Better (Stark Ink Book 2)

by Dahlia West

  He tossed the order on the kitchen counter and scooped up his keys.

  “Give me one chance to see if I can fix it.”

  Zoey sighed. She looked suddenly tired, beaten down. Dalton’s jaw tightened.

  “Dalton.”

  He held up a finger. “One chance.”

  Her mouth tugged into a frown. “Don’t. Don’t go see him. He’ll—”

  “I’m not going to see him,” Dalton insisted. “I’m going to find someone else, okay? I know someone who might be able to help us.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “Who?”

  Dalton snatched his coat off the chair. “A friend of a friend.”

  ‘Friend’ was stretching it. And there was a chance that no one could help them.

  They needed a Hail Mary. Thankfully, Dalton was no stranger to those.

  Chapter Thirty

  Dalton pulled his truck into the gravel lot and put it in park. Beside him, Adam ducked his head to gaze up at the yellow-tinted sign above their heads. Maria’s flashed down at them, setting the cab of the truck aglow.

  Adam drummed his fingers on the dashboard. “I gotta say, D, this is the last place I thought we’d end up when you called.”

  Dalton frowned at a pair of roughnecks in cowboy hats shuffling to their trucks. One tossed a beer bottle against the brick wall, shattering it. “Haven’t been here in a while. Still looks as rowdy as ever. I just wanted someone to watch my back while I’m in there. Obviously, I couldn’t ask Jonah.”

  Adam leaned back in the seat. “Nah. This place isn’t as bad as you remember. Sullivan and his boys keep it pretty clean.”

  Dalton nodded. “I thought they might still hang out here. That’s who we’re here to see.”

  Adam scowled. “Uh, D, Sullivan’s top notch and all, but do you really need a sniper to solve your problems? Not that I don’t agree that it’s tempting.”

  Dalton shut off the truck’s engine and opened his door. “Not Sullivan. Just one of his guys.”

  They reached the front doors and headed inside. The place was pretty busy, even for a weeknight. For the most part, the mix of people was the way Dalton remembered it: cowboys, bikers, and factory workers. It had been a long time since Dalton had been here, though. Long before rehab he’d taken up drinking at home. There had been no one around to cut him off in his living room.

  The eponymous blonde bartender clearly remembered him. She eyed him stonily as he passed the bar. He gave Maria a curt nod, but kept walking. She wasn’t the only one who’d noticed Dalton and Adam enter. Shooter and his large Sioux buddy both stood up at the same time, pausing their game of pool. Beyond them, the Badlands Buzzards, Rapid City’s very own one-percenter MC, also spotted them.

  Thankfully, the Starks had paid their debt— and then some— plus Shooter and his boys stood between them.

  The former Army lieutenant set down his cue and took a few steps forward. He jerked his chin toward the bikers in the corner. “You know I’ll keep them off your back, but I’d prefer you don’t actually go looking for trouble. At least not in here.” He paused. “Unless… you already found it.”

  Dalton shook his head. “No. Well, yeah. I’ve got some trouble, but not with them. I’m looking for a friend of yours.”

  Shooter’s eyes narrowed. “Which one? And don’t say the big one because he’s still sore at your brother there.” He jabbed a finger at Adam. “And if your brother and my brother go at it, we’ve all got problems.”

  “No. Not him,” Dalton clarified as he scanned the booths. “Him.”

  Shooter followed his gaze, then grunted. “Fair enough,” he said as he stepped out of the way.

  As Dalton and Adam moved past him, Adam said quietly, “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  “More or less,” Dalton replied.

  They stopped at a table occupied by a man and a woman. Both had dark hair, both had on leather jackets. Surprisingly, both looked menacing.

  “Barnes,” said Dalton to the man seated in front of him.

  They didn’t really know each other, not personally, but Rapid City wasn’t that large. Doc Barnes was a cop, or used to be, and he knew Adam, at least.

  Barnes looked up from his beer. Recognition set in despite the lack of a formal introduction. “Stark?”

  Dalton looked at the two of them. “Got a minute?”

  Barnes raised an eyebrow. “We do. But it looks like you might need more than a minute.” He nodded to the woman and she made room for Dalton on her side of the booth. Barnes gave Adam some space on his end.

  As Dalton slid in, the woman gave him a once-over. “I’m Izzy.”

  “Dalton Stark.”

  “The drunk.”

  Barnes sighed. “Baby, don’t start a bar fight. It’s not even midnight.”

  “It’s true enough,” Dalton said. “But I’m an ex-drunk.”

  She eyed him skeptically. “You’re in a bar.”

  “Looking for you,” Dalton pointed out. “On the subject of exes, my woman and I are back together, but there’s a hitch.”

  Adam snorted. “He means she’s hitched.”

  Dalton shot him a look.

  Adam held up his hands. “Just telling it like it is.”

  Dalton took a deep breath and turned back to Barnes. “She’s technically still married, yeah, but it’s all over except for the paperwork, which he’s trying to strong-arm her into signing.”

  Izzy snorted. “Divorces are kind of what we’re hoping to avoid. Hire a lawyer.”

  Dalton shook his head. “I don’t need a lawyer, I need you.” He reached into his pocket and brought out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times and then handed it to Izzy.

  She frowned at it for a long moment before passing it to Barnes.

  Dalton kept his voice low. “Wasn’t the first time, but it’s for damn sure the last. Photo’s not worth much, though, without a police report to go with it, which she didn’t want to make.”

  Barnes snorted and handed back the phone. “It’s not worth much with a report. Especially not in this town.”

  Dalton nodded. “I’ve managed to hold him off so far, but it’s not going to be long before he figures out the photo is basically worthless. By the time that happens, I need something— anything— you can get on him. Anything that’ll stick. Right now he’s burying her in paperwork. Divorce, plus a paternity test order.”

  Barnes raised the same eyebrow.

  Dalton “He says he thinks I’m the kid’s father.”

  Barnes gave Dalton a hard look. “Any truth to that?”

  “No,” Dalton replied firmly. “He’s just being an asshole. He knows that’s not what I meant. I said he threw them away and they were mine now, but he knows goddamn good and well that I never laid a hand on Zoey after she left me. I never even saw her again until she ran away from him. She was already seven months pregnant by then. He’s just trying to fuck with her, make everything harder. She wants to leave, but he’s not letting her go.”

  “Why not? If a guy like you is willing to fight for her, seems like he’d be smart to walk away.”

  Dalton sighed. “Money. Zoey’s parents have some and I suspect he’s flat fucking broke. Basically he wants her to pay him to disappear.”

  Izzy snorted. “This guy sounds like a real winner.”

  Dalton nodded. “Well, believe me, I’m getting the feeling I should have broken his hand so he couldn’t hold it out.”

  Barnes didn’t seem put off by the remark. Dalton had heard stories about the man over the years, now he suspected they might be true.

  “Tricky,” Barnes replied. “They’re still married and there’s the kid to consider. Plus, with you out of the picture…”

  “That’s the only reason I haven’t tracked him down. If I go to jail, it’s just Adam and Jonah left to protect them. I won’t have that. Zoey and the baby need to be with me. They need to be safe. We need this shit to end. Even though Zoey’s parents aren’t my favorite people, they shouldn’t hav
e to shell out any cash to this guy. He doesn’t deserve jack shit.”

  Dalton reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. He set it down on the table between them. “This is what I have. I asked around about your rates. It should be enough for a background check… plus a little extra digging.”

  Dalton wasn’t certain exactly how this was supposed to work. Barnes was an ex-cop, but the way Dalton had heard it, the man didn’t exactly go by the book even when he’d worn the badge. Barnes and his girlfriend had a reputation for doing what needed to be done even though Dalton never saw a thing about it in the newspapers afterward. He guessed that Barnes’ old police force connections kept them under the radar. He felt certain, though, that this man knew exactly what Dalton meant and what he needed to get Grant off their backs and out of their lives permanently.

  Barnes picked up the envelope and lifted the flap. He took out approximately half the bills and slid it back to Dalton.

  “Half-off for wife beaters,” Izzy said with a wicked grin. “We’re running a special.”

  Barnes stuffed the stack of bills into his jacket. “If there’s anything to find, I’ll get it,” he told Dalton. “But you need to be prepared. There may be nothing.”

  Dalton’s jaw twitched. “There’s something, I’m sure of it. It doesn’t add up at all, they’re broke, but he has a new car. He has cash, but makes her use plastic. I don’t know where he’s getting the money or where it’s going, but my gut tells me it’s not legit.”

  The man nodded and took a long pull of his beer. “It’s a good place to start.”

  For the first time since Zoey had come back into his life, Dalton felt a glimmer of hope.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The next day, Dalton and Zoey beat Jig to Pop’s house. The older man arrived at the front door holding a covered dish. He grinned at Zoey and Calla. “I think you’re supposed to bring flowers,” he told them. “Or some such thing, but cut flowers seem like a waste. They die awful quick. I figure pie’s better.”

  As they all set the table, Adam cleared his throat and looked at Jig. “We’ve got soda or water. We were never big on wine, even before,” he added, looking furtively at Dalton. “And we don’t keep beer in the house.”

  Jig nodded. “Soda’s fine.”

  Adam set off to fulfill the request.

  Jig had won over the girls easily with a graham cracker crust and whipped cream topping. Pop, however, was a much harder nut to crack. As they pulled up their chairs at the table, the old man asked, “So, you’re my son’s sponsor? What is that, exactly? And what makes you qualified?”

  Dalton grimaced. “Pop.”

  Jig smiled, though. “No, it’s all right. It’s a fair question. I’m the guy who checks in to make sure Dalton’s not overwhelmed by trying to stay sober. And I’m the guy he calls whenever he feels like he is overwhelmed. Though, for the record, he’s never called. And, as far as qualifications go, I’m a drunk myself. Plus, I picked up a few other bad habits along the way. So I know my way around getting clean and staying clean. I suppose I should tell you, I’m an ex-con, too.”

  A heavy silence hung at the table.

  Finally, Pop nodded. “I’ve known a few myself. Guys who got out of the service, didn’t know what to do with themselves. Got into trouble.”

  “I’m the opposite,” said Jig. “Got into trouble and then started my service. As a sponsor, though. Not in the military.”

  Pop grunted. “Wouldn’t have you. Not with that long hair.”

  “Pop,” Dalton cried.

  Pop shrugged. “Just truth-telling. And anyway, it’s not like he’s out of place,” the old man added, eyeing Adam. “One of my sons has long hair, one of them can’t go through a metal detector in an airport, and none of them followed in my footsteps.”

  Jig cocked his head. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m looking around and I’m seeing a few good men.”

  Pop followed Jig’s gaze. “True,” he replied.

  “Careers are tricky,” Jig declared. “My old man wrote a lot of songs.”

  Pop’s eyebrows raised. “Oh yeah? Any I’ve heard?”

  Jig smiled enigmatically. “As a matter of fact.”

  Dalton was surprised as well by this admission, but Jig didn’t name names.

  “Thought I’d try my hand at the bass guitar,” Jig said instead. “But song writing wasn’t for me.”

  Pop considered this. “Gotta live first to write a song about it.”

  “True enough,” Jig agreed. “I did a lot of living. That’s for sure. Though I was too busy doing it with a needle in my arm to write about it.”

  “You could now. Now that it’s behind you,” Pop suggested.

  Jig looked thoughtful. “I could. But my old man left a large shadow and I’m trying to live in the light, you know what I’m saying?”

  “I do. So, are you happy driving a forklift?”

  Jig grinned. “Not really, but I’m happy with August”

  Pop raised another eyebrow, just one this time. “Maybe your long hair wasn’t the only thing keeping you out of the service.”

  Dalton’s jaw dropped. “Pop!”

  Jig didn’t seem offended, though. He laughed. “August is my flower, my orchid. I tried my hand at a fern first. I kept it alive for the whole year, but I just didn’t think I was ready.” Jig leaned into the table. “Oh, they say if you can keep a plant alive for a whole year while in recovery, you’re ready to try a real relationship. Anyway, I moved on from the fern to the orchid because I didn’t feel ready.”

  “But you named it August?” Pop asked.

  Jig shrugged. “Seemed to want to be called August. I play a lot of August Jones for it, keeps it perky. So ‘August’ it was.”

  “I like August Jones,” Pop declared. “Miriam really liked him.”

  Jig smiled. “Oh, yeah? Most people have forgotten about him by now. They only care about Sinatra.”

  Pop shook his head. “Frank Sinatra spent too much time being Frank Sinatra.”

  Jig grinned. “Kindred spirit.”

  Pop snorted. “Not with that long hippie hair.”

  Dalton groaned. “Pop.”

  After dinner the old man disappeared, but returned shortly and caught Jig’s attention. “So, you don’t drink, but have you given up smoking?” He extended his hand to reveal a few hand rolled cigars.

  Jig grinned. “I don’t smoke anymore, but I’d never turn down a Cuban.”

  Pop grunted. “These are Dominicans, you long-haired commie.”

  Dalton pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus, Pop.”

  Jig laughed. “I’ll take one anyway, if you’re offering.”

  The old man opened the back door and waited for Jig to finish putting on his jacket. Adam shook his head and jerked his thumb at the kitchen. “Not tonight. I’m on KP duty.”

  Dalton, Jig, and Pop stepped out onto the deck into the frigid night. As they stood passing around the Zippo, they looked into the lighted windows. Adam had one hand on the dishrag and the other arm around Calla. She was laughing as he kissed her neck.

  Pop made a quiet noise of approval. “Don’t blame him. If I had it to do over again, I’d be inside doing the same thing.”

  Jig blew out a perfect ring of smoke. “Second that.”

  Pop looked at the slightly younger man. “Where’s your wife?”

  Dalton opened his mouth to tell Pop that he was getting too personal, but Jig sighed. “Smart enough to leave me and never look back.”

  Pop rolled his cigar between his fingers while eyeing the glowing tip. “Coulda looked back,” he said quietly. “You turned it around.”

  Jig shook his head. “Not quick enough, sorry to say. Not for her.”

  “What about your kids?”

  Jig glanced at him, eyebrows raised.

  Pop shrugged. “You care too much about Dalton not to have at least one of your own.”

  Slowly, Jig nodded. “One. A boy. He’s in Chicago last I heard. We don’t t
alk much.”

  “Or ever,” Pop concluded.

  “Pop!” Dalton chastised.

  The old man looked over at Dalton. “We’re both too old to bullshit. And I want to know what kind of man’s on the other end of the line whenever you feel like you need to pick up the phone.” Pop turned back to Jig and waited for the answer.

  “I haven’t seen my kid in a long, long time,” Jig admitted.

  “Did you beat him?”

  Jig shook his head sharply. “No. Never. Not once. I wasn’t around long enough to hit him. Of course, that meant I wasn’t around long enough to hug him, either.”

  Pop was silent a moment before he said, “Kids come back. Not all of them, not all the time. But a lot of them do. Adam did. Dalton did. So did Jonah.”

  Jig nodded. “Well, the door’s always open. He knows that. I’m just hoping that one day he’ll walk through it.”

  Pop sighed. “Most of the time that’s all you can do.”

  After another few minutes, Jig stubbed out his stogie and held out his hand to the old man. Despite being a longhaired commie-hippie, Pop took it and shook it firmly.

  Dalton didn’t miss the smile on the old man’s face.

  “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

  “Douglas.”

  “Douglas, then.” Jig nodded toward the back door. “I’ll find my way out. Thanks for dinner.”

  Dalton and Pop watched him go. Through the back door, they saw Jig talking to Calla, Ava, and Zoey, probably repeating the same sentiment.

  “I like him,” Pop finally declared.

  “Me, too,” Dalton agreed.

  Then, the old man sighed. “I’m sorry, Dalton. I’m sorry I can’t help you through all this. I could try, but I guess maybe it’s better to talk to someone who can relate to what you’re dealing with.”

  Dalton nodded. “Probably.”

  The back door opened and Zoey stuck her head out. She smiled at them. “There’s still some more pie.”

  Dalton grinned back. “Oh, I’ll be in after your pie in a bit.”