Heart Like Mine (Reapers MC: Conroe Chapter, #3)

by Hunter, Bijou

  I’m disgusted with having Marsha next to Rebel. She asks way too many questions, but the boy’s answers offer her nothing. He has friends, does things, learns stuff, and lives somewhere. Every time she asks something that he’s afraid to answer, Rebel takes a bite of his hamburger to give himself time to think of the right answer.

  Sean tries to make eye contact with me. He does the same with Bubba, Butch, and the other guys. Not Scarlet, though. He’s trying to figure out which of us is Georgia’s man. If he can ID her baby daddy, Sean might be able to use that information to find her and Rebel.

  Not wanting to make his plan easy, I remain stony-face. Despite Sean’s agitation and Marsha’s tears, I do my best Butch the Statue impression. I don’t even react after Ron starts talking shit.

  The guy’s higher than a fucking kite and standing still for the last twenty minutes kills whatever patience is left in him.

  Bubba tries to get Sean and Ron to stop bitching. I just watch Rebel watching his mom.

  For the first time, I see her the way he does. In my head, Georgia is fragile and needs protecting. She’s only survived by pure luck. Now I’ll keep her safe.

  But Rebel finds security in his mom. Not just from her soft touch and comforting words. He knows she’ll put herself between him and danger. She’s the person most willing to suffer, so he doesn’t have to. In his mind, she’s a superhero getting her ass whipped to protect the little guy.

  Seeing her in the way her son does makes me fall in love with her even more.

  And her snide tissue comment to Grandma is the icing on the fucking cake.

  But I keep my cool. We all do except Ron. Outside, Jace sits in his SUV, watching just in case the Milkweed assholes brought backup or start trouble.

  “This is bullshit, and these people are bullshit,” Ron growls as Dickie pushes him out the door.

  “You people make me sick,” Sean spits out as his mother cranks up her crybaby bullshit.

  “I think we’re done here,” Scarlet says, taking charge since she heard how much Sean adores ballsy women.

  Ainsley jumps forward to whine, “But Rebel hasn’t finished his lunch.”

  “He can stay, but Grandma better get to her fainting couch, stat.”

  “You’re nasty,” Ainsley grumbles at Scarlet.

  “Hey, I’m not the one who turned the floor of the Go-Stop into a toilet.”

  Sean makes an aggressive move toward Scarlet, and I forget I’m supposed to be calm. My fist meets his face, and shit gets wild fast.

  I yank Sean off the ground and shove him out the door. Turning back, I spot Butch and Bubba gesturing for the silent Milkweed asshole to leave through the back one. Scarlet starts waving around the adult diaper she brought just to fuck with Ainsley.

  Marsha stops crying long enough to grab for Rebel. I move to stop her, but Georgia holds up her fist in a threatening manner, and the old lady backs away.

  “You’re all horrible people!” Marsha screams before Scarlet smacks her on the top of the head with the diaper.

  “Lunch is over!” Bubba hollers and points for the women to get out.

  Meanwhile, the staff stands around snickering. When one of them pulls out a phone to film, I give her the finger-across-the-throat motion. She puts it back in her pocket. Not that there’s much drama left to see.

  Outside, Bubba is joined by Sherriff Hamm, who was hanging around hoping for something to happen.

  “I want to press charges!” Ainsley yells, pointing at Scarlet.

  “I’m pressing them too. That bitch kicked me!” Scarlet screams, limping dramatically.

  “I just wanted to see my grandbaby,” Marsha whines, crying again though I notice her face remains bone dry.

  “Assholes!” Ron yells from nearby while Dickie still babysits. Our younger guy bounces around, excited about the possible violence.

  But nothing pans out. Sean knows the score. If they press charges, we do too. And they’re in our town, and justice won’t be kind to them.

  The four Milkweed twats eventually leave. I stand at the door, watching the drama peter out. Every time I look back at Georgia, I catch her smiling. I think she really loved the diaper thing. Rebel finishes his ice cream and waits for us to leave.

  “Are you okay?” I finally ask them.

  “It went better than I expected,” Rebel says, and I swear the kid isn’t kidding.

  Even with Milkweed group gone, I remain pumped up. Georgia doesn’t help by flashing her naughty little smiles. I’m uncomfortable showing even a little affection toward them as if someone dangerous might be watching.

  I can’t even settle down once we’re back in Scarlet’s SUV and on our way home.

  Rebel bursts into laughter more than once on the drive. He says something about diapers and then laughs again. Scarlet grins, obviously proud of her antics.

  As soon as we’re out of the SUV, my hands find Georgia. She smiles up at me and then glances at Rebel.

  “We’ll be inside in a little bit. We need to talk about boring grownup stuff.”

  “Eww,” Rebel says and regains his smile while following Scarlet.

  “I need you,” I tell Georgia.

  Smiling, she takes my hand and walks with me to the RV. Once we’re inside, Georgia kisses my knuckles.

  “These pounded that jerk’s face.”

  Without thinking, I yank my hand away and hurry to the sink. “I get that you’re impressed, but I don’t want anything of him on you.”

  Georgia rushes past me and to the bedroom. For a woman sporting a sizeable belly, she’s quickly out of her shoes and pants.

  I lower myself next to her, careful to avoid squishing our kid.

  “You punched him,” she murmurs. “So effortlessly put him on his ass. It was a thing of beauty.”

  “I need more than a few minutes.”

  “I have nowhere to be.”

  Exhaling, I nuzzle my face between her tits. “I have never hated anyone as much as I do those people. Having them breathe the same air as you made me want to burn down the fucking Dairy Queen.”

  “You did a good job of playing cool,” she whispers before moaning when my lips find her nipple. “You were perfect.”

  Her pleasured sighs shut down my ability to speak. I just want to taste every part of her. I need to feel her pussy around my cock. I need to see that heavenly look on her face when she comes. I need to quiet the world that exists outside of our bodies finding peace together.

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE STINK OF SPOILED MILK LINGERS

  THE DOORMAT

  Conroe quickly feels like the home I’ve always craved. Last night, I made my dream of visiting the Beetle Bug a reality. The only difference between my vision and our time out was that Hart came along. Seeing how much the boys like each other makes life here even better.

  Today, I explore Conroe for the first time without Jack at my side. I’ve seen very little of my new town, though everyone promises I’m not missing much. Still, I enjoy walking down Main Street with Soso. Later, we’ll meet up with Panni, Lily, and Sissy for lunch.

  Rebel and Jack remain at the house, doing “man work” like cleaning up the barn. As I walk with Soso and Malibu, I find myself getting emotional while imagining my guys together. Then when I think of how Maddy invited Rebel to her house with the rest of the grandbabies, the tears break free.

  “I’m just happy,” I reassure a worried Soso.

  Holding our hands, Malibu wants to go inside every store. We hit up the hardware place and then a bakery. The last one slows us down while we share a long chocolate donut.

  Once Malibu is sufficiently de-sticky, we return to walking. I can imagine exploring these shops one day with Rebel and the baby. I’ve even mentioned working at one of the stores the Johanssons own.

  I stop daydreaming when Soso nudges me.

  “There’s been talk about three non-local women coming around,” she says and gestures behind us.

  I glance back and notice women a block behi
nd. With their faces mostly covered by scarves, I can’t be sure I recognize them.

  “Let’s get to the shop just in case,” Soso says and walks a little quicker.

  “I don’t understand what’s happening,” I whisper after she picks up Malibu and increases her speed.

  “No one randomly window shops in Conroe. The only thing close to the highway is the Rossiya Motel. There’s nothing here to draw in outsiders.”

  “Do you think they’re Milkweed people.”

  “Or the family of a local, but why take the chance?” she asks as her dark eyes flash with worry. “Let’s get to the store where I have more weapons stashed.”

  Hurrying into the shop, we find Sissy and Katya sitting behind the counter.

  “Did anyone non-local come in here lately?” Soso asks.

  Sissy nods. “Three ladies were here yesterday.”

  “Did they buy anything?”

  “No. They ask many questions,” Katya says, and I assume that means one of the three isn’t Ainsley or the bitch from the Go-Stop.

  “What questions?”

  “Mostly about the town,” Sissy says, seeming oblivious to Soso’s worries. “They said they were thinking about moving here.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  Sissy just shrugs. I’ve started noticing how she doesn’t pay attention to a lot of stuff. Then again, she has two small children, so she’s likely always tired.

  While Sissy remains unbothered, Katya frowns and tries to remember.

  “I don’t know,” Katya finally admits. “Not much. I think Sissy say the school is good.”

  “And my kids don’t even use them,” Sissy announces before adding quieter, “But I didn’t tell them that.”

  Soso glances out the front windows. “Three women are coming this direction.” Turning to me, Soso gestures toward the back office. “Take Malibu.”

  I should offer to stand up to the women or, at least, suggest Soso hide too. But her demeanor demands I obey. Scarlet has the same vibe.

  Malibu feels so lightweight after carrying the twins. I hold her on my hip and peek out of the back office’s door when I hear the front bell ding.

  I can’t see well from my spot, but I immediately recognize the voice of one of the Milkweed women. Andrea Smithy hasn’t gotten rid of her Boston accent despite living in Kentucky for a decade.

  “You came back!” Sissy cries. “We never get customers.”

  “Not with that around, you don’t,” Andrea mutters.

  “Sorry,” Soso says. “I’m paranoid about being robbed. That’s why I keep my shotgun out whenever people I don’t know are around.”

  “Not very professional.”

  “In Conroe, everyone’s packing a little heat.”

  “I feel threatened,” says another woman, but I have no idea if she’s someone I know or not. I can’t see past Sissy blocking the doorway.

  “We sell soap,” the goofy blonde announces.

  Katya adds, “And quilts.”

  “You told us that before,” Andrea mutters. “You, though, weren’t here before.”

  “I was in the back polishing my shotgun.”

  “Someone said they saw two pregnant women walking down the street with a little girl. Was that you?”

  “I’ve been here all day.”

  “It sure looked like you,” Andrea pushes.

  “Did I stutter, bitch?” Soso growls in a voice that inspires Malibu to make a finger gun and shoot the back of Sissy. “I said I was here.”

  “Your town is trash.”

  “Then take your stinking cuntholes back to wherever the fuck you came from!” Soso yells, and I hear the shotgun making that cocking noise.

  “I have taser,” Katya helpfully adds. “And a mop to clean piss.”

  “Good thinking. I’ll take the cunt on the right while you take the twat on the left. Sissy, feel free to shoot the snatch in the middle.”

  “I get the biggest target!”

  “Fuck all you!” Andrea yells, but I can tell by her voice that she’s moved away.

  The bell on the door dings again, and I finally breathe easier. Soso appears in the back office and takes Malibu.

  “Pop,” says the little girl.

  “Yeah, I’m calling him now.”

  I’m afraid to leave the back room, but I’m also worried about Sissy and Katya out in the store. Of course, they don’t sound concerned. I hear Sissy’s impression of Andrea, sounding more Canadian than Bostonian.

  “Milkweed sent three bitches to scout for info,” Soso tells Bubba. “They just left the store. Maybe you can get a police cruiser to escort them out of town.”

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I’m unsurprised to find a text from Jack asking if I’m okay. The way news spreads around this town is a little scary. Though Milkweed is small and cliquey, it’s not nearly this organized.

  Malibu hears Bubba’s voice and takes the phone. I don’t understand most of what the nearly two-year-old says, but I do recognize the words “donut” and “love you.”

  Despite the Milkweed women still somewhere in Conroe, my mind only focuses on my son one day wanting to talk to his dad on the phone. I think of Jack holding our boy, and the tears return.

  Sometimes, I’m absolutely convinced my blessings are all in my head. Like one morning, I’ll wake up back in Milkweed with Patrick at my side. Rebel and I were never free. It was all a dream. I’ll be trapped forever.

  But then I make myself focus hard on the now. On the taste of chocolate lingering on my tongue and the sound of Sissy giggling with Katya. I smell Soso’s earthy shampoo and see Malibu grinning at whatever her father says into the phone. These moments are real. I am not dreaming. Jack might seem better than possible, but he is flawed and human and not a figment of my imagination.

  Rubbing my belly, I won’t give up this happiness. If someone from Milkweed comes for me, I’ll fight back. Even if they hurt me, I refuse to back down. For years, I believed the lie that submitting would keep me from suffering. Then my son died. Submission hadn’t kept me safe. The older Rebel became, the less Patrick liked him. He wasn’t safe either.

  So, if those bastards come for me, I plan to go down fighting.

  THE HOTHEAD

  Bubba keeps reminding me that we’ve only known about Milkweed for a few weeks. The holidays are around the corner. We aren’t sitting on our hands. Plans are in motion.

  But those sick fucks came into our town and stirred up shit with my woman. His woman too!

  “Three unarmed women faced off with Soso packing a shotgun,” Bubba said when I threw that shit in his face. “The odds were not in their favor. And we know the women were unarmed because a deputy stopped their car and searched it after smelling what he thought might be meth.”

  Okay, that part always makes me laugh. The women ended up crying, and one of them nearly spent the night in jail after screaming in the deputy’s face. He made her sit in the back of his cruiser for an hour while they “sorted things out.”

  I listened in on the conference call where Hamm and Moore hashed out whether the women should be charged with trespassing because someone saw them on private land. That was bullshit, of course, but this was the price for the Milkweed men sending their ladies to do recon.

  “They seemed to be casing the stores,” Hamm calmly explained. “Locals thought these women might be planning to rob them.”

  Moore lost his shit at this suggestion. Turned out one of the ladies was his daughter. Whoops. After Moore freaked out a while longer, Hamm decided to let the women go as a gesture of goodwill.

  “Hopefully, you’ll treat us as kindly if we ever show up in Milkweed,” he said, and Moore seemed to get the threat.

  Despite how things shook out, I don’t want Georgia and Rebel off the farm. Unfortunately, Halloween brings the Conroe Harvest Festival. No way can I deprive Rebel of an experience all his new friends will be enjoying.

  Two years back, Sissy and Dash came up with the idea for
the Harvest Festival. They claimed fairs were amusement parks for poor people, and Conroe has plenty of lower-income citizens.

  Bailey made the yearly event part of her mayoral campaign. Many old-timers in Conroe weren’t interested, but the newer residents wanted something local to attend. She won the election, we organized the event, people had fun, and local businesses got to advertise. Now even the old-timers talk as if the town always planned to do it.

  We scheduled the fair for around Halloween since trick-or-treating in rural areas is pretty lame. Now the local kids can dress up and walk around the sponsored booths to get candy.

  Rebel’s decision to go as a superhero doesn’t surprise me, but I assumed he’d go as Iron Man or Captain America. Instead, he’s Antman.

  “I’m Wasp,” Georgia says, wearing a bumblebee headband over her hoodie.

  Sharing their smiles, I show off my tats. “I’m going as a biker.”

  Georgia wraps her arms around me and adjusts, so her belly isn’t in the way. I love how happy she looks.

  Even with the chilly weather, she’s still wearing her smile when we arrive at the festival. Rebel bounces around in his costume and swings his candy bag.

  My nieces are all dressed as princesses. Each is decked out in a different colored dress, but they’re all wearing black combat-style boots. It’s the same outfits they wore last year, and Cady’s dress is getting on the short side.

  “You’ll need to retire that next year,” I tell her.

  “Naw, I’ll just wear shorts so no one can see my taco shell.”

  Georgia thinks this comment is so hilarious that she needs to find a porta-potty to deal with all the jiggling her giggling causes.

  Since my nephews aren’t great about keeping on their costumes, their mothers get sneaky this year. Bowie sports a runner’s headband while Lemmy wears red circles on his cheeks to signify he’s a clown.

  “It won’t last long,” Phoebe said earlier while painting the boy’s face.

  Soon afterward, his brother used the headband to wipe off much of the red spots. Still, the twins don’t care about costumes. They just want to ride on the little train. With them is Lily’s boy, Bryon, dressed as a pirate, Buzz’s son decked out as a fireman, and Malibu in her biker getup complete with a painted-on stache and beard.