by Zahra Girard
“Excuse me, sir, can I help you?”
I turn.
The voice is coming from the front lobby desk about twenty feet away and the woman projecting it at me has the distinctive ‘What the fuck are you doing here’ look on her face that people give me any time I go into an establishment frequented by the law-abiding elements of society. Maybe it’s my tattoos, maybe it’s the attitude I project, maybe it’s the fact that I’m usually wearing my cut and smell like smoke and liquor and motor oil — hell, it’s probably all of those things — but I’m used to it by now; the obvious disdain on her face doesn’t bother me.
I smile at her. And a smile echos back at me in her eyes. If we were anywhere but here, where this petite young secretary is paid to be a hardass bouncer, she’d be in my lap already.
“Yes, you can, darlin’. I’m supposed to meet with Robbie Baker. Can you page him for me? I’d really appreciate it. It’s urgent.”
“What’s this regarding?”
“His sister. Samantha. It’s a family emergency.”
“And you couldn’t just call him?”
I drop my voice to a conspiratorial quiet and lean in.
“It’s not the kind of thing you just tell someone over the phone. Robbie is real close to his sister, as am I, and I know that he will need someone here for him once he finds out what happened to her.”
“Oh, I am so sorry. That’s very kind of you.”
I nod solemnly.
“Thank you, darlin’.”
I clasp my hands behind my back while I wait for Robbie to return to the front lobby. It doesn’t take him long to show up, and when he does, he’s white-faced and wild-eyed fearful. The poor sap has a wholly different and utterly selfish expectation about what bad news involving his sister means.
I step away from the prying ears of the receptionist and beckon the wary man over to me.
“Who the hell are you? You don’t look like one of them,” He hisses. “What do you want?”
“I’m here for you, Robbie. I’m here to offer you a way out of your obligations to those friends of yours that are waiting for you out in the parking lot.”
“How do you know about that?”
“Because I know your sister. I’ve been helping her deal with some guys who just won’t leave her alone. I’m sure you know the type.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Well, it’s in your best interest to, you asshole. See, I care a whole hell of a lot about your sister and I know that she’s stuck up in this mess because of you. That leaves me two options. The first is to help get you away from this mess so they no longer have you as leverage over her. That’s the option I’d prefer, but it’s not the only one. See, the other option is I just kill you. That way the Makris family would also no longer have you as leverage over your sister.”
“You wouldn’t. You say you care about her, but you’re threatening to murder me?”
“I care about her enough to make whatever hard choice I have to to free from the mess she’s in. Even if that means killing you and having her hate me for the rest of her fucking life. You’re her brother, she’s your blood, you need to step up and be a fucking man and do what you have to do to get her out of this damned nightmare. That’s what family does for each other.”
“So what’s your offer? What are you going to do for me?”
“Protection. A way out.”
“How?”
“You and I take a ride. I take you somewhere safe. You tell me what you know about the assholes you owe your debt to. Then I kill a whole fucking lot of them until they get it through their thick skulls that it’s better for them to just walk away than bother you and your sister anymore.”
“Oh, so it’s as simple as that?” He says sarcastically.
I shrug. “It can be. Or, if you decide not to take up my offer, I can make it really fucking complicated for you. Your sister means a lot to me, so imagine how much hurt I’d put you through if I got it into my head that you weren’t being genuine in your desire to help her out.”
“I really don’t have a choice here, do I?”
“Not if you want to live through the night.”
“Fine.”
He reminds me of a child that was just asked to choose between eating their vegetables or spending an hour sitting in the corner.
“Follow me, princess,” I say, seizing him by the upper arm.
We move at a fast walk through the lobby, before anyone with prying eyes might think to question just what the hell a rough-looking man like me is doing dragging an employee of theirs out the door.
“What’s your relationship to Samantha?” He says as I drag him past a beautiful ‘69 Chevy Camaro. If only I didn’t have this asshole on my arm, I’d take a minute to admire the bit of perfection on wheels.
“She and I dated.”
“Dated? Past tense?”
“She’s too good for me. Too good for you, too.”
“I’m her brother.”
“And I do not see the fucking resemblance. Maybe you were adopted. Maybe her parents picked you up from some home for worthless sons of bitches. Now, shut your mouth and hurry the fuck up.”
We make it halfway across the massive parking lot before a beater of a sedan pulls alongside us and the two half-Neanderthal motherfuckers who make up Robbie’s protective detail leer their sloping foreheads in our direction.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” The driver says.
They probably think their appearance alone is enough to intimidate me. The time they’ve spent following the cowardly dipshit Robbie Baker has made them careless.
“I’m taking him. Go to hell.”
My pistol’s out before they can fucking blink and, with a few easy pulls of the trigger, I end their lives.
Robbie shouts at the sight and struggles in my grip. Not in the mood for any of his bullshit, I crack him in the stomach with my pistol, doubling him over. Then I drag that squirming little shit the rest of the distance to my bike.
“Robbie, the more you piss me off, the rougher this will get for you. I will break every bone in your fucking body if I have to. Don’t make me do that, because it’s a big investment of time and I’m kind of in a hurry here,” I say, then I slide one leg over my Harley and start the engine. Back in the direction of the office building, people are shouting and a woman with a shrill voice is calling for security. “Time to decide: you can get on my bike or I can leave you dead alongside these assholes.”
He climbs onto the bike behind me. Riding bitch has never been a more correct term than in this moment.
“Where are we going?”
“To my grandma’s house.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Samantha
“We’ll only be here for a minute, darling. Just long enough for me to change and grab a few things. Those boys from the hospital will be here soon enough, I’m sure, but I will not die in a fucking hospital gown if I can damn well help it. At the very least I can meet my dear rascal in the afterlife wearing something decent.”
Though I could wait in the car, I don’t know if I trust myself; there’s this urge welling up inside me to drive somewhere, anywhere, and just keep going until my car gives out on me and I don’t know if I fully trust myself to sit still in a running vehicle. I kill the ignition and follow Ruby.
“Do you have anything to drink?” I say as she putters around her home.
“What kind of question is that? Of course I do. The bar is in the sitting room. Down the hall, second door on your left. Help yourself.”
The sitting room looks like something out of an old English manor, but much smaller to fit within the modest confines of Ruby’s home. Four regal carved wood chairs and a sofa fit for a queen’s backside sit spread in a semicircle, pictures of Ruby and her late husband and guests at old holiday parties cover the walls. Against the far wall is a carved wooden bar and several fully stocked shelves of booze: champagnes, gins, whiskeys, vodkas, wine, and at leas
t twelve different decorated bottles of tequila. This is a room made for memories with loved ones.
One picture on the wall catches my eye: it’s a New Year’s party photo and, in one corner and looking uncomfortable as heck in his suit, I see a young Razor. His smile’s the same and I’d recognize those blazing eyes anywhere.
“He was such a terror when he first showed up on our door,” Ruby says from the doorway. She’s wearing a low-cut blouse, slacks, and a white broad-brimmed hat. She looks like she’s about to head out to an intimate brunch instead of being on the run from a gang of murderous felons.
“Really?”
“Angry as hell, all skin and bones from fending for himself. Like some kind of mongrel that snuck in through the dog door. It broke my heart to pieces. William and I didn’t know what to do with him at first. We hadn’t seen Eli in years and he was so different from the happy kid we remembered. My daughter and her piece of shit husband really messed that boy up; all that fighting, the abuse, my daughter’s shit decisions… I’ve never been at such a loss as I was when that kid turned up on my doorstep.”
“How did you get through to him?” I say. I want to know where he’s coming from. I want to understand what's driving him and learn how, maybe I can get through to him so he’ll see things my way.
“With a fucking lot of patience and more than a few arguments. Eli was too young then to protect his mother from his father and he’d taken all this anger and guilt into his soul. It was poison. It took so much time to get him to stop blaming himself and I don’t think my William and I ever got him to fully stop doing that. But we at least got him to calm down enough that we could put him back in school. Eli finding a new family, especially one like the MC, with a bunch of men that wouldn’t hesitate to smack the shit out of him if he stepped out of line, was a great help. Still, that first year with Eli really made William and I wish we had dealt with our daughter’s husband earlier.”
I look away from the photo and look at Ruby. Her voice is suddenly so cold.
“Dealt with?”
“Killed, darling. I knew from the start my daughter had picked a son of a bitch to marry, but she said she was in love. He was a cop, too, which would’ve made dealing with him a little more complicated. Still… if I had known what would have happened to my daughter, I would’ve put a bullet in that man’s head.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because I love my family. I would do anything to protect them. And I mean anything.”
I shake my head and take a drink from the nearest bottle — some tequila that tastes like honeyed smoke. As much as she scares me in saying that, I know I’m in no place to judge her; not with what I’m doing for my brother.
“Are you ready?” I say.
She nods and holds up a small carry-on-sized bag. “I’m packed. We should go.”
We get back in the car and Ruby settles in to the front seat with her bag on the floor by her feet. She takes a pistol out of her purse and daintily sets it on her lap.
“I’ll direct you, dear. I have a place outside of town that my husband and I used for little getaways and to house any of our friends from out of town that might’ve needed a quiet place to stay away from prying eyes.”
It’s a winding road to get to Ruby’s cabin. We leave Lone Mesa behind and head into the mountains that one would pass through on the way to Los Angeles. We take turn after turn through a dry alpine forest until we find ourselves on the shore of a tiny and secluded lake. She doesn’t talk at all on the drive aside from giving me directions and I’m grateful for the quiet. I need time; time to think and time to get my head together. So much has happened, so much chaos and violence, that in almost no time at all I’ve seen my life fall to pieces — my job, my family, my relationship with Razor, all shattered.
“We broke up,” I say, stray thoughts finding their way out of my head through my mouth.
“You and my grandson?”
I park the car in the driveway to her cabin and turn the car off.
“Yeah. We had this big fight over how to get me out of this mess and I just couldn’t take how he wanted to handle things. And he wouldn’t budge.”
“I’m not surprised. He can be a stubborn shit sometimes, especially when it comes to protecting those he really loves.”
Those he really loves? The words leave me frozen.
“He really loves me,” I mutter to myself.
“He does. In all the years I’ve known him, you’re the first woman he’s willingly spent time with outside the bedroom,” she says. “But you know that just because you two separated doesn’t mean he will stop trying to help you. It’s something he needs to do for himself as much as he needs to do it for you. He’s a hurt man, Samantha. It’s a hurt he carries deep in his soul and you don’t heal those pains by ignoring them.”
I hop out of the car and slam the door behind me. Blood rings in my ears and my head is pounding. How selfish of me to kick him out like that, to ignore the pain in his life and his motivations for helping me instead of trying to understand him and work with him.
How can I claim to care about healing people if I turn away someone who truly needs my help?
“I need another drink,” I mutter.
“Liquor cabinet is above the fridge,” Ruby calls out after me. “My apologies for the paltry selection.”
Ruby’s quiet as she busies herself about the cabin while I seek numbness in a wineglass filled to the brim with vanilla-scented bourbon. I chug the first glass and pour myself another. In no time, I have a nice buzz going and am probably half a glass from the numbness I seek. It’s a strange place to be, drunk enough that my stray thoughts find their way out of my mouth with little moderation, yet not so drunk that I can forget about the fact that my life is a pile of smoking rubble.
“Ruby, do you know how to make someone disappear?”
“Several ways, darling,” she calls back.
“Like, could you set someone up with a new identity?” I swallow most of that half-glass I need to get comfortably drunk. My lips and cheeks are numb. “Could you help me get the hell out of this life that I’ve so masterfully fucked up?”
She totters her way from the living room into the kitchen to stare at me. Even though I’m numb, I’m not so numb that I can’t feel the judgment in her eyes.
“I could. But I won’t. It doesn’t work out well that way. The last woman I know who got inebriated off her ass and ran away from her problems wound up dead in a motel that was one step up from a dumpster.”
“If we’re not running, what are we doing here?”
“Taking a breather and getting our shit together. I love my life in Lone Mesa and, when you have something you love, you fight like hell to keep it. That’s what I aim to do.”
There’s a rumble in the driveway. The sound of tires on gravel and the heavy thud of a powerful engine.
At first, I can’t believe my ears, thinking it must be something in the way-too-much bourbon that I’ve drunk that’s messing with my hearing, but then the sound gets too loud for me to deny. Rising on unsteady legs, I head to the kitchen window that looks out to the driveway.
A Harley comes to a stop next to my car.
Two men get off: Razor and my brother.
How the hell are they here?
I race to the door and storm out into the driveway a drunken hurricane of emotions — rage and relief and love and stupefied anxiety swirling within me in one chaotic cloud. I could shout if I wasn’t so stunned. First, I race to my brother and pull him into the kind of hug I haven’t given him since he was seven years old and he gave me half his Christmas candy.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I say, holding him tight.
“I really can’t either. But your boyfriend is persuasive.”
I let go of Robbie and then I turn to Razor. There’s a warm smile on his face. No matter the words we said to each other earlier, he’s glad to see me happy. And I’m glad just to see him.
“How
?” I say.
“I picked him up from work. It got a little hairy — the Makris family had a few of their guys watching him — but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.”
“Why?”
“Because they were holding him over you and that was causing you pain. I never, ever want you to hurt, Florence,” he says. His voice is heated, comforting, something I could wrap myself in and forget the world. “I want to make things right and I hope you can forgive me.”
“Why are you calling her Florence?” Robbie says.
“Because I like it when he does,” I say. I haven’t taken my eyes off Razor and the comforting smirk on his face.
My brother being here and out of danger goes a long way towards easing the pain my heart, but there’s something more I need to make myself whole: I need him.
I put my arms around Razor and I squeeze him for all I’m worth. My hug is tight enough to get a loving grunt from him. Then, after a moment, he puts his arms around me too and then I’m wrapped in love in warmth.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I am so sorry for what I said.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. It’s your life. I’ve got to remember that,” he rumbles. “All I want is for you to be safe. I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen, but only if you agree to it. I want you by my side at the end of this.”
I smile, then rise on tiptoes to kiss him. “Deal. I love you, Razor.”
“I love you, too.”
I’m not numb anymore. Not by a long shot. I feel alive. I feel hope.
“Where do we go from here?” I murmur as I come down from the heights of love to the reality of our situation: sheltering at a temporary hideaway while a criminal family threatens to tear apart the city of Lone Mesa.
“There’s only one thing left for us to do, Florence,” Razor’s voice is the rumble of threatening thunder. “We’re going to war.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
