by Jc Emery
"Clean, clean, clean," I chant as he dozes off as if saying the word will erase the sin he feels in his heart. Once his breathing has stabilized, I haul him into the bed and go about cleaning up the room. I get as much antiseptic on his scratches as I can, but he stirs too much, so I save that for the morning. When everything is as tidy as it's going to get, I crawl into the bed and wrap my body around my poor, broken little boy and cry as silently as I can so not to wake him.
"Tomorrow we leave for California. Things will be better there," I whisper through the sobs that rack my body. "It'll be better. It will. I promise."
CHAPTER 3
Jim
Fort Bragg, California
March 1997
My eyes scan the main room of the clubhouse, surveying the sea of leather crowded inside. There's a tightness in my chest with this many guys in here, and it doesn't help that more than half of them aren't even Forsaken. Fucking Arizona shows up with the whole goddamn charter in tow. These bastards need to learn that their dick size doesn't mean shit this far north. I have to tolerate them, though. Rage gets his prick hairs all knotted up if we start shit with other clubs for "no reason." Like having a bunch of orange, leathery-looking bitches up in my space isn't reason enough for shit to hit the fan.
"Don't like seeing this many strange fucks in my clubhouse." Sterling Grady, our newest patched member, walks up to me. His eyes slide from one side of the room to another, and the corner of his top lip is curled up in disgust. The kid is barely twenty years old with more brawn than brains and an attitude to match.
"Your clubhouse, Sterling?"
He doesn't take the bait--something he's never done before--and it leaves me on edge until I follow his gaze across the room. Chief, Grady's surrogate dad, who's really better aged to be an older brother figure, is staring him down and shaking his head. Only person who can give this prick any kind of perspective is Chief, and thank fuck for it, too. Otherwise I'd have choked him by now.
By Chief's side is his wife, Lona, who has an arm wrapped protectively around their daughter, Elle. Chief gives Lona a quick nod, mutters a few words, and sees them to the door. Right on their heels is my fucking kid. Ryan's just turned nine, and he's already hard up for Elle, who's just two years older than he is. I ignore the kid as he follows them out the door and decide to actually take care of shit so these assholes can get out of my clubhouse.
I'm in the middle of finalizing a deal with one of our visitors when Ryan runs back into the room shouting, "Dad! Dad! Dad!" at the top of his lungs. My entire body stiffens at the noise. As it is, Rage doesn't like having him around all the time. Don't know what he thinks I'm going to do with his grandson if I don't have him at the clubhouse, but whatever. It's called parenting, and it's not like I have Ryan's whore of a mother hanging around to make sure the kid eats and doesn't chop off a limb or something. Sensing Rage's agitation even from across the room, I stop what I'm doing and head toward my son. The moment he realizes I'm heading his way, he rushes back out the door. Fuck. The kid gets himself in more trouble than any other kid I know. At least when his friend Josh is around, my boy is less likely to do something to get his ass sent to juvie.
Once I'm outside, I find Ryan standing on the bench of one of the wooden picnic tables that sit between the clubhouse and the fence separating our private parking lot from the Forsaken Custom Cycle lot out in front. A woman stands in front of him, bouncing nervously from foot to foot, and she's got a kid hiding behind her. Ryan doesn't seem to notice or care about the kid. He's all smiles and attitude with the woman. I can see what he sees in her. She's short, but probably not so much for a woman, and she's got long reddish-brown hair that hangs over her shoulders in waves. Even from here, I can see the way her old, worn jeans cling to every curve. She's young but not young enough to cause me problems, so that's a good thing. Despite her small figure and slight curves, she's got a healthy set of tits that look like they're threatening to escape her faded and torn black tank top. The top hangs loose everywhere but her chest, and fuck me if it ain't a sight for sore eyes.
The mystery woman turns her head toward me and blinks rapidly, shock registering on her face before she composes herself and musters up a fake as fuck smile. I know that smile. Ryan's mom was a pro, so I recognize when I'm being played. I try not to let it get to me, but I fail miserably. When her big brown eyes land on mine, she doesn't let go. Latching on to me with her gaze, she stands a little straighter, forcing her tits to strain against the top even more than they were before.
My feet manage to carry me two steps closer to her before they falter, and I stand there in place. I'm so tired of the lost girls we have here. We've been needing fresh meat for a while now, and the way my dick is reacting to this new bitch is proof the situation is worse than I thought. In an attempt to force my dick to chill out, I drag my nails over the scruff on my face, trying to distract myself from how much I like the way this strange woman looks, but it doesn't work. Her eyes catch the move, and her mouth falls open slightly. I watch as her tongue peeks out before she tries to cover her reaction by dragging her teeth over her bottom lip and clearing her throat.
"Sorry for being back here. The kid, uh, Ryan, kind of dragged us," she says. Her voice is soft but purposefully so, with smoky, sultry undertones that I can fucking guarantee come out during sex.
"Dad, she's from Arizona!" Ryan shouts. I ignore him.
"Not a problem. You got a name, beautiful?"
"Ruby."
Fuck me. I even like her name. Within seconds, I'm at her side and staring my kid down like he's the competition. He still hasn't stopped talking even though she's barely listening.
"We always need hotties to clean up around here," Ryan says. My eyes widen and I redirect my attention to him. He doesn't look my way. Instead, he keeps focusing on Ruby. Is my kid . . .
He can't be doing what I think he's doing.
"Take the job, honey. I'm sure we can work out some form of . . . compensation . . . later." My nine-fucking-year-old son winks at Ruby like he's grown or some shit. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and grab my kid behind his neck and yank him off the bench. He hunches over and turns his face to me, giving me a downright dirty-looking glare. Little asshole.
"Shut up while you have the option," I bark loudly in his face. Fucking kid just stares back at me. Doesn't even blink or shriek back from how loud I'm being. Slowly, a shit-eating grin creeps to his lips. There's a twinkle in his eye that hasn't been there since the last time I busted him trying to light an M80.
"It's okay," she says quickly. Her body curves inward and her torso bends slightly toward my boy. Her eyes dart from me to him and back to me again. "I don't want any trouble. I'm just looking for a job, but if you're full up, it's fine."
"You got any skills?"
"I can clean, tend bar. I'll do whatever."
Somehow, by the grace of God or some shit, I manage to not ask her anything crude. I deserve a goddamn medal or something for it, too. The way she looks at me, all serious with a side of desperation, is like catnip for my dick or something.
"Clubhouse is filthy. Pay is shit. You'd be around a bunch of assholes all day."
I don't know a single thing about this woman, aside from her name, and I'm offering her a job. Rage would be taking a swing at me right now if he were out here. I could always sacrifice the kid to him when he finds out, since it was Ryan's idea after all.
"This is not the first club I've been with, but I'm hoping it's the last. I'm just looking to provide for my boy, get him a little normal."
I don't bother telling her that Forsaken is anything but normal for a kid. My attention falls to my own son before I catch sight of her son. He's got large brown eyes beneath a mop of light brown hair, pale skin, and a bridge of freckles across his nose. He looks too skinny to be healthy, and he seems skittish from the way he's desperately clinging to the waistband of his mom's jeans. I give him a half smile, hoping he'll let go of the damn woman for a second, but he doesn
't budge.
"You can stay in our house, Ruby," Ryan offers.
"Son, shut your pie hole." I rack my brain but can't figure out what's gotten into him. Ryan's normally quiet until he's got something smart to say. But right now he's being talkative as hell, and it's making me suspicious.
"Thank you, honey, but we have a place to stay." Ruby keeps her voice light, but it feels forced, like she's hiding something.
"Where?"
"Excuse me?"
She blinks at my question as though she didn't hear it. I've spent enough time watching men lie to my face to know she's stalling.
"Where are you staying?"
"Oh, there's a motel down the road."
I know there's a motel down the road, but it's a shit hole. I tell her as much, but she doesn't give. Instead, she just says, "We've stayed in worse."
"You came in from Arizona? What're you doing with those assholes?"
"Just passing through. Ian wanted to come out to California." She reaches around and place a hand on her son's shoulder, giving him a comforting pat.
"Where'd you come from before Arizona?"
"Texas. Is this the background check?" Ruby purses her lips and gives me a sly smile.
I shake my head and rub the back of my neck awkwardly. Her story is full of holes and half-truths, but I don't push. The boy has a backpack strapped to his shoulders, and Ruby's got a medium-sized suitcase by her feet. I'm willing to bet these two bags are all they have in the world, which turns my stomach in some fucked-up way. Fuck. Being a parent is hard enough with all the support I have from my mom and the club. I can't imagine doing it all alone with basically nothing in this world. Nobody should have to live like that, especially not some poor fucking kid. I try to shrug it off by reminding myself that she's going to be working in the clubhouse, so I'll have time to get the rest of the story out of her. I'll just have to stay close enough to make sure she and the kid have enough to survive on.
Finally regaining my ability to speak, I smirk at her. "No. You'll know it when I'm checking you out." She flushes and clears her throat but quickly regains her stoic appearance. I should let her stay in the clubhouse tonight, but the fucking Arizona club is in town and will be partying through the night, so I go ahead and do the dumbest thing I can. "Work tomorrow. You'll ride in with me. Tonight, you'll stay with us."
"I don't need--" she starts.
I cut her off immediately.
"We're not good enough to shelter you for a night, guess we're not good enough to hire you."
Ruby looks down at Ian, whose face peeks out a little more, displaying a large, angry-looking scar that covers almost half his face. I suck in a deep breath, trying to imagine what could have happened to the poor kid. Ruby gives her boy a smile and then another pat.
"Thank you," she says, her attention now back on me. Her eyes are gentle, her voice is firm, and everything about her demeanor tells me she's suddenly relieved. Her shoulders slump, but her chin stays high. The tension around her eyes dissipates.
She had nowhere to go.
Fuck.
Who is this woman, and what the hell am I going to do with her?
CHAPTER 4
Ruby
"That's my dad," Ryan says. He's still bouncing on the balls of his feet, his big gray eyes trained on me.
"I see the resemblance." Giving the kid a soft smile, I think through my options. Once those assholes from Arizona practically kicked us out of the van, I didn't know where we were going or how we were going to get there. We'd passed a cheap motel on our way through town, but there was no sign telling me how cheap cheap really is in California. Between the money I've been hoarding and the cash I've managed to collect from the Arizona club before we left, I have about five hundred bucks. Without a job, that's not even going to get us through the month. Sure, Ryan's dad kind of offered me a job. Well, it's more like Ryan offered the job and his dad kind of just . . . didn't argue it.
Ryan's dad.
That man is trouble, I can already tell. He's tall and muscular but not bulking in a gross, steroids kind of way. I hate when there's so many muscles that the poor guy no longer even has a neck. Ryan's dad--crap, I really need to find out the man's name--is just attractive. Like his son, he has gray eyes with jet-black hair and a pale complexion. He's everything I would have been attracted to before I stopped allowing myself to want anything.
"Ryan!" A loud, smoky, feminine voice shouts from the other side of the parking lot. I focus in on who it's coming from. A middle-aged woman is standing beside a shiny, new-looking truck. She's clutching a large leather purse to her shoulder. Her eyes are narrowed, her head tilting in a way that suggests she's sizing me up.
"That's my grandma," Ryan says with a half smile on his face. He doesn't move until she calls him again and adds, "Now," in a firm voice. Looking flustered, he jumps off the bench and drags himself away. I turn away as the chatty little boy and his grandma argue about something. They're too far away for me to hear the exact disagreement, but I can come up with something compelling enough. She probably doesn't want her grandson talking to some strange woman, and I don't blame her.
Before I embarrass myself by begging for that job and a place to stay, I take Ian by the hand and head out of the parking lot. If I want things to change, then I need to change the way I go about doing things.
We're halfway to the motel before he gives my hand a tug and stops moving his little feet.
"What's up, baby?"
"I don't like it here," he says, his small voice breaking at the end. I suck in a deep breath to calm myself down. Ian never likes anywhere at first. Well, actually, he just doesn't like anywhere no matter how long we're there for. But eventually something is going to have to give. At some point he's going to have to make peace with the fact that we can change the zip code, the weather, and the club we're with, but we can't just change our damage. He's too young to understand that concept, and I don't expect him to. Still, it's frustrating as hell to go through this every place we go. It's selfish and shitty, but I just want him to--just one fucking time--make me feel like I'm doing an okay job instead of destroying his entire world every single day.
"I know, baby," I say evenly. I bend down so we're eye to eye and cup his cheek with my hand. "I know I keep promising things will get better and they haven't yet. And I'm sorry you don't like it here. We'll keep looking for a place you'll like, okay? Okay, baby?"
"Okay."
And just like that, with that one little word, we're walking again. Some people hate the word fine because when most people say they're fine, what they really mean is that things are shit but they're not up for emotionally bleeding all over the place. Ian doesn't say fine. He says okay. And I guess, after traveling in a hot van all day, that okay is better than having a meltdown. I still don't like it, though.
One day, I'm going to make my little boy smile. One day we're going to have our own apartment that I can pay for all by myself. One day we'll buy the brand name foods in the grocery store, and we won't worry about things like not having a phone. One day we're going to live like regular people, and I'll be that mom who cries when her baby walks across the stage at his high school graduation. And one day my boy will tell me he's fine instead of okay, and when he smiles, it won't be to mask how much pain he's in.
One day, I resolve to myself.
Our new life starts today. It starts with me standing on my own two feet and walking us to this motel. It starts with a proper job hunt tomorrow. I'm not sure what I'll do about Ian. He's half a year behind in school because of all the moving and everything else going on. It's a damn miracle that's all he's missed. He needs to catch up, but the year's almost over, and then it'll be summer. I can't leave Ian with just anyone, or he'll flip out, and I can't afford to pay anyone with a license. Plus there's that whole thing about him not being enrolled in school right now. I have enough problems without the law getting all up in my shit. Damn it. This is how I keep ending back up with whatever club is local.
Bikers don't give a shit if I have my kid with me at the clubhouse as long as my boy's not in the room while I'm letting them fuck me. Not that I would do that, but the Arizona club's president literally told me that the first time I met him. Sometimes, like right now, it feels too fucking hard to go straight. I have to, though. I want Ian to complain about homework and girls and dumb-ass shit like that. He deserves better, and that means I have to do better. If I want him to stop having nightmares, that means I have to stop putting him in situations that give him those nightmares.
"What's wrong, Mommy?" Ian looks up at me with his big brown eyes narrowed and his lips formed into a pout.
"Sometimes it's hard being a parent," I say.
Thoughtfully, he nods his head and gives my hand a squeeze, declaring, "Sometimes it's hard being a kid, too."
CHAPTER 5
"Okay, and jump!" Ian's got a hold of my pinky, and when I shout for him to jump, he gives it a squeeze. He does this sometimes, holding my pinky instead of my hand. My boy hesitates for a moment as he stares down at the massive puddle in front of us. Sure, it's a big puddle, but the kid's got some ridiculously long legs. I raise an eyebrow, free my pinky, and make a great show of leaping over the puddle. On the other side now, I puff out my chest and put my hands on my hips. With a large, dramatic smile on my face, I stare down at my boy.
"I win!"
"We weren't racing." Ian's eyes are narrowed. One of the best ways I've found to get him to focus on what's going on around us instead of the monsters that haunt him is to give him something to do. Anything, really, and he's usually fine. He likes to keep busy.
"Yes, we were."
We so weren't.
"You're a cheat!"
"Are you calling your mother a cheat?" I snicker and shake my head at him in mock disbelief.
