HWY 550 (Rock Point Book 3)

by Freya Barker

  “Fuck yeah, but trust me on this one: the payoff is huge.”

  I sure as shit hope so. I’m not a fan of handing over my balls, but ending up with Luna in my bed would be the ultimate reward.

  “Anything you can tell me is welcome, Blackfoot. At least let me see if I can find them first. Give Luna the option then.”

  “You default on that—you harm that girl in any way—I’ll be up your ass so far, you won’t know where you end and I begin.” His doubt is evident. Heck, I’m not even sure myself if I can hold back if and when I find them, my rage runs so deep.

  “She’s not a girl, she’s a woman, and so noted.”

  A deep sigh, and then he finally gives me something to work with. By the time I hang up, I have half a page of the notepad filled with my chicken scribble. I hope to fuck I can read it back.

  It’s two-thirty when I roll into bed, eyes burning from staring at my laptop for hours. But I now have a list of possible names for Freddy Krueger.

  CHAPTER 13

  LUNA

  “Please spill. I’m desperate. All my shirts have boob stains and the closest thing to adult conversation this week was on cloth versus disposable diapers in the baby aisle at the grocery store. Let me live vicariously through you.”

  “Amen,” Autumn echoes, a new mother herself.

  I snicker at Kerry’s impassioned plea.

  Damian’s wife and mother to their almost one-year old son, Dante, organized this girls’ night out. Motherhood is apparently not without its drawbacks, and she needed a break.

  This whole sisterhood business is still pretty new to me. I always kept to myself, not quite feeling at home in a gaggle of females, but in the past few years here, I haven’t been able to escape it. I never had a choice. Kerry and Bella declared me a ‘sister’ and therefore I was, and newest addition, Autumn, isn’t any fucking help either, she settled right into the group. She’s married to Keith Blackfoot. The fifth woman, Marya, Kerry’s assistant, and myself are the only two unattached ones.

  I’m still the odd one out, though. All four other women are mothers or mothers-to-be. Autumn’s new baby is barely two months old—I’d kill to get a glimpse of Keith playing daddy tonight—and Bella is three and a half months pregnant.

  It’s a little ironic Kerry picked The Irish for our night out, not only can’t three of the five women drink, but the pub is also where most first responders and local law enforcement hang out. Not exactly the most girly bar in town for sure.

  Yet here we are, and by the looks on all faces turned in my direction, I’m on the hot seat. It’s Bella’s fault. She asked me how my hot biker and I were getting along, which of course had them all turn on me.

  “It’s nothing serious. Just testing the waters.” I try to brush it off, not really able to disclose my involvement with Ouray is for a case. Either way I’m lying and these women seem to know it. This is very serious—at least it is for me.

  “Right,” Kerry mocks. “Because you always wear skintight jeans, a kick-ass sexy leather jacket, and a shirt that makes your tits look like a freaking fruit basket.”

  I immediately glance down. Sure enough, my barely there boobs look far more promising than I know they are. I check Bella, who is smirking behind her glass, she’s the one who suggested this bra. She’s been giving me fashion advice these past few weeks, and I’ve done more shopping—mostly online, thank God—than I think I ever have in my life. The result is a biker babe worthy closet. I keep telling myself it’s all for the job, but secretly I kind of like the way I look.

  “It’s complicated,” I try again.

  I’m not lying, the past week—since opening up to Ouray—has been both interesting and oddly frustrating. He took me out Friday night to Brewer’s Pub, another of the club’s business interests, on a double date with Kaga and his wife, Lea. Another night he came over to my place for dinner and a movie, and I’ve spent some time at the clubhouse, hanging around with the boy who attempted to teach me to play Fortnite on the game system, and eating Momma’s dinners. I’m learning more about the club life every day, but each night Ouray would leave me at my door, my lips still bruised from his kisses, but nothing more than that. Hence my frustration.

  “It’s always complicated.” This from Autumn, who raises an eyebrow. “But is it worth it?”

  “Come on, Luna. You’ve made me the only spinster at the table—you owe me,” Marya pipes up. Her husband abandoned her with three kids, then under ten, three years ago. “All these women have good guys, sure they’re hot, and they’re all alpha as fuck, but you’ve snagged yourself a genuine ‘bad boy.’ Share, woman.”

  We’re sitting in a booth near the bathrooms and given it’s a Wednesday night, The Irish is not too crowded, most patrons are hanging around the bar. If I were to share, chance of being overheard would be minimal. I glance around the booth, all eyes still on me, and with a deep inhale, decide to take another leap.

  “He’s not as much of a bad boy as you guys might think he is. A little rough around the edges maybe, but his club isn’t involved in anything criminal, hasn’t been since Ouray took over the gavel. He can actually be quite gentle, especially with Cody or me.”

  “Who’s Cody?” Bella asks.

  That launches me into an explanation of the club’s charitable work—taking in street kids—and more specifically about the boy who is quickly making his quiet way into my heart. Apparently my friends can read me like a book, because they all look at me with knowing smiles.

  It doesn’t mean I’m off the hook, as Autumn quickly makes clear. “Sweet, but get to the good stuff already.”

  “I’ll second that,” Kerry prompts, provoking the others to make encouraging sounds.

  “Little to tell.” At the dubious glances I hasten to add, “We haven’t exactly...not that we haven’t...done some things, but not...well, you know.”

  It’s Autumn, who puts a comforting hand on my arm when I start to stammer. “You don’t have to go into details, darlin’,” she says in her Texas drawl. Reminding me a little of the way Ouray calls me that, usually when he’s trying to get a rise out of me.

  “It’s not that—exactly—it’s that there aren’t a lot details to go into. Although I do know he’s got some skills.”

  “Shit, I knew it,” Marya says, fanning herself with a beer coaster. “Damn, how I wish for a singular warm body with the same collective abilities as my toy collection. I don’t think I’m asking for much, other than maybe regular shower habits. Bad BO is such a turnoff.” The booth is quiet for a second following her words, before we all bust out laughing.

  “I’m not sure of all his skills,” I clarify when hilarity dies down. “I just know his mouth and tongue are lethal.”

  “No shit?” Bella leans forward on the table. “You haven’t had a chance to check out the wares, so to speak?”

  I squirm a little in my seat, feeling the scrutiny. “We’re taking things slow, although I can report he seems to have impressive equipment.”

  “Always a bonus,” Marya points out, causing another titter around the table.

  “Truth is...” I start, second-guessing myself even as the words leave my mouth, “...going slow is for me. I had a bad experience many years ago. I told him about it, and since then he’s backed off anything but kissing and it’s getting on my nerves. I’m frustrated, because each time he walks away, I’m left...turned on and unsatisfied.”

  I don’t notice the silence in the booth until I finish talking. Autumn is the first one to speak up, and she does so in her usual straightforward manner.

  “The traumatic experience in college you told me about—the first time you met Keith—it was rape, wasn’t it?”

  I respond with a shrug, feeling both relieved and decidedly uncomfortable. It’s terrifying to expose yourself when you’ve worked hard to keep a low profile for most of your adult life. I know the questions are coming, and I steel myself, determined to answer honestly.

  I’ve had opportunity to s
ee each of these women at their most vulnerable over the years, it’s only fair I allow them the same.

  I owe them that much.

  OURAY

  I’m a fucking saint.

  Other than a short stint in junior high with a cute little redhead with freckles—whose name I can’t even remember—I’ve never had to exercise this much restraint. It’s more painful than I recall. Of course, at eleven, I didn’t have joints that start protesting with vigorous exercise, and my hand and wrist have gotten their share in the past little while.

  I didn’t even see her last night—she was out with some friends—but apparently all it takes is her voice on the phone to have me hard as granite. She called to tell me she got home okay, as I’d made her promise, and I was struggling the entire time not to let on I was jacking off while listening to her talk.

  “What’s wrong with your hand?” Yuma asks, ambling into my office as I’m flexing my aching digits.

  “None of your fucking business,” I bark out, shoving said hand out of sight under my desk. “What’s up?”

  “It’s about Rowtag. Overheard him with some of the other cubs, talking about putting the deaf kid in his place. Apparently Ahiga’s been kicking all of their asses in Call Of Duty.”

  I shove back my chair and stand up, my fists clenched on the desk. “Where is he now?”

  “Rowtag? I put him on guard duty. He’s been bitching about you taking his gun away, so I gave him a baseball bat instead.”

  “Jesus.” I run my hand through my hair. “And the boy?”

  “Up at the shooting range with Nosh.”

  “Good. Thanks for keeping an eye out. I’ll deal with the punk. He’s starting to piss me off good.”

  I round the desk and head for the door when Yuma stops me. “Need me around tonight?”

  “Nah. I’ll be here. Why?” It should be obvious from the shit-eating grin on his face, so I amend my question. “Who’s the hapless victim this time?”

  “New chick who moved into unit twelve at the River’s Edge.”

  “Fucking hell, Yuma. Can’t you find pussy that doesn’t have some sort of connection to any of our businesses? Do I need to remind you what happened with that chick from Brewer’s Pub last year? What was her name? Elise or something?” He blanches at the reference to the waitress he strung along for a month or two during the summer. When the girl found out they weren’t as exclusive as she thought they were—she walked in on him with his hand down the panties of the new sous-chef in the kitchen—she went ballistic with a chef’s knife. Yuma got off easy with just a nick on his palm when he tried to subdue her, but the other girl will have that scar on her chest the rest of her life. That whole scene played out during a busy weekend cocktail hour.

  Alice, or whatever her name was, ended up pleading guilty to aggravated assault, and I fucking banned Yuma from Brewer’s Pub for a year. Which, now that I think about it, is almost up.

  “I don’t do that anymore,” he says, looking sheepishly.

  “What? You want me to believe you’re a serial monogamist now? Gimme a break, you and I both know, one of these days that pecker of yours is gonna get you into a whole lot more trouble than at the wrong end of a knife.”

  “So much for trusting a brother’s word.”

  “Put my life down for you, brother,” I emphasize, “but it will be a cold day in hell before I trust you to keep your dick in your goddamn jeans. Don’t need more blowback on any of our businesses.”

  “Won’t be any.”

  “Gonna hold you to that.”

  With a last glare, I stalk out of the office and go in search of another pain in my ass.

  Some days, it’s like watching over a herd of fucking preschoolers.

  My talk with Rowtag is not improving my mood. The punk gets defensive, insisting he was just planning a friendly initiation to make Ahiga feel more at home. He’s a shit liar and I warn him he’s on really fucking thin ice, and that if anything happens to the boy, I’ll have his cut. The idiot still has the balls to ask for his gun back.

  “You can have it back when you grow the fuck up.”

  I turn my back on him when I see Luna’s ride drive up to the gate. My mood instantly improves. I open the gate for her, and leave it to Rowtag to close.

  The moment she gets out, I haul her in my arms and plant a heavy one on her.

  “Whew...what was that for?”

  There’s a lightness about her, her smile open and her eyes bright. “You make me feel better,” I admit, grumbling to cover the sappy words.

  “Bad day?”

  “Yuma is doing his best to fuck his way through the entire female population of La Plata County. Rowtag is firing up the cubs to give our boy a hard time.” Her demeanor instantly changes and I can see the claws coming out. Fucking momma bear. “No worries, I’ve got that handled. But worst of all is I haven’t had your taste on my lips in fucking forever.” That makes her smile.

  “Exaggerate much? I’m pretty sure you had your mouth on me two nights ago,” she teases.

  “Too fucking long,” I emphasize, stealing another hard kiss before asking, “Not that I’m complainin’, but what brings you here in the middle of the afternoon? I thought you had to work ’til five?”

  The smile on her face turns even brighter. “I’ve got something to tell you, but not here.”

  “Is this bedroom news or office news?”

  She shakes her head, lowering her eyes to the middle of my chest, but that fucking smile is still there. I’m afraid to hope what that coy little smirk might mean, but my cock is about to burst free and sing alleluia already.

  “I’d say office,” she says, busting my balloon, but then she adds, “first.”

  I not so patiently wait while she says her hellos to everyone, taking her sweet time, until I finally grab her hand and drag her into my office.

  “Sit,” she says, her face beaming. I lower myself down in my chair as she sits her ass on the desk just inches from me. “So—I know I may have overstepped a little, and I don’t know how you guys usually handle this, but I want you to know other than Jas and me, no one knows.”

  I don’t know what the fuck she’s on about, but it can’t be that bad if she’s looking this happy. “Go on,” I prompt her.

  “I spent some time seeing what I could find out about Cody. He’s still very leery of sharing anything about himself. Every time he lets a little piece slip, he shuts down right away. But...” she lets the word linger and I roll my eyes.

  “Turning grayer here.”

  “I wasn’t very successful, but I asked Jas to look into it. Don’t worry,” she says quickly when she sees me straighten up in my chair. “This is totally off the record. I trust him with my life. Anyway, all I had to give him were bits and pieces, and he only worked on it on his own time, but he thinks he found him. Cody, I mean.”

  It would be hypocritical to get pissed because she did some digging behind my back, when I’ve done exactly the same to her. I just hope to God she hasn’t acted on what she’s found out. Usually before the club does anything with that kind of information, it’s run by the lawyer.

  “Tell me.”

  “He’s from Monticello: Cody Tyler Washburn, twelve years old, he’ll be thirteen in December. There’s no missing person’s report. Jas ended up pulling information from the snippets of information the boy told us. He looked into known overdose cases. Filtered out the women who were listed as having a child or children of an age matching his at the time, and tracked him that way. He was five when she died, went to live with his grandparents in Monticello.”

  “Found his way to Cortez somehow,” I point out.

  “Hitchhiking, probably,” Luna offers. “Risky for a kid. Anyway, he was with his grandparents for three years, when they took him on a church trip to Moab. A tractor trailer crossed into oncoming traffic and plowed into the school bus transporting the church group. The grandparents, along with five others, were sitting toward the front of the bus and die
d.”

  “Jesus,” I hiss, wincing. The poor kid doesn’t sound like he’s had any breaks in his young life.

  “Cody was sitting in the back with the other kids and got off with minor scrapes and bruises. Along with everyone else, he was checked out in the hospital in Monticello and Child Services was called in right away.”

  “Let me guess,” I finish for her, the picture coming through clear. “He was placed in a home where something bad happened to him, he took off running, and whatever bastards were supposed to look after him, never reported it, because they’d lose their monthly check. Am I close?”

  She leans in and kisses me hard on the mouth. “Bullseye.”

  “Poor kid,” I mutter and Luna’s expression turns sober.

  “You know he needs help, right? This kind of tragedy and then abuse after that—not that hard to understand why he doesn’t trust. I can only imagine the kind of problems he’s bound to run into.”

  “We’ll get him help,” I promise her.

  “Actually—remember I mentioned overstepping? Well, I contacted my awesome therapist in Aztec, who works together with a social worker who specializes in working with traumatized and abused children. And...” she adds with a smile. “She happens to know ASL.”

  “I see.”

  The smile drops at my response, which comes out much gruffer than I intended.

  “Well...I may have made him an appointment.”

  I can barely contain my grin. “May have?”

  “This Saturday at eleven. I know where it is, I’ll take him,” she rambles off.

  “Come here.” She eyes me suspiciously but eventually slides off my desk and onto my lap, and I waste no time in showing my appreciation.

  “So you’re not pissed?”

  “Shit no. Every fuckin’ day I find new reasons to like you.”

  CHAPTER 14

  LUNA

  To say I’m nervous would be an understatement.

  I thought opening up would be the hardest, but I hate to admit Gary was right—confession does lighten the soul. I’m not sure what I was expecting in terms of a reaction but was surprised—in a good way—by how both Ouray and the girls responded.