“Roxy had cancer.”
“Had or has?” Uncle Avalon asked.
“Had,” Knox said. “She’s fine now.”
“How unfortunate,” Charlotte said, patting her hair. “We could’ve easily rid ourselves of her if she’d succumbed. One less classless woman to concern ourselves with.”
Knox took exception to that. “I beg your pardon? No one deserves to die,” he snarled. “Isn’t that the reason you came to Uncle Avalon for help? Because of Kyler’s suspected death?”
“We came to you because those bastards destroyed the offices,” Uncle Avalon said angrily. “We have to deal with insurance claims and rebuilding. Everything except our cases. They’ve reduced a once proud man to wearing thrift shop clothes and an airless room to work out of. You’re there to bring them down in the name of righteousness and decency.”
“When they bring those people in, I intend to spit in their faces,” Charlotte said around sniffles. She hadn’t stopped crying since Knox arrived. “Just act quickly. Please. I fear Brooks doesn’t have much time left.”
“Brooks has nothing to do with what we’re doing,” Knox pointed out, going to the sideboard and grabbing a cinnamon roll. “He doesn’t even know.”
“I want to tell him,” Charlotte said woefully.
“No!” Uncle Avalon ordered. “Brooks will thank us after the fact, Charlotte. You and him have different views on how best to help Kendall. You think she needs to get away from those people. He thinks by placating them and keeping watch over her, she’ll be better off.”
Sudden anger lit Charlotte’s eyes and she straightened. “He isn’t doing anything to help her. I mentioned her job and she ran to Johnnie with it.”
“About that,” Knox started, stuffing the last of the pastry into his mouth. “Where do you propose she work? There’s no office space for her. She certainly couldn’t do it at the club.” Not if he understood correctly.
“Who cares about her location?” Charlotte screeched, and Knox decided he preferred her tears. “The point is defiance. Showing those pigs she’s her own woman. They can’t tell her what to do.”
“Charlotte, dear, we need to take one step at a time,” Uncle Avalon advised with sympathy. “Let’s work on our revenge, then we can help Kendall.”
Her bruised lips tightened, but she relented and nodded. “You asked for this meeting, Knox,” she said. “I assume you have news.”
“Yes. I have someone from their inner circle almost eating out of the palm of my hand,” he exaggerated for effect. He cringed just imagining Roxy’s reaction to that statement. “Er, I’d say another fourteen days and I’ll have all the information I need.”
Uncle Avalon grinned. “A woman, eh, boy?”
“You know it.”
“Harumph!” Charlotte grouched, folding her arms. “Which whore is it?”
“Not all of them are whores.” When he’d first started the operation, he’d felt differently. But Kendall and Megan had proven more loyal, and faithful, than expected, and Roxy was like any other ordinary woman, in the sense that she dealt with life and day-to-day problems. “There really are some good, decent women in the club.”
“Don’t let an easy lay sway you,” Charlotte told him. “They are all filthy.”
Charlotte had her opinion and he now had his. He wouldn’t waste his morning arguing. He was in too much pain to do so, anyway. He needed to go home, take some ibuprofen, and rest his battered body.
“You haven’t blown your cover, have you?” Uncle Avalon questioned.
“Of course not,” Knox answered with confidence. “They’re too arrogant to perceive the danger I present.” Buying their way out of trouble had made them complacent. They thought they were above the law. “I know how to stay under the radar.”
Charlotte nodded. “He’s right, Avalon. I asked Brooks what they thought of Knox and he said they don’t have an opinion of him one way or the other. If that changes, I’ll be the first to know.”
“Are you sure Brooks doesn’t suspect anything?” Knox asked, to be safe rather than sorry. The camera placed in the office clock hadn’t picked up on anything out of the ordinary. Still, there were other ways and places for Brooks to report to Outlaw. Realistically, he could always be on the side of the bikers, throwing Charlotte off with a few words and reporting Knox’s sudden appearance to them.
“I swear,” Charlotte said. “For the past six weeks, I’ve told him he needed a clerk. I told him it was just too stressful to work there on his own. That’s the truth, but my husband listens to me. Within days, he’d told Outlaw. I sent a few prospects to him that I knew weren’t qualified before I sent you in.”
All Knox could do was believe her. As long as she had her bases covered on her end, he’d make sure he had everything handled in his corner.
Chapter Eleven
Roxy hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but two hours after arriving at the house, she found herself opening her eyes to realize she was stretched out on the couch in the family room. She hated the silence surrounding her. She’d had enough of it during her self-imposed confinement as she battled her illness. To this day, she wasn’t sure if she’d fled because of Duke’s words or because she’d been so distraught at the diagnosis itself, she’d felt as if she were falling apart. All her son did was play upon her own fears.
Huffing out a breath, she sat up and got her bearings. She patted her scarf to make sure it was in place. Doing so reminded her of Knox’s words about her hair. How would he react if he saw her real hair? How would she respond if he saw it?
Shit, Roxanne.
She rubbed her eyes, disliking her shallowness. Hair didn’t make a woman. And, yet, it did. So many women found their identities in one particular attribute. So many took that quality for granted, too.
Maybe, she felt the sting of it a little more because of her son’s hostility. She just didn’t know. But she hated the tiredness, uncertainty, and insecurities she felt. About her hair. About her body.
About her life.
You’ve got cancer were three of the most horrible words anyone could ever hear. She’d been so busy fighting, so determined to beat her illness, she hadn’t thought too much on it.
Sometimes, now, though, alone with her own thoughts, she heard her doctor’s voice giving her the news that forever changed her life. From now on, she’d be a cancer survivor. That, she could live with. But everything was different. If she complained of an ordinary headache, her doctors would send her in to rule out cancer first.
Her family would freak out.
She might be a tiny bit nervous, too.
Elbows on knees, she hung her head, knowing this was her cross to bear. She had some really close girlfriends, who’d organized a Roxy Brigade when she’d first been diagnosed. Everyone had a designated job. One of them would go to the supermarket. Another would do the cooking. The other would take Roxy to her appointments. And, the other one, looked after Pearllene. They’d rotated until Roxy left.
Now, she felt alone, as if she had no one to turn to and explain all her fears to. If she told them she’d wondered what death was like, once or twice, they’d think she’d lost her goddamn mind.
Maybe, she had gone a little insane. Who the hell knew?
Beyond fearing for her mental health, such talk would scare the people she loved most and that she wouldn’t do.
She picked up her phone from where it had fallen to the floor while she’d been asleep and considered it. Before she talked herself out of it, she dialed her son’s number. It rang five times before voicemail picked up.
“Uh, hey, sugar. This is your momma, boy. Give me a call. I’ll be home in a few weeks. I’m spending Thanksgiving with MeMe. We have to get together and talk. MeMe told me you still have your key to the house. Use it. Okay? I love you. I can’t wait for you to see me. I’m all better.”
She waited a moment longer, as if Duke’s voice would suddenly come through the line. Knowing it wouldn’t prompted her to end the call.
What could she do now?
It was so fucking quiet with no one home…With no one home?
With no one home!
She laughed. She was alone. That meant no one would stop her from cooking or straightening up or doing any number of things needing done before Bailey and the kids returned home tomorrow. Halloween decorations needed to be put up. Because of Bailey’s school schedule, they were behind on decorating. Hopefully, Mortician would be gone for the day to stay out of Roxy’s hair.
Scavenging through the freezer, she pulled out what she needed for her dish. She often had food shipped from New Orleans to make her recipes authentic. Besides, Bailey appreciated it, so it was worth Roxy’s efforts. She looked at the ingredients spread out on the counter near the stove, grabbed her pen and paper and started writing the recipe for Kendall. The girl knew the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Having housekeepers, chefs and nannies was fine but a man noticed his wife’s extra efforts.
Louisiana crawfish tails
Hmm. She was an eyeball cook, so including the amount needed wouldn’t be easy. She thought for a moment, then shrugged.
As much as you think you’ll like. Don’t be a stingy bitch and skimp on the shit. If you don’t have enough, the little motherfuckers will get lost in the roux.
Hopefully, Kendall appreciated that. It might be a good idea if she created a recipe book for all the girls. They liked New Orleans dishes and they’d have something to refer to.
Celery, onions, and green pepper. That’s the trinity. Make sure each motherfucker is chopped. I’m sure you have sense enough not to put whole ass seasoning in your food but you never know. I don’t want you to think the shit will dissolve as it cooks. I’d say put about a quarter of a cup per item. Again, that’s up to you. Just know if it’s not seasoned well enough, it’ll taste like shit. You’ll have wasted a good amount of fucking time for food that nobody will eat.
Roxy read over the recipe and wondered if Knox liked Crawfish Etouffee, then dismissed that thought, determined to dismiss him. Trifling motherfucker.
Now comes the roux, a pretty Creole term for what amounts to a kind of gravy. Start with oil and flour. You can’t fuck around with the roux. Mess this up and you fuck up your entire dish. It’ll be too thick, too thin, too greasy. Just fucked, so this takes a half cup of vegetable oil and a quarter cup of flour. Lightly brown the flour in the oil. When it’s nut brown and has the consistency of a paste, add in tomato paste and two cups of stock. Some motherfuckers use water. There’s no fucking flavor that way, so boil some shrimp heads and fish bones to get a seafood stock. You can also use chicken stock. Your preference.
Pausing, Roxy wondered if she should add in how to make chicken stock. Maybe, some other time.
She should’ve invited Knox over to dinner. The thought slipped into her head and made her scowl. Why the fuck she’d want to spend any extra time with that low-down, lying, uppity weasel was beyond her. Of course, the more time she spent with him, the more she’d discover.
“Satan, get thee behind me,” she called. Only the devil could be fucking with her and making her think of Knox. She didn’t trust the man and she didn’t like him.
Not much, anyway.
Once more shoving Knox’s image from her head, Roxy looked at her paper. She needed to finish up, so she could start her meal.
Add in chopped seasonings and let it all simmer until tender. Your sauce should reduce by a quarter and thicken nicely. This is when you’ll know if you fucked it up. Unless, you burned the flour, then you’ll have black shit floating around. Or if you didn’t darken it enough, it’ll look like a Béchamel sauce. Fuck, that’s another recipe for another day. Forget that. Let’s just go on the premise that your sauce is right. Add in the crawfish. Simmer for another five to ten minutes. Let me stop here. I always add salt and cayenne pepper to my food. Unsalted dishes are a crime against humanity. But if you want it unsalted don’t add none. Just don’t ask me to taste it because I’ll cuss your ass out for poisoning my tastebuds. As for the red pepper, add in as much as you can handle for your tongue and your ass. It does have to come out, so keep that in mind.
Serve the etouffee over steamed white rice. Have a green salad and French bread and you have yourself a meal.
Roxy read over the recipe to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. Maybe, a bit of motherly wisdom? Some kitchen advice? If she got enough recipes together and typed them up, she’d add something of the sort on the opposite page.
The girls would appreciate that, even Bailey who was already a good cook.
With the recipe written down, Roxy put words into action and started prepping her food. She was almost done with chopping up her seasoning when she heard the beeps from the alarm that indicated the front door was being opened.
A moment later, her son-in-law walked in. He paused and narrowed his eyes. His dreads were queued up today and his diamond studs sparkled beneath the kitchen lights.
“Why you walking around?”
She frowned at him. “I got fucking legs. Why the fuck shouldn’t I walk around?”
Scowling, he went to a stool and sat, uncertainty crossing his face. “We don’t want you working. You need to sit down and keep still.”
Laying her knife aside, she folded her arms. “I didn’t fight to live just to sit on my ass.”
“Bailey don’t want nothing to happen to you. She just want you to take it easy.”
Roxy knew she needed to talk to her daughter because she’d noticed the delicate way Bailey handled her, too. She understood it came from a place of concern and love but it annoyed the fuck out of her. “I’m not living under your roof just to be a fixture. I’m here to help with the kids or I’m going back to New Orleans.”
“We don’t want you to leave,” Mortician said quickly. “The girls need you. You Bailey’s momma, but all of them look to you as a mother figure. Me, too, man,” he said on a mumble, glancing away. “Prez as well.” He shrugged. “What the fuck you do, anyway? In New Orleans, I mean. You don’t work.”
“Excuse me?”
“Fuck, I didn’t mean it like you taking it, Roxanne,” Mortician said, raising his hands as he picked up on Roxy’s indignation.
“Then how the fuck you meant it? Because, let me tell you, I have a life at home. I have school. I have a house. I have friends and family.”
“You been having school for twenty-five fucking years. You can have a house here. We can build you something right across the way. You got friends and family here, too. Why the fuck you so difficult? Is it a crime that we want to take care of you, instead of you taking care of every motherfucker around?”
He rubbed his temples.
Being reminded of how long she’d been in school agitated her. Between babies, marriages, lack of money, inability to settle on a major, and life, she feared she’d never graduate. At this point, it no longer mattered. She wasn’t going to start a career at her age, so school was a lost cause. Somewhere along the way, she’d made peace with that decision, so she had to let it go. It would be one less thing to stress over.
“I’m not going back to school,” she admitted.
“I wasn’t mentioning that to make you feel bad.”
Roxy lifted a brow. “You really think I’d give a fuck about how you feel?”
He smiled. “No.”
“Okay, then.” She sighed when he furrowed his brow. He really didn’t know what to do with her. How best to take care of her on behalf of Bailey. “Aren’t you tired of having me underfoot, sugar? Two women can’t share a kitchen. I think Bailey needed me at first. She was a new wife and a new mom. Once I left, she got used to running her own house. She wants me to sit my ass down for that reason as much as it is because she’s worried about me.”
Guilt tore across his face and he looked away. “Bailey never said that.”
“Bailey don’t have to say that. I’m not a fucking fool.”
“You sound like you don’t think you belong
with us anymore.”
“Maybe, I don’t,” she said quietly. Maybe, she no longer knew where she belonged. At one time, she’d been happy in her roles as mother, grandmother, and daughter. It had given her purpose. It still did, but she wanted excitement.
Romance.
Turning, she cleared her throat, embarrassed at the thought. Romance was for young women. Wasn’t it? On the one hand, she knew the ratio of men to women made it a very small sea to choose a fish from. At this stage in her life, she didn’t have time for bullshit. On the other hand, she wanted…
Shit, she wanted to be kissed like Knox had kissed her. That wasn’t wrong. She’d never been ashamed of her body’s desires before.
The problem was the motherfucker she now desired.
“Roxanne, you sure you okay with what Prez got you doing? We could find another bitch.”
“I’m fine,” she said shortly.
“I don’t like it. Suppose there’s a shootout and you get fucked up?”
She whirled. “What the fuck has gotten into you? I never knew you to be so pessimistic. If I didn’t want to do this, I wouldn’t. Outlaw didn’t put a gun to my head to force this job on me.”
“I don’t like Knox,” Mortician admitted.
“That makes two of us,” she said, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. She didn’t trust him and she didn’t want to like him. But we didn’t always get what we wanted and his arrogant stupidity made him oddly endearing.
“Just be careful. I don’t want to have to bury him before Prez give the orders.”
Bury him. Roxy didn’t like the sound of that, although she knew the boys had no other choice. Knox was a danger to the club, and Outlaw extinguished all threats, leaving absolutely no trace of them.
Chapter Twelve
“Hurry, Roxy,” Kendall called, urging her forward with a wave of her hand.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 382
