“Sounds like Ralph.”
“You know what they say, girls marry their fathers,” said Wendy.
Shea shook her head. “Not this girl.”
Wendy turned to her, all humor gone. “No, you just stole cars for a living. Big-time felon, just like Daddy.”
“Fuck you, Wendy. I am nothing like that murderous son of a bitch. All I did was boost a few cars to survive.” Shea felt like punching her, or at least kicking her out of her house. But she needed to see this through. For Annie and for Derek.
“You coulda lived with us, had a normal life instead of living on the streets.”
“If growing up with those bigoted motherfuckers is your idea of normal, I’m glad I missed out.”
“Monster and Julia were good godparents.”
“I seen what the club does to people. What it did to Mama.”
“You coulda at least stayed in touch.”
“After what you said at Ralph’s trial, I didn’t want nothin’ to do with you or the club.”
Wendy’s brow crinkled. “What the hell you talking about?”
“Don’t deny it, Wendy. I was in the courtroom. I heard you.”
“I never testified at Daddy’s trial.”
“I remember seeing you.”
“It wasn’t me you remember.”
A wave of nausea swept over Shea. Must be the vodka, she thought. A dark memory threatened to bubble to the surface. “What’re you talking about?” Her voice cracked with nervousness.
Wendy took Shea’s hand as if she were a child. “It’s okay. I mighta done the same thing on the stand. We’d already lost Mama. We were scared of losing Daddy, too. And you two were so close before.”
“You saying I testified that Ralph acted in self-defense? You’re off your rocker. I’d sooner die than protect that piece of shit.” Shea turned away from her, downed what remained in her glass, and poured herself another.
“Shea, it don’t matter. Daddy went to prison. And we both turned out okay, more or less.”
Shea stood up. Her head swam and she fell back onto the love seat. Fire rippled up her leg. “Fuck!”
It took a moment for her to catch her breath and get control of the pain. Her pulse pounded in her ears like a bass drum. “You’re fulla shit, you know that? Why would I care about losing the club? They’re a bunch of violent, racist assholes who treat women like shit. They weren’t my family. I got a family of my own.”
“Who? Your cat?”
“Jessica, for one. And the people I work with. These people respect me and I respect them.”
“The club takes care of its own.”
Shea grabbed her sister’s chin and turned her face from one side to the other. “I can see from the bruises on your face how well they take care of you. Same way they took care of Mama. How many times did Ralph beat the shit out of her? And no one did a damn thing. Real families don’t do that shit to each other.”
Wendy twisted her face out of Shea’s hand. “I tried to get out and look what happened.”
Shea stumbled to the kitchen and put her glass in the sink. The vodka was kicking in strong, but it couldn’t stop the dread creeping in from the past.
Maybe Wendy was right. Maybe if her sister could get away from the Thunder, she could turn her shit around, too. Be a decent mother to Annie.
“Whatever’s past is past,” said Shea. “I’m willing to let it go. If we get Annie back—when we get Annie back—if you still want to get away from Hunter and them, I’ll help. Might even find a job for you at Iron Goddess.”
Wendy sighed. “Yeah, I’ll think about it. Thanks.”
“Until then, you can crash in the spare bedroom.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” Shea sighed. “I gotta hit the hay.” She limped toward the main bedroom.
“Hey, Shea, ’member that time we all went tubing down the Salt River?”
“Shit, hadn’t thought about that in years.” She’d forgotten almost everything about life before Mama died. “We got caught in that dust storm.”
“Everything turned all orangey brown,” said Wendy. “We couldn’t see where the river was taking us. It felt like drifting through a fog.”
The memories wriggled to the surface like earthworms in a rainstorm. “Mama insisted we get out when it started thundering. So we piled into a rusted-out horse trailer till the storm passed.”
Wendy giggled the way she did as a child. “God, did that stink!”
“When we got in the car to go home, Daddy told Mama to drive because he’d left his license at home.”
“And Mom told him no ’cause she’d had too much to drink.”
“But he made her do it anyway, said if she ran off the road and killed us all it’d serve her right for drinking so much.”
Wendy’s smile evaporated. “He was a real bastard, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah, I hope someone made him their prison bitch. Serve him right.”
Wendy’s phone rang. She looked at it, then held it out to Shea, her forehead creased with worry. “I think it’s him. The kidnapper.”
Shea took it from her. “Hello?”
“You got my four million dollars, Che?”
“I talked to Annie’s father. He don’t have four million dollars. The club don’t neither. Best we can do is a couple hundred thousand.”
His laugh sent chills down her spine. “Puta, I show you what two hundred grand get you.” A child screamed an instant before the line went dead. Shea’s knees weakened.
“What’d he say?”
“We gotta find a way to come up with four million dollars. Anything less than that and he’s gonna hurt her.” If he hasn’t already.
“What are we gonna do, Shea? I can’t let them kill my baby.” Wendy buried her face in her arms, sobbing.
Shea shook her head. “We’ll call Hunter tomorrow and figure something out. In the meantime we need to get some sleep.”
“How’m I supposed to sleep when that monster has my child?”
Shea wrapped her arms around her sister, feeling her body quake with fear, anger, and anguish. “Just do the best you can. That’s all any of us can do.”
Chapter 24
Despite the abundant amount of vodka coursing through her bloodstream, Shea was deprived of the oblivion of sleep by pain and worry. The road rash made finding a comfortable position impossible under the clingy warmth of the bedsheets. Jess lay like the dead beside her, leaving Shea all the more frustrated. Even the tap dance of monsoon rain on the windows couldn’t drown out the memory of Annie’s screams.
A little after four in the morning Ninja’s relentless mewing and pawing pulled her from an endless series of troubled dreams. Half asleep, Shea stumbled into the kitchen, trailing behind the cat. The worst of the pain in her leg had settled into a dull ache, while worries about Annie and Derek clawed at her lethargic mind.
Worry amplified to frustration as she flipped on the kitchen light. Cornflakes and freeze-dried strawberries surrounded an overturned cereal box on the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. Another fucking mess to clean up. Ninja must’ve been foraging in the night. She’d clean it up later, hoping the cat would let her sleep once she’d been fed.
She gave Ninja’s empty food bowl a quick rinse in the sink. The can of wet cat food opened with a scrape-pop, filling her nose with the rank fragrance of processed fish. Ninja devoured the mush with the fervor of a crack addict getting a much-needed bump.
On her way back to bed, the open door of the spare bedroom caught Shea’s eye. She poked her head in, wondering if her sister was getting any sleep. But Wendy wasn’t there. Not in the hallway bathroom either.
Panic tugged her mind awake. She returned to the kitchen. Drops of blood glistened among the dried strawberries and cereal flakes on the counter. One of Jessica’s Japanese knives lay beside the box, a stripe of scarlet marking the razor-sharp blade.
“Wendy?” she called.
Her sister d
idn’t answer.
Maybe she stepped outside the front door for a smoke. Blood on the doorknob sent a chill down her spine. Had someone grabbed Wendy in the night? If so, why hadn’t she heard them? Why hadn’t they come after her, too?
Footsteps creaked on the front porch. Shea picked up the baseball bat in the corner and prepared to bash the intruder. The door opened. She tightened her grip.
She was in midswing when Wendy’s head appeared. Shea diverted her swing, smacking the door instead. Wendy jumped back, shielding herself with her arm. “Jesus Christ, Shea! What the fuck?”
“Where the hell were you?” Shea lowered the bat.
Wendy held up a bloodstained paper sack from the Kokopelli Café. “I was hungry.”
“Why is there blood on the doorknob?”
“I cut my hand opening the damn bag in the cereal box.” She held up her hand. A red-black line marked her palm surrounded by smears of dried blood.
Jessica walked out of their bedroom, dressed in her robe. “What’s with all the yelling?”
“Your girlfriend tried to kill me.” Wendy glared at Shea. “Again.”
Jessica gave Shea a funny look.
“I thought she was an intruder, Jess,” said Shea. “Maybe if Wendy hadn’t left blood all over the damn place, I wouldn’t have picked up the goddamn bat.”
“Maybe if I knew where the goddamn Band-Aids were.”
“In our bathroom,” said Jessica. “I’ll get you one.”
Jessica seemed civil considering the previous night’s drama. Between the three of them, she was probably the only one who got a decent night’s sleep, Shea thought.
“Don’t bother with a Band-Aid. The bleeding stopped.” Wendy pulled a breakfast burrito out of the bag, then offered the bag to Shea. “Got y’all some, too. You’re welcome.”
Shea hesitated to grab the bag for fear her sister’s blood might’ve contaminated its contents. Last thing she needed was to catch some disease from her junkie sister. Wendy frowned as the moment grew awkward.
Jessica took the bag from her. “Thanks for buying breakfast. That was considerate of you.” She handed a burrito to Shea. “How’s the leg?”
“Hurts.” Shea put the bat away while Jessica made coffee.
Morning light filtered through the drapes as they sat down in the living room.
“Any word from Hunter?” Shea asked between bites.
“He’s freaking out. A black SUV tried to run a couple of Thundermen off the road last night. He wants me up there.”
“They getting the ransom together?”
“He said he’s taking care of it. All patronizing, you know? Like I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head about all the manly details. He can be such a prick sometimes.” The calmness of her demeanor unsettled Shea. Wendy’s pupils were pinpoints, though maybe it was from the sun shining through the window.
“Maybe we should go to the Church,” suggested Shea. “I don’t want to risk Hunter fucking things up again.”
Jessica looked at her. “You don’t want me to go, too, do you?”
“Safer for you here, sweetie.” Shea gave her a quick kiss. “The club ain’t big into diversity.”
“Suits me fine. I was planning on checking out those condos up in Ironwood, anyway.”
Wendy tied her hair back into a ponytail. “You ready to go?”
“I wanna take a shower first.” Shea took a final bite of burrito and crumpled the wrapper.
—
A half hour later, Shea was dressed and ready to go. She’d clipped the spring-assisted jackknife next to the Glock’s holster in her waistband, out of sight but easy to reach.
“Be careful,” said Jessica.
“Always.” Shea smiled and followed Wendy out to her car. “I guess I got shotgun.”
Wendy donned a pair of orange shades. “Got that right, sister.”
The morning air was warm, humid, and heavy with the promise of an afternoon monsoon. They drove back to the main highway and wound up the hill. As they cruised through Olde Towne Sycamore Springs, Shea spotted a dark SUV parked in front of Iron Goddess.
A jolt of fear hit Shea. Were the Jaguars at Iron Goddess looking for her and their stolen hex?
“Stop!”
“What’s wrong?” Wendy tapped the brakes.
“Pull into Iron Goddess. Swing around to the back lot.”
Wendy followed Shea’s instructions. Several vehicles she didn’t recognize occupied the employee spaces. Am I too late?
“Wait here.” Shea drew the Glock, tiptoeing to the back door of the shop and pressing her ear against it to listen. From inside came the sizzle of a welder and the chatter of casual conversation. She reholstered the pistol and covered it with her shirt before opening the door.
To her right, Lakota tack-welded a bike frame together. A heavyset guy with wild hair and a face full of stubble was bending tube steel on the pipe bender. Closer to the office, Switch and a man with a walrus mustache rounded out a fender on the roller.
Except for the two strangers, everything looked business as usual. Shea’s concern eased a bit, tempered with the realization outsiders were working in her shop without her permission.
Mr. Wild Hair looked up at her from the pipe bender. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
“Yeah, who the hell are you, and what’re you doing in my shop?”
“ ’Scuse me?” He tilted his head, took a few steps toward her, puffing out his chest.
“You heard me.”
Lakota threw herself between them. “Easy, Shea. Terrance brought these guys up from Hellbent Cycles in Phoenix.”
“You’re shitting me.” Shea balled her fists.
“We needed help rebuilding the Trinkets’ bikes.”
“Where’s Terrance?”
“In the office.”
“Go talk to your boss, lady,” said Wild Hair.
Between the lack of sleep and the gnawing pain in her body, something in Shea snapped. She swung at him. Lakota caught her arm.
“Hey, work it out with Terrance. Not here.” Lakota nodded in Switch’s direction.
No fighting around Switch. Shea grimaced. “Whatever.”
Shea hustled to the office, throwing open the door. “I thought we weren’t hiring the guys from Hellbent Cycles.”
Terrance looked up from his computer, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Good morning to you, too.”
“T, I’m this close to getting the bikes back. Two guys are looking to sell them to one of Goblin’s contacts.” She leaned back against the doorframe, taking the weight off her injured leg.
“I’m trying to salvage the project.” His calmness made Shea madder.
“By outsourcing it to another shop?”
“It’s not costing us anything in labor. Scotty Parsons lent us a couple of his guys in exchange for equal billing.”
“I don’t want equal billing. I want all the billing. The Pink Trinkets hired us, not Hellbent.”
“The Trinkets are on board with this.”
Shea’s jaw dropped. “You told them?”
“What was I supposed to do? Communication with a client is important in maintaining a good relationship.” More of his business school bullshit.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There are more pressing issues, she reminded herself. “Fine. Do what you think’s best. That’s not what I stopped by to tell you.”
“What’s going on?”
“Yesterday I rode with a few of the Thundermen to a place we thought my niece was being held, to rescue her. It’s a warehouse the Jaguars use to store their heroin.”
Concern creased Terrance’s brow.
“Annie wasn’t there,” Shea continued, “but Hunter stole a shitload of the Jaguars’ hex.”
“Oh fuck! You stole dope from the Jaguars?”
“I wanted nothing to do with it. Hunter pulled a gun on me and forced me to carry a bin full of hex.”
He shook his head. “Please tell me the Jags don�
��t know you were there.”
“There was a security camera. I tried to get rid of the recording, but Oscar Reyes and Victor Ganado showed up before I got a chance. I got away from them, but not before I dropped my bike on gravel and tore up my leg. It really hurts.” She pouted a little, hoping her injury might mitigate his anger. It didn’t.
Dread and rage darkened his face. “Oscar has your business card. He knows where we work.”
“Yeah, T. I know. I didn’t expect Hunter to steal the hex.” She stared at the floor, feeling stupid. “Hopefully, when the Jags look at the video, they’ll see Hunter forced me to carry the dope.”
“You think the Jaguars will give you a pass?”
“What do you suggest we do?”
“Call the cops.”
“And tell them what? That I got caught stealing dope from the Jaguars?”
“Tell them you were looking for your niece.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. Kidnapper said not to get the cops involved or they’d kill her.”
“Then I need to close down Iron Goddess until all this blows over. I can’t put everyone’s lives at risk over this.” He picked up the phone and pressed the intercom button. “I need all personnel in the office immediately.”
“I’m sorry, T. I didn’t mean for it to get this out of hand.”
“Any update on Derek?”
“In a coma. Doesn’t look good.”
He shook his head. “How are you and your sister getting along?”
“She’s a junkie. Caught her with a bottle of Oxy written out in someone else’s name.”
“Can’t choose your family,” Terrance said with a bitter laugh.
The door behind her opened. She turned, expecting Lakota, Switch, and the guys from Hellbent.
Instead Wendy stood with arms crossed. “And here I thought we moved beyond that.”
Chapter 25
Wendy’s eyes blazed as she glared at Shea. “Sorry I didn’t turn out to be the stand-up citizen you did. How many years d’you spend in prison? I forget. Was it six or seven?”
“Better an ex-con than a junkie who defends murderous assholes.”
“Believe what you want.” She pivoted and marched down the hall.
As much as she enjoyed telling her sister off, Shea knew it wasn’t helping the situation. “Wendy, wait.” Shea sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Iron Goddess Page 13
