Lock and Key

by Cat Porter

  My father’s body went rigid. His tense gaze darted back to the photograph in his hand.

  “Ruby?” he asked, his voice small.

  “I’d like you to get tested,” I said. “I have the name of a doctor where we can have it done. It’s a blood test, and maybe a swab inside your mouth. Then we see if you’re a match.”

  Ray’s jaw slackened, his eyes held mine.

  “Um, that’s it,” I said and gulped down more water. The silence simmered in the room.

  “Ray?” asked Lock as his hand settled on my knee. The tight pressure of his fingers on my flesh stemmed the panic that steadily rose inside me.

  “Can you do this for Ruby?” I asked, my voice thick. “She’s a mom now, Ray. She needs you. Your grandson needs you. Please? This is all we’ve got left.”

  Ray’s glassy eyes fell on mine. He nodded his head stiffly.

  Lock and I followed Ray in his shiny golden brown Buick Enclave to the doctor’s office that Dr. Braden had contacted for me. As Ray filled out his paperwork, I leaned against the wall of the crowded reception area, with my hand enclosed in Lock’s large, warm one.

  “I really hate doctors’ offices, hospitals, all of it,” I said.

  “This will all be over in a few, Grace,” he murmured in my hair and squeezed my hand.

  The nurse motioned for my father to follow her inside.

  “This is just the beginning, Lock, just the freaking beginning.”

  “Grace, you’ve got to eat. Eat something, come on.”

  I poked at my grilled rib eye and mashed potato with my fork.

  “You want something else, maybe?”

  I shook my head.

  “Swear to God, Grace, I’m going to come over there and feed you myself.

  “Geez, okay!”

  “Eat, baby.” He leaned over the table on his forearms. “The night is young, and we have to celebrate.”

  “Celebrate? Celebrate what?”

  “You getting your dad to get tested. No tap dancing, no blowups, no drama. Clean and neat. Done.” He tipped his frosty mug of beer at me and drank.

  “That’s what you like, huh? Clean and neat, no drama?” I cut into my juicy steak and chewed on the tender, buttery meat.

  “I like to get the job done with minimal fuss, if that’s what you’re asking.” He pushed his empty dish to the side and studied me.

  “Can’t argue with that.” I dipped another piece of meat into the small pool of dark steak sauce on my dish and put it in my mouth. I swirled my fork through the creamy mashed potato.

  Lock’s legs tangled with mine under the table. I blinked up at him, my mouth full of food.

  “You’re feeling the sting now, huh?” he asked. “Seeing Ray and not getting anything out of him except a soggy q-tip and a vial of his blood?”

  I swallowed my food. How did he know what I was feeling before I had even the opportunity to digest it, sort it, put a name to it?

  Lock pushed out of his side of the table and slid next to me in our booth. “You did good today, Grace. You were amazing. So in control, keeping it focused. You got the job done for your sister, baby,” he murmured in my ear. His warm breath tickled my cheek.

  “But now we’re back to waiting again,” I said. I put the forkful of mashed potato in my mouth. “All this waiting and hoping. Ruby and Alex were pleased when I talked to them before, but we all know we’re just at the next level of waiting, with another process to endure, then another.”

  “That’s usually the way.”

  “It stinks!” I blurted.

  “Yeah, it does.” His warm hand wrapped around my neck, and the banging in the pit of my tummy eased. “But that’s the way of it. Of most things, not just medical shit. But what you accomplished today was huge. Huge.” His eyes loomed over me. They were like a balm soothing my jagged nerves. I drank in their languid potion, but then forced myself to return my attention to the mound of buttery mashed potatoes on my plate and ate a bit more.

  I arranged my fork and knife on my dish and wiped my mouth with my napkin. I settled back against the firm upholstery. Lock’s spicy leathery scent tingled in my nostrils and filled me with warmth and crazy thoughts.

  “Can we drink now?” I asked.

  Lock let out a deep laugh. He took my hand, and we got up from our table and moved to the bar.

  Lock’s thumb rubbed over the rim of his nearly finished glass of single malt whiskey. I drained my glass, and desperately shoved aside thoughts regarding this evening’s hotel accommodations. We chose a local microbrewery beer for our second round.

  “God, I love lime!”

  “You love lime?” he asked.

  “It’s delicately sour,” I said. “But there’s a hint of sweet all over it pulling you back in, and it’s all fresh and clean. Lemon can be truly sour. Lemon is definitely… yellow, but lime’s unique green is all about the fresh… fresh air, fresh water, but with this terrific twist.”

  Lock grinned at me and shook his head.

  He’s so cute when he’s all smiley and relaxed.

  I squeezed my legs together and pushed up against the bar.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  I let out a laugh and shoved his shoulder. “Come on, say it.”

  “What?”

  “Come on!” I said.

  He leaned in closer to me. “I agree with your assessment of lime.”

  “My assessment?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “You don’t get it,” he said.

  “What don’t I get?”

  “That’s how I see you, baby.” His fingers tipped up my chin and his lips touched mine feather light. “Fresh with a hint of sweet. Possibilities.” His voice had gone low, rich, and deep.

  I swatted his arm. “Cut it out.”

  Lock pulled me into his arms. “That’s what I got for you, sweetheart. Don’t tell me to cut it out.”

  My heart beat raced as his sinewy strength pressed into me.

  I wriggled in his arms. “What are you talking about?”

  He tightened his hold on me. “How I’m feeling about you,” he murmured, his dark suede eyes widened over me.

  “You’ve known me for two seconds, Lock.” I turned my face and gulped down more beer.

  “I know what I need to know. And what I know is all good,” he said. He took my beer from me and set it down on the bar top. His other hand rubbed my bare waist underneath my shirt sending sparks shooting over my skin.

  How the hell did his hand get under there without my noticing? My breathing deepened.

  “Actually no, not just good,” he murmured. “It’s the best.” His lips nuzzled the side of my jaw. My face heated. I tried to pull away from him, but it was impossible. “Babe, stop,” he said.

  Goosebumps shivered down my arms at the way his husky voice wrapped around the endearment.

  “I want you, Grace. Bad. I got you on my bike…”

  My body stiffened. “I knew this was a mistake.” I said. “That’s not what this is, you know that! You’re just playing bodyguard for the club.”

  His fierce eyes stung me. “I’m not playing anything for anybody.”

  “Lock—”

  “Already had a taste of you. I want more,” he breathed. “Tell me you don’t.”

  His lips touched mine, and my pulse went haywire. His tongue coaxed my lips open, swept through my mouth, and took what it wanted of me. Lock made a growling noise at the back of his throat and bit my lower lip.

  Screw good intentions and self-preservation.

  I pressed myself into his hard chest, and this time my tongue took over the little dance inside our mouths.

  “You got company, man,” the bartender’s voice sliced between us.

  Lock sharply pulled away from me, his hand gripped my waist. My eyes darted in the direction of the bartender’s somber gaze.

  A Demon Seed stood on the other side of Lock. “Peg” and “VP
” were patched on his cut and a sneer was etched on his face.

  “Welcome to the neighborhood,” Peg said.

  “Am I interrupting?” Peg asked. One side of his mouth tipped up in a smirk.

  Lock raised his chin and pulled me in to his side.

  Peg’s gaze flicked over me. “This here’s Little Sister?”

  “Grace Quillen,” I gave him a nod. Lock’s grip on my waist tightened.

  Peg pulled his face back and gave me a brittle smile. “Right,” he said. His hard gaze shifted to Lock. “Take care of your business?”

  “Yeah, we’re done. Just having a drink before we head out,” Lock said.

  Peg nodded and knocked back the bourbon the bartender had set down in front of him.

  “Little Sister, would you mind if me and Lock had a few words?” Peg asked. “Just for a bit.”

  My gaze darted to Lock. A muscle in his jaw pulsed, and his eyes narrowed at Peg.

  “Sure, of course,” I said. Lock’s arm remained tight around me. “I’m going to hit the Ladies’ Room,” I whispered in his ear. My hand squeezed his, and I unlatched it from my waist.

  “Five minutes,” Lock said, his deep voice low. A chill stole over my skin at the sudden tension between Lock and Peg. I grabbed my leather jacket and strode through the dimly lit bar.

  Once in the bathroom, I took care of my business, washed my hands and smoothed back my hair with my fingers. I swung open the door of the bathroom, and four hands latched onto me in the shadowy hallway and shoved me in the opposite direction from the bar.

  My body jerked in their grasp. I shrieked. “What the hell?” A sweaty hand covered my mouth.

  “Shut it, bitch. We’re goin’ for a little ride,” a scratchy voice said in my ear.

  I bit the hand at my mouth, and it flew off. “Get the fuck off me!” I shoved against their iron hold. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

  “Cover her fucking mouth, asshole!” the voice said.

  We stopped moving through the hallway, and I kicked my leg out towards the hulking shape in front of me. I could barely see in the darkness, but I heard a sharp howl. They dragged me further down the hall, out a door, and into the cool air. They packed me onto the back of a waiting bike. The bold red words Demon Seeds on the back of the rider’s leather jacket seared my vision.

  “Hang onto me or you fucking fall off, and we wouldn’t want that now would we?” he snapped at me over his shoulder. The pipes roared to life, and we twisted out of the parking lot, one other bike on our tail. My heart ripped out of my chest.

  This shit was actually happening. It didn’t really surprise me, though.

  I shuddered in the icy wind. My hair whipped around my face and lashed at my eyes and skin. We finally pulled off the road and headed onto a long rocky driveway full of weeds. He cut the engine. An old rusted warehouse loomed in the distance.

  “Get off.”

  I swung off the bike. There were a number of Demon Seeds standing outside the warehouse staring at us, their bikes parked in front. It would be pointless to make a run for it.

  “Take her,” the voice muttered as he lit a cigarette for himself. He had “Dime” and “Sergeant at Arms” patched on his jacket. I should be impressed. They sent their official tough guy for me.

  Two Seeds came forward, grabbed my arms and dragged me to the entrance of the warehouse. Dime opened the metal door and we entered the cavernous interior, our boots thudding over the cement. They let go of me and shoved me forward.

  “Little Sister,” came a rough voice. A figure stepped forward from the shadows.

  Vig, the Demon Seed of my Christmas past, grinned at me. His bulky features had bulked some more over the years and his wavy brown hair was now mostly grey and held back in a messy ponytail. He head a full beard now, but those bushy eyebrows and bulging eyes hadn’t changed, nor had the beefy hands and arms. The only difference was that this time stitched on his cut was the president’s patch.

  “It’s been a long time, pretty.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  Vig chuckled. “I wanted to see you, Little Sister, one on one.”

  “It’s Mrs. Quillen now. I’ve been a citizen since my Old Man got killed.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you call yourself, you’re the One-Eyed Jack’s Little Sister.”

  I sucked in air. “If you wanted to talk to me, why didn’t you just come to the bar with your VP? Why all the drama?”

  “I wanted to see you alone, look up close into those sexy eyes.” He stretched out the last two words. My skin crawled. “Can you blame me?” he asked.

  “Great, you’re looking at them.” I said. “Can I get back to my beer now?”

  He crossed his arms and exhaled.

  I scowled at him. “Vig, I was under the impression that you had approved of my quick visit.”

  He gnawed on his bottom lip. “Why did you come, Sister? Answer wisely or this ain’t going to go very well between us.”

  I shifted my weight. “I came to see my father. He lives in Swilbey. Haven’t seen him in over twenty years.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” My eyes widened at him.

  “Answer me, dammit!”

  “Vig… you want my family saga now?” I sighed. “He took off when I was a teenager and I haven’t seen the man since. I just found out where he lives.”

  “What’s his name? Where does he live?”

  “Vig, he’s just my dad.”

  Vig took a few steps towards me. “I hate repeating myself.”

  “Ray Hastings on Blackmore Terrace in Swilbey.”

  “I want to confirm stories. Make sure you and me are on the same page. You get what I’m saying?”

  His face was in mine. His thick fingers stroked my jaw. My lungs constricted sharply. Vig was a bear of a man. Being mauled by him would not be pleasant. I wouldn’t put anything past him when he wanted to make a point.

  “Yeah, I hear you,” I said.

  “Good. I don’t want no trouble, you know. Your boys have had a tear up their ass for years now since your old man hit the pavement. They couldn’t get their shit together for a long time there, striking out left and right.”

  “Understandable, wouldn’t you say?” I clenched my jaw. “Especially since Dig’s killer was your nephew?”

  He shrugged. “Things have been quiet a while now, but you should never underestimate a sleeping tiger. I gotta be ready for anything.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me, Vig. You know that. You know me. I just came to see my Dad,” I said. “But don’t you think this will piss off the One-Eyed Jacks and make things a little awkward?”

  He put a cigarette between his lips. His eyes creased as he bent his head into his lighter and flicked it on.

  “Unless of course you want things awkward and temperamental?” I asked.

  Vig raised his head and exhaled a wave of smoke. His gaze settled on me.

  He held out his pack of Marlboros. “You want one?”

  “No.”

  He took another deep drag on his cigarette. “You showin’ up after all this time makes me wonder, that’s all. Especially after our agreement.”

  “I get that.”

  “Good. So I’ll ask you one more time. What are your intentions?” His eyes squinted at me through the haze of smoke. “Is that clear enough for you, Grace Quillen?”

  “I came back home because my sister got sick. She’s got lung cancer. I’m not sure if she’s going to get better.”

  “That’s too bad. She was something else, crazy ass bitch” Vig barked out a laugh. “Nerves of steel, that one.”

  “My coming back has nothing to do with the club. I’ve had nothing to do with the club since I left.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “So why are you here with Lock?”

  “That’s just Jump being protective, looking out for me. That’s all that is. Like you said, I’m their Little Sister.”

  He let out a rough chuckl
e. His fingers looped in my belt and pulled my hip into his gut. “They still keep you on a tight leash, just like Dig?”

  “He was my Old Man, Vig.”

  Wreck’s voice whispered in my soul: “Expect anything and everything ahead of you on the road. Anything can happen at any time and most likely will.”

  I remained utterly still, pliable, but stiff. My eyes had to be as dull as my heart thudding in my chest right now. His hand slid up my torso.

  “Jake’s a real cute boy,” he said. “You gonna be taking care of him now that Ruby’s sick?”

  A shiver stole down my spine.

  “That got your attention now, didn’t it?” He took another drag on his Marlboro.

  “That’s the only reason I’m back,” I said, my voice suddenly small. “The only reason.”

  He dropped his cigarette on the floor and squashed it with his boot. “You’re a good sister, aren’t you? And I think I’ve shown my respect for that and for your deep losses all these years, haven’t I?”

  “Yeah, Vig, you’ve been a real gentleman. But that came with a steep price, didn’t it?”

  He tilted his head at me. “All these years I’ve been watching you, listening. You been working hard, been a good girl laying low. Ruby and her man coming to you on the holidays every year. Real sweet. But her boy, Jake. Oh, he’s something, huh? Almost five years old, ain’t he? Just loves that strawberry ice cream.”

  My stomach pitched, but it wasn’t from the sour odor of his skin.

  A cell phone rang. He reached into his pocket.

  “Yeah?” His eyes bulged, then his lips twisted into a sneer.

  “Relax, motherfucker. I just wanted to have a private chat with her, for old time’s sake.”

  Lock.

  “Don’t worry, she’s right here and in one piece. I know, man… she’s your club property, always will be. I’d like to convince her to come over to the red side, but I’d need more time to break her in the way I like ‘em.” Vig winked at me.

  I shook my head at him.

  Vig shoved the phone against my ear. “Say hello to your boy.”

  “Grace?” Lock’s voice was tight, forceful.