Ms. Ramirez gasped and lunged across the distance to pluck Vivi out of Sabrina’s arms. Arms suddenly weak, Sabrina didn’t fight to keep Vivi who wasn’t keen on strangers holding her and let Ms. Ramirez know it with an earsplitting screech.
“Dear, no one is putting you out. You’re fine for the next eleven weeks.” With Vivi in her arms, she sat next to Sabrina. So close, yet so far away, Vivi howled for her mother.
Sabrina heard the woman, even understood the words, but she’d lost her hold on her emotions. For so long she’d lived in terror. Vincent’s prison sentence was the best thing that ever happened to her. She’d gained freedom without having to die for it. Her daughter would never see her mother beaten and cower like Sabrina saw her mother cower every day of her life. She left the second the judge told Vincent how long he’d be a guest of the prison system.
You’re not there anymore. You’re free. Free. Free. Free. The word echoed inside her head, a mantra pulling her back from the abyss. She took a deep breath, a clean breath, not the first and not the last, but it helped clear away the past clinging to her future. She looked at Vivi’s teary face. Her chubby little arms stretched out for her mother as Ms. Ramirez bounced a hysterical baby on her legs in a hopeless attempt to calm her.
I have to do better. Be better. For her. All of this is for her.
Sabrina scrubbed a hand across her eyes and reached for her daughter.
“I’ve dealt with a few crying babies in my time. I don’t mind holding her while you get yourself together,” Ms. Ramirez shouted over the baby.
Sabrina needed her daughter as much as Vivi needed her. It didn’t start out that way. Vincent threw away her birth control because it was time she had a child. She hated the pregnancy. Hated the parasite feeding off her body. Mainly, she hated herself for being trapped. She didn’t want children, didn’t think herself capable enough, patient enough. Then she saw Vivi all wrinkled and bloody and helpless. Vivi gave her purpose and unconditional love.
“Give me my baby.”
Ms. Ramirez passed Vivi over and like magic, she stopped crying and wrapped her arms around Sabrina’s neck. Babies give the best hugs, it’s pure sunshine on your soul. “So, I have eleven weeks?” Sabrina rose and helped Anna to her feet.
“Yes. I can see you need help. There are resources I can point you to.”
Sabrina appreciated the offer, but… “Thanks. I have things under control.”
Ms. Ramirez’s voice was tight, clearly not believing Sabrina. “Good. Well, I wanted to let you know not to worry about the lawn. There’s a company that takes care of all the lawns on the cul-de-sac. They’ll take care of your lawn starting tomorrow.”
“That’s not necessary.” She didn’t want someone outside peering in through the windows at her and Vivi.
“Dear, it is necessary. Mr. Callahan threw out the rusty, old lawnmower. Let us take care of the lawn. It’s one less thing you’ll have to worry about. And the guys in the company are great. We’ve never had a complaint about any of them in the three years they’ve had a contract with us.”
Sabrina took a deep breath, and it took everything she had to nod. Lawn care wasn’t her thing and frankly, she was relieved, though still apprehensive. Chances were good she wouldn’t be home when they were here.
“Um, please tell Mr. Callahan I said thank you. He did save me from losing a hand.” The owner living right across the street? Was that a good thing or bad? She and Vivi would keep to themselves. He wouldn’t even know they were here, they’d be so quiet.
“Are you having any problems with daycare?”
Other than hating to leave Vivi with anyone? “No.”
“I’m sure Lazarus doesn’t use the same company they did when my son was little, but if you need to switch providers, I know a few that work with battered women.”
Battered women. That summed her up. Though the blows had healed on the outside, her insides were still bruised.
“Forgive me. Battered woman isn’t used anymore. Domestic Abuse survivor.”
Sabrina caught the sneer about to curl her lips. Either one. Neither one. What did it matter?
“Vivi seems to like her daycare. She’s always clean and fed when I pick her up.”
“Wonderful.” Ms. Ramirez stood. “And your job? Everything all right there?”
“Yes. It’s fine.” She had no complaints about 99 Cents and More. It was a job, and it was legal. She had eleven weeks to find a better one. That wasn’t much time, but she would find one.
“Well, I said all I wanted to say.” Ms. Ramirez picked her purse up from the dining table and slung it over her shoulder. “You need anything, give me a call. Any life-threatening emergencies call the police. They’re pretty fast around here. Any after-hours maintenance emergencies, Mr. Callahan lives right across the street and he can fix anything. Just knock on his door and he’ll help you.”
Never gonna happen. Even though the chances of him recognizing her after three years were astronomical, she couldn’t risk it. The person she was back then no longer existed. Besides, he never even looked her way.
She led Ms. Ramirez back to the front door and almost had her on the other side of the threshold when her guest paused. “Dear, I don’t know who you’re running from, and I know it’s none of my business, but… Are you in any danger of him finding you?”
A shudder ran through her body, she didn’t even try to hide it. “No.” Thank God. Georgia’s penal system took care of that for her.
“Because if you are,” Ms. Ramirez ignored her and continued, “there are things we can do. You’re not helpless anymore. Lazarus has a network of houses across the state.”
Sabrina already knew that, and the offer was tempting. However, whether here or across the state, she didn’t trust moving through Lazarus to another home in the state, hoping the move would keep them safe. Records could be hacked. It was better for her to stay where she was and save money, then move across the country when she had enough to forge an entire new identity for herself and her child.
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Ms. Ramirez’s phone chimed. She fished it out of her purse and studied the screen. “Oh no.” She gasped. “Family emergency. I-I have to go.” She dialed as she rushed to her Volkswagen. “What happened? Is Liam on his way there?” The thud of her Passat’s door cut off the rest of the conversation.
Liam? It had to be the neighbor-owner of her rental. Shielding her eyes against the morning glare, she studied the house across the street and wondered who had died and how bloody it was.
Chapter Five
Liam jerked to a hard stop in front of the clubhouse, pissed to hell and back primarily because he’d just broken a promise. A promise he made the day after he returned for a friendly visit. He never wanted to see the outside of the club, never mind the inside again. Yet, here he was climbing out of his truck, and yanking open the door.
Damn, nothing had changed in the eight years since he’d last visited. He had a rough tour of duty in Afghanistan and had spent part of his leave here, expressly to see his father, mend the rift and all that shit. Only to end up in a brawl, jailed, and nearly demoted.
Dingy walls, sticky floors, air that told you exactly what was on the limited menu, which catered to anything greasy. There was nothing spiffy about the roadhouse décor. Not Mel behind the bar serving up drinks, not the jukebox in the corner, oh… When did they get a new pool table? He wasn’t a half-bad pool shark in his teen years. He’d made a couple grand hustling. Finlay had approved.
Liam nodded at Mel who squinted at him. “I’m not a ghost, old man.” That earned him a chin lift greeting.
The place was silent, eerily so. No music. No patrons. A few members. He wasn’t fooled. Finlay had the rear of the place, where the real action happened, soundproofed. That didn’t mean he couldn’t hear you or see you. Liam glanced at the camera in the corner of the room and didn’t attempt for the entrance to the rear. Only members were welcome—no outsid
ers. Barging through the clubhouse uninvited, shit invited had gotten a man shot on more than one occasion.
Liam wasn’t a member anymore. Not since he joined club U.S. Army.
“What brings you by?” Mel dragged a filthy rag across the worn bar top.
“Where is he?” A better question would’ve been, “Is he alive?” but Liam couldn’t think about that.
“Now’s not a good time, boy.”
“Yeah, but I came all this way to see his pretty mug, so I’m gonna see it.” Back in the day, Mel could more than hold his own in a fight, but that was back in the day.
Mel sized him up, then tipped his head toward the hallway. “Only one place he would be. Where he always is.”
Not much of a surprise there. Liam headed down the hallway, passing the unisex bathroom, the side door that led back to the street, and the supply closet. Finlay’s office and club meeting room, where Church took place, lay at the end of the first hallway. Before Mel buzzed him in, the door opened and Mayhem’s VP staggered out, his hands bloody.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Shit. Liam did not have time for Snoop’s bull. He shoved him out of his way and slipped inside the double doors of the office before Snoop reacted. The door closed behind Liam, locking Snoop out. He wasn’t prepared to see his father stretched out on the table where the bylaws of the club, every decision—legal and illegal—were brought to a vote and implemented.
Blood dripped off the side and collected beneath the wooden table. Finlay groaned low and wheezed a staggered breath as Brian, a former Navy Corpsman forty fucking years ago, had a slew of medical supplies scattered around. No gloves on his hands. No sterile field as he stuck a pair of forceps into a wound in Finlay’s gut.
“What the fuck!” Liam bellowed, startling everyone except Brian.
“Trying to stop the bleeding,” Brian grunted.
Liam forced his way between those gathered around the table. “What happened?”
“We had a run-in with the Black Dragons,” Jay said from the other side of the table. He held his own in the fight by his ripped shirt and black and blue, swollen shut left eye.
“I don’t give a fuck about the Dragons. What happened to him?” Liam snarled, pointing at Finlay.
Aaron cleared his throat. Intent on Finlay, Liam hadn’t noticed the lieutenant sprawled on the couch on the opposite side of the room, a four by four square gauze was taped to his chest. Only edges were white. “We were ambushed on the docks. Bullets were flying everywhere.”
“I’ll survive,” Finlay said weakly, his bloodshot gaze met Liam’s. “Me bloody, that’s what it takes tae git you haer.” He snorted, his Irish brogue thick.
“Man, you got to stop moving,” Brian grumbled.
Willa arrived and passed fresh supplies to a club member Liam didn’t know. The towel the guy used to hold pressure to Finlay’s shoulder was soaked red. Liam didn’t waste his time asking why they weren’t at a hospital. Bullet wounds brought cops to the ER. Cops wanted explanations, reasonable explanations, which Mayhem didn’t have.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Liam demanded. He shoved a club member out of the way and took his place by his father’s side, their differences momentarily forgotten.
“I don’t think it hit anything important, or he’d be dead by now.”
Jesus Christ.
“I get the bullet out, stitch him up, then work on the shoulder. Got penicillin to take care of any infection.” Brian wiped his sweaty brow on his sleeve.
“Yae look worried,” Finlay grunted and offered a weak grin. “Yae was always one tae worry. Army did not grind that outta yae, I ain’t goin’ nowhere ’til I’s ready.”
One thing Liam knew about his father, he was hard to kill. The second thing he knew about his father, if the time had come for Finlay to leave this earth, he would not mourn the loss.
Finlay Callahan was president of Mayhem first and a father second. Sometimes third. He entered Liam’s life when he was six, after his mother’s untimely death. Liam had a rough six years living under his father’s tutelage, until Finlay did a short five-year bid in prison. The shortest five years of Liam’s life.
His aunt and uncle, on his mother’s side, took him in. They had plenty of room, love, and patience. Liam went from meals out of a can, to three hot meals a day, the first and last meal being at the table with a set of matching silverware and real china. Uncle Jonas had taught him how to fix anything and how to build. He put him on the path he currently walked, a path where he restored what was broken, gave old houses a chance to have a family again.
Finlay taught him how to get guns across the state line and how to cut down a brick of heroin. He taught him how to lie without a tell, steal without getting caught. But never taught him how to live without remorse.
And that was the breaking point.
The day he turned eighteen, he joined the Army and didn’t speak to Finlay until eight weeks later, after he graduated boot camp. His father looked at him in his military uniform and gave him his back.
“So yae came down here for nothin’.” Finlay’s groggy voice brought Liam back to the present.
When you hear the truth and see the truth bleeding out in front of you, no use denying it. He spun and headed for the exit, but spotted Mack slouched in a chair, a bandage covering a shaved section of his head and his arm in a sling. He looked like shit. Willa coddled him, doing her best to take care of her husband, who clearly should be admitted to a hospital and not half dead in a filthy clubhouse. If it would have done any good, Liam would have ordered him to find a bed and get some rest, but he knew Mack would have none of it. Good or bad, he was loyal through thick and thin. Especially through thick.
With his good hand, Mack waved Liam over. “Don’t go.” He nodded to a folding chair as Liam approached. Mack waited until Liam swung the chair around and sat, his arms hanging over the back. “Finlay’s ornery on a good day. You know that. Today wasn’t a good day.”
Understatement. However, today’s orneriness wasn’t about his temperament. Finlay hid something, and Liam was the only one in the room that wasn’t in on the secret. “You gonna tell me what happened, or should I beat the other side of your face in?” That earned him a lopsided wince and a slow shake of Mack’s head.
“Go help Brian,” he murmured to Willa, and then whispered something on the back end. Whatever he said, she didn’t like it, but stalked away anyway. Mack shifted to a more comfortable position, his gaze on Liam. “Plausible deniability. The less you know, man, the less you’ll have to lie if shit slides into the crapper.”
“Have you looked in the mirror? Do you see Finlay being butchered by a man who’s not even wearing fucking gloves?” Liam hissed and tipped the chair forward, leaning closer to Mack. “You tell me this shit isn’t in the crapper already. And what about your parole? You’re so close to being done, man. To fuck it up now?” He shook his head, not understanding how anything could be worth going back to prison. “How many ways did you and Jay break it tonight?”
“Sorry I broke curfew, Mom.” Mack’s chuckle ended on a strangled cough. Willa rushed over, but Mack waved her away. “The Black Dragons encroached. We pushed them back on their side of the street. They got a new leader out to prove he’s got balls. Now he knows what street not to cross, else be neutered.”
New leader? “What happened to Vin?”
“Vin was the treasurer, not the leader, though you’d never guess by the way he ordered people around. Vincent Geraldie got twenty years on a weapons charge seven months ago. Since then we’ve had skirmishes over territory between us and them, the usual shit.” Mack shrugged. “Then one of our shipments went missing three days ago. Not a stretch to figure out who took it. Rumor is, they’re in some shit with their suppliers.”
Either heroin or guns, Liam didn’t ask which. Messing with the cartels or the Russians was a suicide mission. His father wasn’t that stupid. A lecture would be wasted on Mack. The man had him by
fifteen years and was equal parts employee and uncle. His loyalty was his best attribute and his worst.
“Vincent got loose with the club’s money,” Mack continued. “A bunch of it’s missing. Good thing he got lock up, in solitary, though he may not be there for long.” Mack shrugged. “That’s the rumor.”
Rumor meaning Oscar or Donny sent the word out from behind bars. Liam rose. This wasn’t his scene anymore. He’d taken a different path. The only reason they allowed his presence here was because of Finlay, and only because he got shot. If Finlay was upright on his own two feet, any discussion would’ve been on the sidewalk or not at all. Liam wasn’t loyal to the club. He chose his country over his blood.
Not true. He chose his blood, over his blood.
“I take it you won’t be at work today?”
Mack smirked. “I’m officially taking a sick day.”
Liam shook his head and turned for the door. “One of us has to work for a living.” He hugged Willa on the way out and had almost made it to the exit when the ping of metal hitting the floor and Brian’s “Oh, shit!” halted him. “I think I nicked something! Get me more gauze.”
Liam rushed back to the table to see Brian pressing a stack of gauze to Finlay’s belly, which did nothing to stop the flow of blood soaking through. Liam whipped out his cell to call 911 and stopped. The police in the clubhouse wouldn’t fly. If Finlay lived, he’d kill him for putting everyone in jeopardy.
“What’d we do?” someone shouted.
“Is the club van still parked in the alley?” Liam demanded, all ready at the rear steel double doors.
“Yeah.” Jay was next to him with the keys to unlock it.
“Why not call an ambulance?” A guy wearing a leather cut with trainee emblazoned on the right side of the jacket asked as he helped lift Finlay off the table.
“You want the police in here?” Mack tacked on idiot under his breath. He limped over to Finlay and helped Snoop, Liam, and other members carry his leader to the van.
Plain Jane and the Bad Boy (Plain Jane Series) Page 4
