Inhaling, I shake off the bad thoughts. I can’t go back in time. I can’t right the wrongs. I curl into myself and fight to ignore the wetness growing on my pillow from the tears.
“Oh, Mom, I’m so very sorry. I was young, dumb, and so very clueless to all you and Pops did for me,” I whisper to the air around me.
Getting up, I wipe my eyes then turn on my salt lamp. One thing losing my parents did was drive me toward a new career path. Art is something I love, but I learned the science to mental illness in psychology and found ways to balance the positive and negative ions in my life so that I wouldn’t be dependent on medications.
For some, doctors are able to find the right balance to make things right physiologically and psychologically. For me, I needed time on the typical anti-depressants. However, in my journey, I found detoxifying my life was best and maintaining a balance of positive and negative so I don’t step down the hole of darkness, never to resurface.
I know I hurt my mother with my words and behavior. It was selfish. Although unintentional, my lack of self-control and wild ways cost my parents more than money on my education. No, they lost sleep, and they lost positive energy during their time worrying over me.
For this to all creep back up, it means my energy is offset. I have fallen off balance, and until I get back to even, then this will only continue. I can’t go back over it again.
Nothing has felt right since I bumped into him.
Doesn’t Coal see that I don’t want to cost him? That I don’t want to hurt a single being? Even though he says things are right between us, they aren’t. I feel it.
I just don’t know what I’m going to do about it. I should probably be afraid of him. Only, I’m not. No, I’m intrigued.
Chapter Eight
~Coal~
“The question of the day is this: are these murders hired hits, or is this guy really knocking people off because they complained about their food?”
Ice’s question should be easy to answer. These people are being whacked mob style. Thing is, I’m not so sure they are.
“Sorry, boss, but I still have nothing to tie these murders together besides the food joint,” Screech explains.
“And there is no digging deeper?” Ice questions him back.
The hacker guru shrugs. “I dug so deep I hit China already. Nowhere else to go.”
Rubbing a finger over my bottom lip, I think about the implications of what Screech is telling us. There is absolutely nothing connecting these victims together, other than a place they ate at.
Not a loan from the mob.
Not a snitch to be found.
Only hungry men who apparently chose the wrong place to fucking voice a complaint about their food. The idea is completely ridiculous, yet we have nothing else.
“I think I should go and check the place out myself,” I pipe in.
“And do what?” Ice retorts sarcastically. “You gonna tell the head cook his fries suck and see if he tries to stab your ass with a paring knife?”
Screech laughs, while I ignore my brother’s tone and shake my head.
“You know better than anyone that the best way to get an impression of your target is to surveillance them. I’ll go in there and check the place out; get a feel for it. If I happen to see someone I think is a certifiable whack job who moonlights as a hired killer named Cook, I’ll let you know.”
Ice isn’t the only one who knows how to be a smartass. Most people wouldn’t take him on that way. I’m not most people. The two of us have been brothers in battle long before he ever became my prez. The man understands me better than my own parents. He knows the difference between me fucking with him and me being a straight-up asshole.
“You promise not to pull some crazy-ass stunt if you figure out who it is?”
I give Ice a droll look instead of asking him if he is serious.
The man points his finger at me. “I’m not fucking around, Coal. I know you think you can handle anything that’s thrown at you, but I don’t trust this motherfucker. If you see something suspicious, you call me for backup, understood?”
I nod, then stand up from the chair. “Time for me to go get some grub. Anyone else want me to pick them up something?” I ask before walking away.
Both Ice and Screech pale, looking as if they might puke.
“Think we’ll pass on that offer, brother. Good luck.” Screech replies.
Ice smirks. “I got a woman I’m sure is baking cookies at the house. Gotta make sure I save room for dessert.”
Fucking dickhead is so happy with Morgan, and he’s not afraid to rub his happy home in all our faces. Good for him. He deserves it, she deserves it, and they can have all their sweet and their cookies, too.
With the dismissal, I leave Ice’s office and make my way out of the club. It doesn’t take me long to get to Billy Bob’s Barbeque. Fifteen minutes after hitting the highway, I am at my destination.
It looks like any little southern barbeque joint, which sucks, because it would make my job a fuck of a lot easier if there was a giant flashing sign that read “Killer in Here.”
Stepping in through the restaurant’s front double doors, the smell of pork hits me. I love pork. Or, I should say, I used to before this case.
My stomach begins to get a little queasy just thinking about eating meat from this place.
Stepping up to the rinky-dink podium where the hostess is waiting, I tell her a table for one, and then she seats me in a relatively empty section. This is good. It will keep the obstacles from blocking my vision.
The hostess lingers a few beats too long, licking her lips in appreciation of my figure. I get it. Really, the older I get, the more I can distinguish the hunger of lust in a female’s eyes. If only women would realize the danger that can be behind any physique.
I order a sweet tea, and the hostess says it will be out in a moment with my waitress Diana.
When she leaves, I blow out a breath. I like eating alone. In fact, I like being alone. Solitude is my friend. There is peace in not being tied to another person, a safety in it.
Grabbing the menu, I start to check it over. It isn’t very diversified. Lots of pork and barbeque, with only a few other items such as a steak or a burger. If we ever have a pork belly shortage, this place will certainly struggle to stay open.
I try to concentrate on the description of the dishes, but my mind keeps flashing back to the murdered men. The thought of a man instead of a pig with an apple stuck in its mouth almost makes me sick right here at the table, but I manage to reel myself in.
Maybe Pixie has a point about this meat thing. However, there isn’t much else to choose from.
A few moments later, a short, middle-aged Latino woman with curly brown hair stops at my table and sets down a sweet tea. “Here’s your drink, sir. Are you ready to order?”
Slapping the menu down on the table, I surprise even myself when I tell her, “Salad.”
Diana’s eyes widen, and she repeats after me in hesitation, “Salad?”
I give her a nod, reiterating, “Salad.”
She stands there for a second, staring at me as if she is waiting for me to say something else. When I don’t, she looks down to her pad and mutters, “The big, bad biker is getting a salad. Oooooookay.” Looking back at me, she then asks, “What kind of dressing would you like on your salad, sir?”
“Ranch,” I reply crankily. I am hungry. Borderline hangry, as they say. I don’t need this broad judging me for ordering a fucking salad. Just because I eat some green shit doesn’t mean I can’t kick ass.
“Anything else?” Diana asks a little hopefully.
Shaking my head, I see she looks a little disappointed when she walks away with my order.
After she disappears behind a swinging door that reads “Employee’s Only,” I think of her disappointed expression and chuckle to myself. It seems she was hoping for a piece of me.
The thought makes me burn for physical release. It has been far too long since the
last time I was inside of a woman, and Precious is now tucked away safely with her son a state away in Alabama. There won’t be any calling her for relief.
As I sit here, considering my other options, Diana makes her way back to my table with a salad on her tray. Dropping it off in front of me, she gives me a wink and says in a sultry voice, “Let me know if you need anything else, handsome.”
I give her a smile, which is all the woman will get from me.
Looking down at the large bowl in front of me, I have to admit the salad looks good. Lots of leafy greens mixed with tomatoes, small slivers of onions, and cucumbers. Grabbing the small bowl of ranch dressing, I am just about to put it on my lunch when I stop.
Looking at the creamy white dressing I have used a thousand times before, my mind chooses that moment to remind me of Pixie and her lemon juice dressing. Spritz, she called it. Paired with perfectly infused water that somehow completely naturally tasted like some delicacy. I didn’t want to admit to her that it wasn’t that bad to eat because, at the time, I thought she was a little fruity. Now I find myself wishing the ranch was gone and I had Pixie’s lemon juice instead.
Fuck, but that woman is going to drive me to distraction!
As if in an attempt to rebel against my wayward thoughts about the woman who practically stalks me, I dump the ranch dressing on my salad then dig in.
While eating, I take the time to watch my surroundings, keeping a pulse point on every person who walks in or out of the kitchen. I don’t exactly see anyone who screams serial killer to me, but if he is here, Cook probably stays in the kitchen, a place I can’t go or see because of the way the restaurant is set up.
I finish my salad, pay for my meal, and get the fuck out of there because, honestly, it gives me the creeps.
My mom has always believed in trusting your instincts. My gut, my instincts, scream this place isn’t on the up and up. Whether it is the home of a hitman or a serial killer … Well, I have yet to determine.
I decide to head back to the club, check in with Ice, and then grab a beer to wash today away. If I can get one persistent, little woman off my mind, I might call up one of the girls I use and fuck my day away, too. I just have this feeling that Pixie isn’t going to let me forget her.
~Paisley~
Drop.
Lock.
I mentally talk myself through a firm squat session.
My hands sweat inside my gloves as I hold the weights.
Training. This is what I do. I focus on the task at hand. I can’t drown in thoughts if I think through each movement of my muscle groups. Moving my energies toward health and fitness, I take a negative time and balance myself until I can find the positive again.
By the time I finish up my cardio routine, I’m a sweaty mess as I make my way to the spin classroom to see how Des is doing. She is filling in for the instructor today.
She has sweat pouring down her face and is splotchy red.
“That shit is no joke,” she says before gulping down water.
I smile. “Intense. I like it. Maybe I’ll fill in next time.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I sense him before I see him.
When Des smiles her biggest smile and stands up taller, I know before he makes it to her that Hammer is here, too.
I feel so stupid. I haven’t seen Coal since the dinner fiasco.
What is the proper etiquette to reach out?
I am sure he thinks I’m a crazy stalker, and I wish he could see that I’m not. Regardless, I can’t shake the feelings. It has been almost ten days since the failed attempt at dinner. I don’t know how nutso it is for me to try to invite him out to a restaurant or do something else..
The urge to apologize keeps crawling inside of me. Things are just getting worse with each passing day. I know that my energy is off. I also know that none of it matters to him.
“Fuckin’ love when you’re all hot, Des,” Hammer says before devouring Desirae in a kiss.
Coal just looks at me while we awkwardly wait for our friends to come up for air.
“Hey, Trevor.” I raise my hand up in a wave. My skin is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and I’m only wearing a sports bra and the booty shorts that I work out in. My hair is braided back, and I’m sure I look a hot mess with no makeup and the bags under my eyes from my nightmares lately.
“Pixie.” He smiles. “Glad to see you’re not digging into me anymore.”
I can only nod because it was really stupid of me to do that. Then. energies be damned, I decide to walk away.
Des will call or text later. Coal isn’t here for me, anyway, so why stand around like I’m waiting for something?
“See ya around, Trevor,” I tell him, stepping away while Hammer and Des finally break apart.
I round the corner when Scotty reaches out and brazenly grabs my ass.
“No!” I scream reactively.
In a whoosh, Coal slams Scotty against the wall with his forearm pressed into Scotty’s neck and a knee to his junk, holding him in place.
“Pixie didn’t ask to be touched.”
“Call your boyfriend off, Paisley,” Scott pleads with me, refusing to acknowledge Coal.
Hammer takes his side while Des stands beside me.
“Muscle Man, when are you gonna learn?” Hammer asks while Coal drops his knee back and slams it into Scotty’s crotch.
“Ice your balls, ice your mind, and ice your motherfuckin’ fingers because you won’t ever fuckin’ touch her again unless she asks for it,” Coal growls before one last shove, releasing Scotty.
“Fuckin’ tease,” Scotty sneers, glaring at me as he hobbles away, holding his balls.
Not looking at Coal, I stammer out a thank you to both him and Hammer as I rush away in a panic.
Guilt.
Did I give off the wrong energy? Working out increases endorphins, which can be misread. Scotty is getting harder and harder to handle. It’s not my intention to mislead a single soul. I am who I am.
My heart is racing, and I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my body. Suddenly, I feel the negative energy wash over me, like an invisible slime, and I want nothing more than to go wash it off in the shower.
I start to enter the women’s locker room when I hear Coal call after me.
“Pixie.”
Looking back over my shoulder, I answer, “Yes?”
He points in the direction that Scotty just walked off in. “If that asswipe gives you trouble again, let me know, understand?”
Unable to form words, I nod, and then quickly enter the women’s locker room. I don’t bother to shower there. I just grab my stuff out of my locker and hightail it out of the gym.
Rushing home, I lock my door the minute it shuts and race to the bathroom to jump in the shower. I can’t help feeling as though Scotty’s touch has corrupted my aura or something. All I want to do is wash it off then meditate to find my center again.
A small part of me can’t help wondering if the incident is my karmic punishment for digging into Coal’s past, which only makes me feel worse.
Chapter Nine
~Coal~
“Anyone seen Big Jim?” I ask the brothers around the club as I walk from one end to the other, looking for the big, red-haired bastard.
Everyone shakes their heads no, so I make my way back toward Ice’s office and the hallway with the private rooms our girls use.
Perhaps Ice has seen him, or maybe he is in one of those rooms with his ol’ lady Lisa. The couple have been together for as long as I have known them, yet they always act like a couple of horny teenagers.
Once I make it to the prez’s office, I knock twice on the doorframe to get his attention from where he is sitting behind his desk. “Have you seen Big Jim?”
Putting the paper down he was reading, Ice gives me a weird look. “The last time I saw BJ was yesterday when I asked him to stop by the Billy Bob’s Barbeque and ask that waitress Screech was chattin’ up with about what the gov ordered the la
st time he ate there. No one has seen him today? He should have fuckin’ reported in by now.”
My stomach drops. I don’t waste another second.
Whipping out my cell phone, I dial Big Jim’s number, hoping he will pick up.
Nothing.
Once his voicemail kicks on, I hang up and try his number again.
Nothing.
When that doesn’t work, I call Lisa.
Looking over at the schedule posted on the wall, I see her name written on today’s date for being on shift tonight. She should already be here, and I’m pretty sure she isn’t. Otherwise, one of the boys would have said something when I asked about Big Jim.
Turning my attention back to Ice, he reads the alarm in my eyes and stands up from his chair.
“They’re not answering?” he asks me worriedly.
I shake my head as I try Lisa’s number for a second time. However, it doesn’t seem as if Ice is going to wait to see if that works as he takes off for the door with his motorcycle keys in his hand, muttering, “This isn’t right. Something’s wrong.”
Hanging up, I follow him down the hallway, catching Hammer’s eye before we reach the front door and motioning for him to come with us. Ice is already on his bike and waiting when we make it outside.
Hammer and I hop up on our motorcycles, and then the three of us take off like we are running from the hounds of hell. Little do we know, we are about to step into a hell of our own.
Pulling up at Big Jim’s small house, we take notice that no lights are on, yet his bike and Lisa’s car are both parked in the driveway. This is definitely not a good sign. In all the years Big Jim has been with the Regulators, he has never been late, never missed a call without returning it, and Lisa has been our best bartender since we opened.
The three of us run up to the door, not bothering to knock as Ice tries the doorknob first. When he turns it, the door opens. Another bad sign. We all know BJ keeps his house and his girl locked up safe when they are home.
Ice gives the hand signal for us to pull our guns, and Hammer and I do. Then I try to prepare myself mentally for whatever it is we are about to walk in on.
Coal (Regulators MC Book 3) Page 8
