Had I made a mistake?
I thought he’d like having me visit him.
But I also didn’t really know him outside of a few texts.
Sure, we’d been texting on and off for a few weeks now, but that didn’t mean much.
He didn’t know me well other than from texting.
And when we did talk; in person and over a phone were completely different things.
I sat down at the table, turning the chair around to face him, which he found amusing.
“You came here for a reason,” he said.
I bit my lip.
He sighed again, and I started to get angry.
I wasn’t usually such an emotional person, but the man currently sitting in front of me had affected me from the first day I met him.
“I quit my job,” I said in a rush when he looked like he was about to say something else.
He blinked, staring at me.
“What?” he asked.
“Well, not the main one. But I quit volunteering,” I said. “I told them I couldn’t do it anymore.”
“And?” he asked.
“You were my reason for telling them I couldn’t do it anymore,” I said. “I told them I had prior engagements for the next couple of months. And they didn’t think I was telling the truth.”
His mouth quirked up in a smile.
“So what, they followed you?” he asked.
I nodded.
“I think they did. I really think that they thought I was lying, so I had to prove to them that I wasn’t. So I came,” I said.
He laughed.
Not a small laugh, either, but a full belly laugh.
I found my first smile in over twenty-four hours since I’d given my notice with my boss that I wouldn’t be coming to the clinic anymore.
“So other than driving two hours to come see me when you didn’t want to, how’s life treating you?” he asked. “You said in your messages last night that someone stole your Santa.”
I nodded emphatically.
“They did!” I growled, hit all over again with the anger that I’d been plagued with. “Off my roof!”
His brows rose to his hairline, and his lips widened into a smile at how angry my voice sounded.
“I thought that it was on your side porch,” he said. “Who put it on your roof?”
I pointed to my chest.
“Me,” I indicated myself.
He blinked, then leaned forward.
“You got on your roof?” he asked. “You have a two story roof.”
I nodded.
I would know if I had a two story roof or not.
Why was he not more upset about someone stealing my Santa like I was?
His mouth thinned into a straight line as his eyes narrowed.
“Was anyone there to help you?” he continued.
I shook my head.
“Mr. Craddock kept egging me on, but other than that, no; no one helped me,” I told him. “I stapled him to the roof with my staple gun.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, and I nervously started to clench and unclench my hands on my purse.
The sound of snack cake wrappers brought my attention to my bag, and I smiled as I took out the snack cakes and started tossing them over to him.
“I brought these for you,” desperate to change the subject I could feel taking a bad turn.
The snack cakes hit the couch next to his legs, five in all, and settled against his thigh as I pulled out a bottle of milk.
“I wasn’t sure they were going to let me bring these over here,” I added. “But they didn’t say anything. It said on the website that if something wasn’t allowed, they would confiscate it until I left.”
Bemused, Ridley picked up a Christmas tree snack cake and stared at it.
“I wasn’t sure I was going to get any of these this year,” he said. “Thank you.”
I smiled at him.
“I saw them at the convenience store on the way over here,” I explained. “Normally, they’re smaller in those boxes, you know?” I said. “But these were twice the size. I figured you’d enjoy them if they let me go through with them.”
“They’re not supposed to,” he pointed out.
I blinked. “Not supposed to, what?”
He opened the package and took a large bite, taking off the top of one tree, as well as nearly all the middle before he replied. “Let you have any food. They think you’ll sneak in razor blades or something.”
I blinked.
“How would you get razor blades into something that’s sealed?” I asked.
He looked at me like my naivety amused him.
“I watched a YouTube video the other day about how to make a blow dart out of shit and toilet paper,” he said. “If someone can make something that’ll kill someone in here, I’m pretty sure someone from the outside world with access to damn near anything can figure out how to open a package and seal it back up without making it look like it’d been opened.”
My mouth dropped open.
“Who would want to make something out of poop and toilet paper?” I asked him.
“The guards were telling me something about a guard getting hurt a few years back by an inmate making a blow dart out of those two materials. Used three toilet paper rolls for the tube of the blow dart. Shot the guy right through the eye with it as he was walking past his cell,” he said. “Then another time…”
I held my hand up for him to stop.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I don’t really want to hear about it.”
He grinned at me.
“That’s what you say about all my stories,” he teased, sounding hurt.
I laughed at him, suddenly a lot more at ease.
“I like you, Ridley,” I said softly.
He grinned and opened up another package, eating this one in three bites as well.
“I like you, too, Fuc,” he said.
My mouth dropped open.
“That was told to you out of confidence!” I hissed at him, picking up the milk I’d bought for him and chunking it at him.
He snorted, catching it with hilarious ease, then twisted the top off it and took a sip.
“I would’ve never thought a name like that would get past the teachers,” he said after a while. “None of mine would’ve ever allowed it.”
I grimaced.
“One of my teachers was the one that gave it to me,” I explained.
Ridley frowned at me.
“A teacher?” he asked, sounding stunned. “What the fuck?”
I shrugged.
“I wasn’t the most liked kid in class. I was quiet,” I sighed. “And I liked to read. I hated answering questions because it made me stand out more than I wanted to stand out. And, to top it off, I was smarter than most of my teachers. It didn’t go over well with them, and they found ways to make me realize their displeasure.”
“By calling you Fuc in front of the whole class,” he growled. “Do you ever stand up for yourself?”
I grimaced.
“I…” I shook my head. “It’s easier not to.”
“How?” he asked. “Wouldn’t think it’s easier to take all that shit rather than just say something.”
I laughed.
“Have you ever been bullied before?” I asked him.
He leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him.
“No, can’t say that I have. That was also because they knew better, though,” he admitted.
I nodded.
“Imagine that geeky kid that always got stuffed into a locker…” I said to him.
He nodded, visualizing I was sure.
“Now, when there are other bullies surrounding him, what do you think would’ve happened had he tried to stand up for himself? DO you think they would’ve left him alone, or amped it up?” I asked.
His mouth opened to deny what I was getting at, but then
he shut it just as fast.
I nodded and smiled.
“That nerdy kid that got shoved into lockers was me,” I informed him. “The only person I was able to stand up against was Mr. Craddock, and he almost ran over my dog because I’d done it the time before when I’d seen him checking on one of his rent houses. My dog stuck up more for me than anyone, and look where that almost got me. Had you not been there, I would’ve had a dead dog. That’s the way it goes for us individuals that aren’t blessed to have friends or personalities like yours.”
“So you’re telling me, when you stand up for yourself, it ends up being worse in the long run rather than the initial beating?” he guessed.
I nodded.
“Did your brother know about you getting beat up in high school?” he continued.
Those words caused me a pang of sadness as I thought about all that my brother had done.
“My brother was my greatest friend. He hated seeing anything happen to me, but he was also three years ahead of me. Not much he can do at a different campus,” I explained. “He was able to help me out his senior year when I was only a freshman, though. That was my best year at school as far as I can remember.”
“He probably put the word out that you weren’t to be touched,” he said. “I would’ve done the same for my sister. Hell, I did do the same.”
I smiled.
“Has your sister always had those seizures?” I asked him, wanting to change the subject.
Anything would be better than talking about those years.
They’d been pure hell, and no one that’d never been bullied would ever understand just what kind of hell it was.
“Yeah,” he nodded his head, lifting his shirt slightly to have easier access to an itch on his belly before continuing.
My eyes were drawn to his tight abdominal muscles that clearly showed a couple small glimpses of abs before he dropped his shirt back down into position.
My eyes went to his, and I saw awareness of what I’d just done there, but he didn’t stop his explanation.
“My sister has…had…a lesser form of epilepsy since as long as I can remember,” he explained. “I was eight and she was six when the first episode I remember her ever having happened.” He shook his head. “We were sharing a room with my parents at Disneyland.”
I winced.
“She’d just gone to sleep and was lying in the bed next to me when she started jumping around like one of those Mexican jumping beans.” He frowned. “I turned over to yell at her to stop when I saw the way she was staring at nothing. Ran and got my parents, and they took her to the ER while my grandmother waited back at the hotel with my brother and me. It was terrifying.”
“Does she have them often?” I asked softly.
He looked at me, wondering, I guess, what he should divulge, then shrugged.
“Here and there,” he admitted. “Nothing as much as lately, though. Once she had the baby it was like night and day. While she was pregnant the episodes amped up to nearly terrifying. Then she had Emily. Though the episodes were still present once she had the baby, they were nowhere near as bad as they’d been before. Ever since the latest car wreck that I met you on…well it got worse again.”
I swallowed.
I’d heard him explain that to the doctor.
She’d been struck in the head with a car seat from the backseat, and ever since then, her seizures had become more and more sporadic.
“Were y’all able to control it before then? While she was pregnant?” I asked, my nurse training kicking in.
He pursed his lips in thought, then nodded his head at the same time he shrugged.
“She had multiple seizures throughout her entire pregnancy,” he admitted. “But she has triggers for the one she did have. If she’s tired and forgets to take her medication on time that day, it might cause a seizure. Sometimes it’s extreme emotion. She’s been seeing a specialist in Dallas since she was a small child, but they’ve only gotten worse over the last year.”
“Oh,” I whispered softly. “That’s terrible.”
It was, too.
She would forever have to live with the fact that she’d played a part in killing my brother, and nearly killing herself and her baby. Not directly, no, but indirectly. If she hadn’t needed to get to Dallas, my brother wouldn’t have been in that car.
Not that I held it against her.
I never would.
I knew his sister wouldn’t be seeing it that way, though.
“Your sister…is she okay?” I asked softly. “How’s she doing with all this?”
He rubbed his face with his forehead, stopping to scratch his beard roughly before replying.
“She’s not good. Well, she’s better now since Apple got his head out of his ass,” he amended.
“Apple?” I asked, confused.
“Her man, Apple Drew. He was the one who came in with the baby in the hospital while we were there,” he explained.
“Ohhh,” I remembered. “Gotcha.”
He reached up to scratch his beard again, and I looked at him, studying the way his hands seemed to be restless, and the only thing they seemed to want to do was play with his beard.
“You don’t like the beard?” I asked.
“I like the beard,” he pursed his lips. “It’s nice not to have to shave every day,” he admitted. “But it itches like a mother fucker.”
I giggled, causing a smile to break out over his face.
“I like the beard, too,” I admitted. “I liked the goatee, but the beard makes you look…rougher. Manlier.”
He snorted.
“So you like the unkempt look, do you?” His voice had changed, become darker and …sexier.
But before I could respond, what sounded like a solid thunk hit the door to our room, and chairs all of a sudden started screeching as they were moved back in a hurry.
“Shit,” he hissed, standing up and walking to the door.
He opened it, then immediately shut it again with a slam.
“Get my cuffs,” he ordered.
I got them and tossed them to him.
He caught them and slipped both onto one hand, treating the metal as if they were brass knuckles rather than a set of handcuffs.
Then all hell broke loose.
Chapter 5
Gagging during a blowjob means the world to a man. It means that you’re choosing his pleasure over oxygen. Trust me, they’re aware of the sacrifice.
-The way to a man’s heart
Ridley
“What’s up, pretty boy?” my brother asked.
I rolled my eyes and sank further into the piece of shit bed that I had been given.
“I’m not so pretty anymore,” I informed him dryly. “You should see how long my beard is. I could compete with Jase from Duck Dynasty right now.”
Wolf chuckled and I heard some metallic banging in the background.
“That’s good to hear,” he chuckled. “You were always too vain.”
I threw a racquet ball against the wall, catching it easily as it bounced back to me.
“How’s my sister?” I asked.
“Pissed,” he said. “She doesn’t understand why you’re in jail.”
No, she wouldn’t.
But then she also didn’t want to hear the truth. She was what one would call a gentle soul. She never saw the worst in people. Never saw the hatred or blackness that surrounded those evil souls.
She would literally give everyone everything she had if she had the chance.
Which was why I did everything I could to ensure no one took advantage of her.
Especially our brother.
Our brother who I hadn’t been able to get into contact with since I’d been in this joint.
“So what’d you learn?” Wolf asked.
Wolf was my best friend.
Literally, out of all the men that were in my club, Wolf was the one that I went
to first.
He was always the first one to hear my problems, and I was always the first to hear his.
It was why I was calling him in the first place. I’d tell him the news I’d been able to get today, and leave it up to him to decide whether he shared the information with Kelly or not. Kelly may be posing as a prison guard at times, but I can’t always get information to him.
A high pitched scream signaled Wolf’s son, Nathan, had come into the room, effectively halting any explanation until we could hear again.
“Please go sit down and eat the popsicle at the table, Nate. You’re dripping blue juice all over the white carpet,” Wolf growled in frustration.
Nathan replied, and the sound drifted away, meaning the boy had actually listened.
“That was lucky,” I said to him, trying not to smile.
“The kid is trying my patience, that’s for sure,” Wolf admitted. “I thought terrible twos ended when they were two. He’s fuckin’ five now and still acting like an asshole.”
I snorted.
“I think that’s just because he’s a boy, not because he’s an asshole,” I told him.
Wolf sighed.
“Kid’s just like his father,” Wolf said, sounding kind of happy about that fact.
My heart kicked in my chest, and I held my breath, waiting for more, but it never came.
Wolf and me were alike, not because we were both part of the same club, but because we’d both lost our loves about a month’s time apart.
Wolf had lost more, though.
Around the time he lost his wife and unborn child, he’d also lost his best friend, who happened to be Nathan’s father.
Nathan had almost been taken in the attack as well, and he’d been shot in the face and left for dead.
Miraculously, a SWAT officer from Kilgore, Michael Perez, had saved Nathan’s life.
Nathan definitely had a long road ahead of him, but he would live, which was more than could be said for his biological parents and Wolf’s wife and unborn child.
“Alright,” Wolf said. “Tell me what you found out.”
I outlined what I’d learned today from Tasty, the ex-sergeant at arms for The Coller Gang.
“He finally talked to me,” I said. “Only took him six fuckin’ weeks to do it, but I think I got something worthwhile.”
“Okay, shoot,” he ordered.
Dirty Mother (The Uncertain Saints MC Book 5) Page 7
