by Goode, Ella
The library isn’t bigger than a one-room schoolhouse. A mouse couldn’t get lost in here but if it’s even possible, Annie’s red deepens. She’s probably cooking her heart at this point. “Um, sure,” she says. As they walk away, the biker turns and gives me a wink.
I shake my head in resignation and he laughs.
Annie comes scurrying back after about ten minutes of hushed discussion. The biker has settled into a chair, his long legs outstretched, a hardcover release of Lee Child’s latest lying on the table in front of him. He’s not reading though. He’s scanning every occupant in the library and watching the door carefully.
“Who’s that, Annie?” I ask when she reaches my side.
“Easy,” she says. “He and Michigan were Marine battle buddies. They’re pretty high up in the club according to their patches. Officers, I think, but I’m not sure. The club’s pretty tight about their details and their patches aren’t like the ones I’ve seen on the Internet.”
“You’ve done research?” I ask, trying not to sound like a concerned parent.
“Like a good librarian,” she answers with more confidence than I thought she possessed. Easy had a powerful affect on Annie. I wonder if her interest in the club stemmed from general curiosity or something—make that someone—very specific.
With some effort, I push aside Easy’s presence. Arguing about him being here or even complaining to Judge will have little effect. What I need to do is sublease my trailer and find a new place to live before the next city council meeting.
“Annie, do you know of any cheap apartments in town?” I ask when I come back from lunch. The library crowd has thinned out and there are only a few people in here. The town newspaper didn’t yield leads that my budget could afford until I was able to sublease the trailer but maybe Annie, a local, would have a tip.
“I thought you had a place,” she says. Easy pretends like he’s not paying attention but the subtle shift in his body reveals he’s listening to everything we say. And reporting it back to Judge.
“Unfortunately the city council may enforce the requirement in my employment contract to live within the city limits. Mayor Heinz had thought that the property being in the unincorporated area would be okay.”
She crinkles her forehead and then gasps loudly. “It’s Schmidthead, isn’t it?” She claps a hand over her mouth and looks around to see if anyone has heard her.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Easy smirk.
Lowering my voice, I respond, “If you hear anything let me know.”
“You could stay with me until you found a better place. It’s my dad and me at the parish house. It’s small but definitely within the town limits.”
Before I can answer, there’s a loud commotion outside the library. Easy jumps out of his chair and runs to the door. His phone rings and so does mine.
“What it is?” I call to Easy but he’s answering his phone. To the teenager, mom and two toddlers who are the only library patrons left, I calmly motion for them to come to the desk. “Why don’t you gather your things and bring your books up to check out.”
Easy disappears out the door and I let whoever is calling me go to voicemail. Annie and the teenager are staring out the windows but the mom comes up. “How old are your adorable children?” I ask the mom whose library card says Karen Sullivan.
“Three and four,” she says with a smile. She’s either completely unperturbed or trying to hide it for her kids.
Either way I’m going to act as if there aren’t shouts going on outside and that someone big, tough and leather-clad didn’t leap out like there was real danger. My phone rings again. I smile at Ms. Sullivan and her kids.
“I love Dr. Seuss,” I tell the older child as I scan the barcode of the books.
“Me too,” he lisps.
Adorable. I cut off five stickers for each child. “Here you are. These are book plates. You can put them inside of the books you own and then when you lend them to your friends, they’ll remember to return the books to you.”
“Thankth,” he answers. His little brother is more interested in his frog toy than discussing books.
“I really like the new programs you have listed for the fall,” Ms. Sullivan says as she collects the checked-out books and tucks them into her bag.
“Great. I hope to see you at some of them.”
“You will,” she says and gathers her boys.
When the door to the library opens next, it is Chief Schmidt. He holds the door open for the Sullivans. “Nice to see you, Karen.” He nods as the mom and two kids file out. He turns toward the window where Annie and the teenager are standing in near-identical poses with their hands behind their backs, looking guilty. “Merribel Allen, you should head home.”
“Yes, sir,” the teen replies meekly and takes off, rushing by me and Schmidt.
Then it is Annie, myself and the chief. “You too, Annie,” he says.
“Sorry, I’m still on the clock.” She crosses the room and slides behind the desk next to me and gives my hand a squeeze. “And if this is about the residency clause, Pippa is moving in with Dad and me.”
Eric looks confused for a moment as if he has so many blackmail attempts going on he can’t keep track of them all. His brow clears and he glares at Annie. “You have a two bedroom home provided by the parish. There’s no room for Pippa there.” He turns to me. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, taking advantage of young Annie like this. You knew the terms of the contract and decided to flaunt it.”
I hate that I flush so easily because I could feel the heat scorching my cheeks under the hard glare of his eyes. A man in a position of authority like Eric can make a person feel small and imperiled with a look.
Annie throws her arm across my shoulders. “I’m twenty-three, hardly a child, and I invited her, not the other way around.”
Gathering myself, I take a deep breath. “Thank you for your thoughts, Chief Schmidt. Is there anything that you need from the library today?”
“You need to—”
Before he finishes his command, the door opens and in walks Judge, Easy and another man dressed in the same leather cut and full of dark menace. Annie squeaks and moves closer to me. Judge does look angry but it’s all directed at Eric.
“This where you hold your church meetings now?” Eric sneers.
“There’s a mess on the sidewalk you need to clean up,” Judge replies. “Annie, Easy and Michigan are going to stay here until the library closes. Pippa, you’re with me.”
“I would like to know what is going on and I’m not moving until someone explains.” I fold my arms across my chest and give the four males on the other side of the wooden divide my best shh, it’s the library look. Annie copies me and we glare at the men. If Judge really wants to spend quality time with me, he’s going to learn quick that while I might enjoy certain behavior in the bedroom it does not mean I want to be ordered around at my own damn job.
The two men in leather cuts turn to Judge for direction. It’s as if Eric doesn’t even exist for them. Judge is the only one they will listen to.
Judge and I stare at each other. His eyes are saying I’m trying to protect you.
While mine shoot back I’m not some dog to order around.
His lips quirk up on the side and he gives me a tiny nod. Strolling to the desk, he leans one arm on it and turns to Eric. “You better get going. Mrs. C’s upset the mess is going to keep the good people of Fortune from getting into the grocery.”
Eric wants to argue. He opens his mouth but my neighbor, Mrs. Carmichael, opens the door.
“There you are, Chief Schmidt!” she cries. The careful curls of her blue-gray hair don’t move as she bobs her head in agitation. “Please come out right now and take care of the situation.”
The lines around his mouth tighten. He doesn’t like to be told what to do and worse, he doesn’t enjoy looking as if he can be ordered around by a little old lady. All of us, except for maybe Judge, look down to avoid revealing any
mirth at Eric’s predicament. Judge stares at Eric impassively.
Finally Eric moves toward the exit. “We’ll talk later,” he calls back.
I suppose it was directed at me but Judge answers instead. “I’m here for you anytime, Chief Schmidt. Sorry about the trouble, Mrs. C.”
“Good thing your boys were around. You should come in and get an ice cream treat from my cooler before you go home,” Mrs. C instructs the two other men.
“We’re making sure that Fortune stays safe,” Easy grins. “But I’ll be in for my ice cream treat.”
After Eric leaves, Judge hauls a chair over and places it in front of the desk. “Michigan. Easy. You two take Miss Annie home.”
He drops his ass onto the desk and takes out a wicked-looking knife from his pocket and proceeds to lay that on his knee. Easy saunters over to the table where he’d been sitting, picks up the Lee Child book and hands it to Judge. “I didn’t get past Chapter One so let me know if the French president eventually bites it.”
At Annie’s wide-eyed surprise, Easy responds, “Told you I read the series.”
She sniffs and puts her small nose up. “I never said you didn’t.”
“Go on, Annie. I can handle it,” I urge. Whatever needs to be said between Judge and me could do without witnesses. Annie scurries off and I am soon alone in the small library with Judge, his lethal knife and the books.
“I want to know what happened, why you’re here. Why you sent one of your men here and what the mess was outside. Start talking or get out.”
Judge shifts in the chair and raises one ankle to prop on the opposite knee. “Let’s see. A couple of punks with Nazi tattoos on their necks decided to spray-paint your car with a couple of poorly spelled insults. Michigan, who’d been watching the library, saw it happen and apprehended the two. He zip-tied their wrists and ankles and left them lying on the sidewalk while he called me. I called you a couple of times but you didn’t want to answer. These guys are probably patches for the skinhead gang up north. We think they’re trafficking meth down the river and that Schmidt turns a blind eye in return for a cut of the money and favors like getting revenge against a woman who scorned him—which is why Schmidthead wandered inside instead of taking the trash out.”
“You believed something was going to happen which is why you sent Easy inside and your…Michigan outside.”
He nods.
“Why didn’t you say something to me on the ride in?” I hold up my hand before he can answer. “And don’t tell me you didn’t want to worry me.”
He settles back into his chair but doesn’t respond.
“Well?” I ask impatiently. I want to reach over, grab the hardcover and give Judge a good thunk on the top of his head.
He rubs a hand over his jaw. “I can’t say anything that you’re going to want to hear at this point.”
“You can’t order me around. I’m not your son or daughter. I slept with you once. It was good. Real good and I’d like to do it again, but I’m not climbing back into bed with you if you think I’m your property.”
He sighs. “You know that’s not what those words mean. Wearing your old man’s cut, being an old lady, isn’t about being a slave to that man. It gives the man the right to protect you and it makes sure everyone else knows that there’s a heavy boot and a hard fist on the other end of the leather.”
“Then why aren’t you warning me about the potential dangers that I should be on the lookout for and why are you coming here and telling me what to do in a place where I’m in charge?” I press a shaking hand against my nose. Did I pick wrong again?
“Baby.” He stands and then vaults over the wooden divide once again. “What’s happening to you is my fault and I want to be able to make things right for you. If you’d broken it off with Schmidthead and dated the coffee maker down the street, Schmidt wouldn’t ever have leaned on the mayor. You wouldn’t have shitheads vandalizing your car and I wouldn’t be worried about your safety. So this is all on me and I take care of my own.”
He tries to put his arms around me but I push him back. “That may be but you’re undermining my authority and making me look weak.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“Judge, if I walked into your club and reprimanded some patch who’d stepped out of line, how would that look?”
He exhales heavily and then reaches up to brush a lock of my hair out of my eyes. His touch sends a zing of electricity down my spine. Even in argument, I still find him hot as hell. His amazing intuition picks up on this and his eyes darken in response.
“It’d be bad and I’m sorry. I’m not trying to take away your authority. I like that you stand up to me.” He grins. “It makes your bedroom submission a helluva lot sexier.”
“All right. Then let’s make an agreement that in the library I’m in charge.”
His big body crowds me. “And if you need some attention during a lunch break? Who’s in charge then?”
I run a hand over the edge of his cut, the leather buttery soft from years of use. “I am,” I whisper as his head descends. “Because I can always say no.”
I don’t get anything more out because his mouth is over mine, his tongue pressing insistently between my teeth. We tangle for a few hot, heady moments. The tightness of my skirt prevents any good pressure against my sex but Judge is undeterred. He bends his knees and places a firm hand at the top of my butt and pulls me against his hard erection but the rub of his thick, denim-covered flesh only teases rather than satisfies.
He breaks away from my mouth to trail his lips along my jaw and behind my ear. “I’ll never give you a reason to say it. That’s not arrogance talking, only truth.”
Shuddering, I manage to stiffen my spine and step away. I smooth my hair back. “No customers behind the circulation desk.”
For a moment, I feel like he will disagree, but he doesn’t. He winks and walks around the end. I work, sorting through the suggestion cards patrons have left and Judge prowls the stacks.
“You have Car and Driver?” he asks in surprise.
“We also carry a selection of new movies and digital books,” I respond proudly.
“Glad to see my tax dollars are doing something worthwhile.” He settles at the same table Easy did and I realize that it’s the perfect position to see the entry door, the emergency exit and my office.
Whatever Easy does for the club, it involves strategy and planning.
“Tell me about the Death Lords,” I ask.
“What do you want to know?” He turns toward me and pushes the magazines he was pretending to be interested in away.
“How’d you come up with the name? You guys one percenters?”
He stretches his legs out, scoots his ass toward the edge of the chair and leans back, hands clasped behind his head. The shiny knife is still lying on my counter but I have no doubt he’s armed and dangerous even in this relaxed pose. “My granddad was from southern Minnesota. A nice town.” He names a large town down in Southern Minnesota near the Iowa and South Dakota borders. “You know of it?”
“I can place it on a map but I’ve never been,” I admit.
He shrugs. “It’s a nice enough place. Anyway, my granddad was drafted and served in the Vietnam War. When he came back home he didn’t recognize anyone. It was a bad time for vets. Back then, even in his hometown, there were people who didn’t like anyone who had anything to do with fighting. He wasn’t spit on like other vets were but people were careful around him and it wasn’t home anymore. He hooked up with a couple other vets and they moved up here to Fortune. They were still in a familiar place but far enough away from everything that they didn’t have to pretend that they fit in. They fixed up their own motorcycles and then some other vets joined them and soon they had a posse of broken-down vets and bikes.”
“How’d the name Death Lords come about?”
“Because death ruled them except when they were on the road. My granddad said that the road was the one place where the devil c
ouldn’t catch them. They dominated the asphalt on their two tires and metal frames.”
I envision three long-haired grandpas on bikes motoring down the road and smile. “Your grandfather sounds like a closet romantic.”
“He loved his bike, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I roll my eyes at his response. “He must have loved a woman if he had your dad.”
“From the sounds of it he loved too many women. The club raised my dad.”
“Are your folks passed on?”
“Nope. Granddad is kicking it in Arizona. Says that he’s tired of the tit-freezing winters and my dad lives in the Cities with his latest woman.”
“No woman in your life?” I’m fishing, a tiny bit. In his forties, I find it hard to believe that he hasn’t had one big romance in his life. I’m leaning on the desk, work abandoned and totally caught up in our conversation. Sharing isn’t a problem for him and that is absolutely refreshing.
“Wrecker’s mom died when he was four, of breast cancer, but my mom and dad were great in the sack and hated each other out of it. She eventually got on the back of a nomad and took off. My grandma never married my granddad because he couldn’t keep his dick to himself. She died a couple of years before Wrecker went into the pen.” He looks up at the clock. “You about ready to go?”
I’m surprised to see it’s only ten minutes before closing time. “Yes, let me get my stuff.”
Quickly I log out of the computer and shut it down. My handbag is on the desk in the tiny office. Judge follows me around as I double-check to make sure the doors and windows are locked, and all the computers and lights are turned off.
“We’re good. Am I driving you home?”
He frowns. “Baby, didn’t you hear? Your car was vandalized. You’re not driving anywhere. The car was towed to the garage and we’re going to fix it up for you. Takes a couple of days for the paint to cure hard enough for us to sand and buff.”
“But it’s still drivable, right?” I protest.
He takes my purse and pushes me gently out of the library. By habit, I turn and lock the door. “It’s not drivable. You don’t want to be driving around town with a bad graffiti job on your car.”
