“I hope you like tea. Someone said he’d bring home milk two days ago, and someone still hasn’t bothered.”
Brick hangs his head and fully gives up on explaining himself.
Dawn urges me into a half-bath. “Wash up, now. I’ll cut off the edges, and it’ll still be salvageable. Fewer leftovers for him, but if he’s worried about it, he could come home on time, right?”
And she laughs, bustling off down a hall. The food smells amazing. Garlicky.
The house is small. The carpet’s worn, there’s a lot of wood paneling, but it’s clean. The toilet lid and tank have matching pink shag covers.
I take a breath, splash some water on my face. I check the medicine cabinet, easing it open slowly so it doesn’t creak, but there’s nothing but an extra hand soap.
I check my phone. Eighty percent. No new calls or messages. Not for a day or so. Rab was blowin’ up my phone, and then he stopped. What does that mean?
It means that I am stuck in the middle of some deep, deep shit.
Panic rises in my chest. I need to run. Wait for Brick and Dawn to fall asleep and then steal his bike and go.
Rab knows his people have me, and they must want me alive for now, but what happens when they move to use me against Steel Bones? I’m no snitch. But I also don’t wanna die for folks who haven’t decided yet whether they’re gonna kill me or not. And what do the Raiders do to me if I refuse to go along with this little charade?
I should take the bike. But how far will I get with no cash and two MCs after me? I am fucked.
“Coming?” Dawn hollers.
I close my eyes and force the panic back. I will figure it out. I’m not locked in a box. I’m comin’ out of this, too.
“Dinner’s gettin’ cold!” Brick bellows.
I go to join them. Brick’s already bellied up to the table, halfway through his slice. Dawn’s fussing at the counter.
There’s a plate for me, a steaming slice of lasagna, broccoli, bread in a basket, and a huge glass of tea. I slide into a chair.
Cheese drips from the sides. I swirl my fork in it, blow to cool it off. The world might be shit, but this is gonna be amazing.
“Sit, will you, woman?” Brick barks at Dawn. She swats him with her dish towel.
“If I don’t soak it now, are you gonna scrub it later?”
Brick ignores her, points his fork at me. “Good, ain’t it?” He grins.
I mumble agreement. I can’t reply ‘cause my mouth is filled with pure heaven.
“I think she likes it.” Brick chuckles. Dawn steps over, cups his chin, and smacks a kiss on his lips as he chews.
“We’ll put her in Becca’s room,” Dawn decrees as she dries a casserole dish.
Brick grunts, an uneasy look, like guilt, crossing his face. “Don’t get attached. I’m givin’ her a ride to Spank the Devil tomorrow.”
“Young hearts, run free.” Dawn smiles at me and finally sits down at the table with her plate. Brick is sopping up the last of the tomato sauce with a slice of white bread.
After dinner, Brick disappears into the living room with a beer, and Dawn pours us both a tumbler of Irish Cream. She regales me with stories and opinions, and at one point, recipes.
She gives herself the time it takes to nurse two fingers of Bailey’s, and then she says, “Well, it’s been a long day. Come on.”
She leads me to a small room at the end of the hall. There’s more wood paneling, a twin bed, and a matching white desk and dresser. Except for a framed cross-stitch of a cat with a ball of yarn and a dozen marching band trophies, the room is empty.
Dawn smooths the quilt, plumps the pillows, and then plops down on the bed.
“Becca’s in Spain now with her partner Leah. They’re traveling the world.” Dawn chipper smile fades. “She says she might make it back for Christmas this year. Or New Year’s maybe.”
She pats my knee. “She couldn’t wait to get out of this town.”
“Is she your only?”
Dawn nods. “I only ever wanted one, and the Lord blessed me with the best, sweetest, smartest girl.”
She stands and shuffles to the door, stopping to blow imaginary dust off the trophies. “She’s happy now.” She sighs. “Maybe I’ll buy a ticket and fly over there myself. Brick says I’m nuts. I don’t even speak Spanish. I tell him I got the internet. You type a word in, and it tells you what it means. Easy-peasy.” She rolls her eyes. “That man. He’s nuts.”
She rearranges a trophy, moves it to the front. “I’d offer you a shower, but I started the dishwasher without thinking. I’m sure you’ve had a long day. You can get one in the morning.”
She lingers at the door, uncertain. I draw a breath to thank her, but she speaks in a rush, cutting me off, fingers worrying the hem of her sweatshirt. “My Brick’s a good man. But that man Jed. His brothers. The other Raiders.” She narrows her eyes. “They’re no good. Once you get where Brick is takin’ you, keep going.”
She exhales in a rush and hustles off toward the kitchen, shutting the door behind her.
I bolt over, ease it open. Then I breathe again. There’s no lock on the outside of the door, only a push button inside.
I go back and perch on the edge of the bed, toeing off my sneakers. The house is an old rancher with paper-thin walls. I can hear Brick flipping the channels and Dawn rattling around in the kitchen.
The sun’s gone down, and the overhead light’s missing a bulb. I quietly pad to the dresser and ease open the drawers. They’re empty. So is the desk. Becca didn’t leave anything. Girlfriend got the hell out of Dodge. Except for those trophies.
There’s a beige phone from the 90s on the nightstand, the kind with a curly cord. I pull up my hood and lie on my side.
What is Brick’s plan? Is he really gonna take me to Spank the Devil? Or are the Raiders gonna come and grab me in the night?
And then what? They make me talk to the cops? They stash me away somewhere?
On TV, the witnesses always get taken to safe houses, and then the bad guys inevitably find them, and there’s a whole shoot-out. The hero rushes in at the last minute to save the day.
Waitin’ for a hero is a sucker move.
The emptiness in my chest yawns, aching.
I don’t have any moves. No money, no ride, no friends. There’s no sense in trying to figure it all out.
I’m logy from the Irish Cream and lasagna and bone weary. I have a bed tonight. I can escape tomorrow.
I hear Dawn finish in the kitchen, and Brick settles on hockey in the living room. The wind howls outside. The smell of woodstove seeps through the window and the heavy brown curtains.
Can I afford to close my eyes and fall asleep? This sounds and smells so much like our house used to when Gram was alive, but I’m not safe.
I should put my shoes back on.
If something happens and I need to run, I need them on.
But I don’t want to put my dirty shoes in Dawn’s clean sheets, though. I compromise and untie the laces, setting them well within reach. Then I lie back down and stare at the phone.
It’s a landline.
If I called Dizzy’s home phone, he wouldn’t know it was me. I don’t know the number, but he’s got a landline, too. I can dial 4–1–1. I think that still works.
I could hear his voice one last time.
Cold seeps into my limbs. I burrow under the blankets, but they’re too thin to keep the chill away.
I want Dizzy. I’m not angry anymore. I’m scared, and I’m lonely, and I want him. Everything feels better when he’s there. Even when he’s working in that garage, I feel safe. As if life is okay, and everything is going to be fine because he exists in the world.
A thought slams into me from nowhere, so ugly, so fucked up, it has to be true.
Was he holding me for them?
Was it all about keepin’ tabs on me while Steel Bones decided exactly how they were gonna dispose of me?
Of course, I’d let my guard down with the guy w
ho’s got two kids. I’d let him do whatever he wanted to me. I’d be so grateful for food in my belly and a roof over my head.
I’m sick to my stomach. This is such crap. That was the best damn lasagna I ever had, and now it’s churning in my belly.
I tuck my knees to my chest, suck down calming breaths. My face burns.
I did nasty things with him. I begged him for it.
Did he tell them? Was he laughing at me behind my back? Telling them what a freak I am? What I let him do?
The phone is sitting there.
In the other room, Brick has a coughing fit. “Gimme me a beer!” he finally wheezes, and Dawn shuffles down the hall.
Tears dribble down my cheeks.
I pick up the phone. It has square, yellowed plastic buttons. I call 4–1–1. My heart thuds in my chest. I ask for Dwayne Jones in Petty’s Mill.
Then, I dial *67. Dee taught me how to do that when she used to blow up her ex’s phone in middle school.
It rings. Blood pounds in my ears.
And rings.
I roll over so my back is to the door. The cord digs into my shoulder.
It rings again.
My belly clenches, and my palms sweat.
It rings.
A tear tickles my nose, and I let a deep sigh escape.
Then there’s a click.
“Hello.”
It’s him. He’s pissed. Worried.
“Who is this?” he demands.
I’m gripping the phone so tight, my knuckles ache.
“Fay-Lee?” His voice gentles. “Is that you?”
I can’t answer. There’s a huge lump in my throat, and tears are streaming down my cheeks.
“Where are you, baby? I’ll come get you. It’s okay.”
I sniffle. His words dissolve the knot in my chest. All of a sudden, I can draw in a full breath.
“I ain’t gonna let anyone hurt you. Tell me where you are.” His rumbly voice washes over me. My brain doesn’t believe him—not one little bit—but my body does. Every inch.
“You gotta trust me, baby. Are you safe?” His voice rises, turns urgent. Menacing. “Is someone else there? Put ‘em on the phone. Put ‘em on the phone, Fay-Lee.”
“I’m alone.” It comes out hardly a whisper.
He exhales in relief. “Baby. Where are you?”
“Is Steel Bones gonna kill me? Because of what they think I know?”
“No, baby. No. Who are with? You got to tell me. It don’t matter what you did. No one’s holdin’ you accountable. But the Rebel Raiders are dangerous, baby. I don’t know what they offered you, but you got to get out of there.”
“I didn’t do anything. I don’t know anything.” My voice rises and shakes.
“Okay, okay. Tell me where you are. I’ll come get you. We’ll sort it out.”
My tears still flow. I didn’t know I could make so many. I blink, but everything’s blurry. He’s saying all the words I long to hear, but he doesn’t believe me when I say I didn’t have anything to do with any of this. He never believed me.
I would be a damned fool if I trusted him.
“Was it real?” My voice cracks. “It wasn’t real, was it?”
There’s silence on the other end. He’s searching for what to say. ‘Cause he doesn’t want to say the truth.
“Fay-Lee—"
“Goodbye, Dizzy.”
“Fay-Lee!” he shouts as I place the phone back on the base with a click.
I cry myself to sleep, and I dream I’m in a beach-themed bedroom, tangled in smooth sheets, a man at my back giving off heat like a furnace. The colors are all bright and crisp like in an old animated fairy tale, the kind where birds sit on your hand and when you dance, your skirts ripple as smooth as cake batter.
I wake up with numb toes and blue lips, wind whistling through cracks around the window.
12
DIZZY
I love you.
That’s all I had to say.
Of course, it’s real. I ain’t never felt this way before in my life. You’re it for me.
How hard is that to say? Instead my brain whirred around like a slot machine. She’s too young. You can’t put that on her. She’s gonna find herself and leave your ass. You don’t have the right to take what you want.
I stand in the middle of this stupid fuckin’ living room, fists clenched, lookin’ for something to punch. And it’s all goddamn pillows.
She don’t know I feel this way. She’s somewhere with the Rebel Fuckin’ Raiders, thinkin’ I’d let her be killed, and the one time I really have to find the right words, I come up with nothin’.
Fuck.
I hate this goddamn room. I hate this house.
I should have told her I’m buying her a new one. I been lookin’ at the listings. There’s a lot for sale on Harper and Charge’s street. It’s scheduled for new construction. She can do it up however she likes.
God. She’s eighteen. She don’t want a house. But what does she want? What would make her stay?
She was thinkin’ about it. In the woods, by the stream. She was letting down her walls.
I should have never left her alone with Jed. That fucker. He did something. I saw Heavy’s eyes. He thinks so, too.
I need to get out of here. Do something. Get on my bike and go find her. But what if she calls again?
Heavy says he called out every able-bodied brother to look for her—and he’s beatin’ the bushes himself—but most of the club has left for Spank the Devil. He says he’ll reach out when they find her. I should stay here. If she has second thoughts—or if she figures out the Raiders are dangerous—she’s most likely to come back here.
He sounds one hundred percent confident that it’s only a matter of time. I wish I felt the same.
Her stuff is here. The sad fuckin’ backpack filled with tuna and canned soup that she thinks I don’t know about. The knife’s gone. Smart girl. She must have grabbed it. She didn’t see the roll of twenties I stuck in the bottom of the sack, though. That’s still there.
She’s with the Raiders, and she’s got no cash.
If she realizes who she’s dealing with and she runs, she’s got nothing.
My stomach sours, and I swallow down the urge to puke.
I’m gonna kill them. I’m gonna start with the dirtbag who picked her up, and if anyone else touched her, I’m gonna keep goin’ until the whole club is bones and gristle under my boots.
I stalk to the window.
I can’t just stay here.
I glare at the phone and will it to ring. I tried *69. She blocked me. And the phone doesn’t have caller ID.
If anyone is touching her, they’ll die. It’s as simple as that.
I could have told her that. Would that have scared her? Or would she have told me where she was?
My body’s thrumming with adrenaline. I ain’t never felt like this. Not even under fire, back in the sandbox. She’s got me charged up. Totally changed. And it ain’t been hardly no time at all.
I don’t understand this thing we got. It’s nothin’ like anything I’ve had with any other woman. She lets me do things—she wants me to do things that ain’t right. But when it’s her and me—it ain’t wrong, either.
It’s like I shed loose the part of my brain that’s always workin’ through shit. How do I set the suspension up on the new mod the way the client wants and still work within the laws of physics? What shit is Sharon gonna pull next? Do I need to set Carson up with an exercise plan, or is he gonna grow into his weight like I did mine?
With Fay-Lee, all the background noise is gone.
All the shit I gotta negotiate is gone.
I can do what I want, and Fay-Lee loves it. She gives me everything, takes whatever I dish out, and then she yawns like a kitten, and curls into my side. A hundred percent trust.
Like she’s got no doubt I’m gonna give her what she needs.
I’m a big man, but her trust makes me feel twenty feet tall. But that trust only go
es so far, don’t it?
And my brothers gotta roll up like the police. Test this thing we’ve got that’s too new to hold under strain.
Rage seethes in my veins. I love my club. Heavy is my president. Even though he’s younger, I’ve backed him since jump street. But he’s gotta fuckin’ learn. Expanding the garage, Steel Bones Construction, renovating the clubhouse. Business, money, power. None of it is worth a dime without the reason we do it.
When my dad was bustin’ kneecaps for the Renellis with Heavy’s dad, they weren’t doin’ it for the future glory of the SBMC. They were doin’ it for us. So we wouldn’t have to struggle for scraps.
We do it for family. For the women and the kids. He’s gotta figure it out one day and soon. Or he’s gonna die old and bitter, the king of an empire, alone in a cold bed.
I ain’t goin’ down like that. I go grab my keys. She ain’t callin’ back. And I can’t stand here and wait another second.
I bound down the stairs, and as I open the front door, Sharon pulls into the drive, her high beams on, blinding me until I screen my eyes. She slams on the breaks, skittering gravel, and yanks up the emergency brake. The boys spill from the car, faces crestfallen.
Parker’s been cryin’. Parker don’t cry.
I hook him around the neck and tug him into my side.
“What’s goin’ on Sharon? It’s ten at night.”
Carson goes to walk in the house, but Sharon grabs him by the back of his shirt. “You don’t move. We’re not staying. We’re gonna clear this up right now.”
Sharon’s cheeks are flushed like when she’s had a few glasses of wine. Is she drunk? Is she drivin’ my kids around drunk?
“What is this?” I pat Parker’s back and let him go to step closer, try to catch a whiff. All I smell is coffee and perfume.
Parker’s staring at the ground. Carson’s bottom lip is quivering. He’s gonna start wailing any minute. What the hell is goin’ on?
“I got a call from Jess Baker,” she starts.
Who the fuck is that? The kids ain’t hurt.
I do not have time for this drama. That’s why she didn’t call. She tries this shit occasionally, and if it’s by phone, I shut it down after I know the boys are okay. Click. Done.
Dizzy: A Steel Bones Motorcycle Club Prequel Page 20
