.
“Yarrow’s delicate. You know that, right?” he asks instead of punching me.
“Delicate isn’t the right word. Scarred is better,” I explain while marking the wall for the screws. “Yarrow’s wounds are old, and the scars are thick. She’s no longer vulnerable like a raw nerve. Her thinking is rigid. She likes things the way she likes them, and changing her mind isn’t easy. Right now, she wants me. I couldn’t stop her if I wanted to. Neither can you. Yarrow grabs what she wants and holds on. It’s the only way she’s survived coming out of that room and into a world way too fucking big for her to comprehend.”
Running his hands through his dark hair, Oz sighs like he’s a million years old and life’s gotten too much to bear.
“Ginger’s all twisted up worrying about Yarrow. She wasn’t ready for her girl to start dating. It’s making her miserable.”
“I don’t know why. Yarrow decided to date a guy in the club and who lives next door. She still sleeps at your place. Yarrow isn’t ditching the crew. She’s making visits to the townhome the crew wanted her to live in.”
Rather than respond to my words, Oz glances at the picture Yarrow bought today.
“What’s with the elephant?” he asks before drilling the holes for the TV mount.
“I like them. If you spent more time with your club bros, you’d know that about me.”
“Feeling neglected, pumpkin?” he asks, fighting a smile.
“Not so much since Yarrow decided I’m the sexiest fucker she’s seen.”
Losing any hint of a grin, he mutters, “Fucking her would be a mistake.”
“Thanks, Dad, but this isn’t my first crazy fox rodeo.”
“Explain to me why you’re moving in here.”
“Thought that would be obvious. Your mom is moving out of the old house, and I won’t have anywhere to live. Yarrow doesn’t use this place, and she agreed. Can’t imagine any other place where I can be
sure Annie won’t break in while I’m sleeping and gouge out my eyes.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing about fucking crazy foxes. They don’t take well to being discarded.”
I clench my teeth to keep from correcting the record on Annie. I’d told Oz and the guys what made sense to tell them. My easy lie made me look like an asshole, which was icing on top. Now, though, I want to clear the air. I keep my mouth shut instead.
“Are you here to help me hang up the TV or did Ginger send you over to give me the riot act?”
“Both. No matter what you say about Yarrow, Ginger won’t let go of your dating history.”
“Nothing happened with Annie!” I shout, suddenly losing my temper. “I didn’t fuck her or even kiss the little bitch! I didn’t do shit to her except for listening to her whine about all the people doing her wrong!”
Oz’s chest puffs out as if preparing for a fight. “That’s not the story you’ve been telling, Blackjack, so excuse the fuck out of me if I don’t believe you.”
“You wouldn’t have believed me if I told you the truth.”
“How do you figure?”
“You were acting like a fucking fool after you became president. Walking around, wagging your dick, showing off. The guys hooted and hollered over every hot piece of ass. Everyone was bragging about who they fucked as if getting laid meant we were safe from the shit that sank the rest of the club. Can you imagine if I said I’d played sympathetic girlfriend with a chick at the bar and she turned into a psycho and started stalking me? You guys would have torn me up. I didn’t need that shit, so I told you what you’d understand. She went nuts after a one-night stand.”
“Yeah, because what you’re saying now doesn’t make much fucking sense.”
“Look, you know my history,” I say, pacing across the empty living room. “Why I was in juvie and shit. So, I have a soft spot for messed-up chicks. I like playing their heroes. When a sad Annie came into the bar, I bought her a drink, and she started talking. We ended up in a booth for a few hours. Nothing sexual. I just listened to her bitch about people. I told her she was right and they were wrong. She seemed lonely, and I never had any luck with women. I figured I’d feed my need to be the hero by listening to her, and she’d feel like someone cared.”
