by Jadyn Chase
“Yeah. I’ll send him out at eight o’clock tomorrow morning and we’ll be there at eleven to interrogate her about her father. We can deal with this then.” He gave a great yawn that split his head in half. “If you’ve got the situation under control, I’ll go back to sleep now.”
“Sure, man. Sorry to bother you.”
“It’s no bother. Thanks for telling me. Have a good night.”
He hung up. My chin sank onto my chest until I calmed down enough to face her. I marched into the living room to find her glowering at me. “Did you hear that?”
She didn’t answer. She scowled and hunched on the couch like a trapped animal. Her saturated hair dripped onto her shirt. The cotton revealed her bra through the drenched fabric. She made a puddle on the couch and her jaw trembled trying not to let her teeth chatter.
Christ, what a disaster! I stomped into the bathroom and got out two towels. I picked some clothes at random from the drawer and barged back to the living room. I held back from throwing them at her. “Here. Change your clothes. You’re making a mess.”
I tossed myself into my armchair and locked my eyes on her. I didn’t give a rat’s ass if I had to watch her strip naked. She wasn’t leaving the room to take a shit if I had anything to say about it.
She didn’t seem to care, either—not anymore. She ripped off her wet clothes and pitched them into a sodden heap on the carpet. She peeled off her jeans and panties, her tank top and bra and stood before me stark naked. She dried off and set to work tugging on the dry clothes.
I got a good eyeful of her in the meantime. She wasn’t half bad. Besides the bruises around her ribs and arms and back, I couldn’t see a single flaw. Her rosy round breasts bobbed when she moved and a trim little triangle of golden hair hid the secret cleft between her velvet thighs.
You ain’t never getting in there, Brayden, so don’t even think about it. I didn’t want to get in there. I hated her for what she did to me tonight. She threw all my efforts to make her comfortable back in my face. I wouldn’t bother in the future.
She got dressed and dumped the towels with the wet clothes. I took them to the laundry, put them in the machine, and went back to my chair. I got into position and fixed my eyes on her. I didn’t fuck around on my phone now. I just watched her with unflinching intent. Carlos told me not to let her out of my sight, and by God, I wouldn’t.
She flumped down on the couch and scowled right back at me. That’s right, girl. Sit in your own wet puddle ‘cuz you and me ain’t going anywhere for a good long while.
We were still sitting there when my phone chirped. I took it out and smiled at the screen. “Wonderful.”
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Logan waved to me through the basement camera. “My homeboy is downstairs reprogramming the keycode.”
A notification came up on the screen. I read the code, did a little mental gymnastics to commit it to memory, and deleted the message. End of story. She would never break out of here again.
After that, I relaxed some. I went to the kitchen and made breakfast. When I put the plate in front of her, she glared at me with a look that would freeze molten lava. “Don’t think I’ll forget this.”
“Don’t you worry,” I told her. “I sure won’t forget it. Now eat your breakfast. Carlos will be here in a few hours.”
Her gaze darted to the plate. “What does he want?”
“You heard him on the phone. He wants to ask you a few questions about your father.”
“I told you I don’t remember anything,” she growled.
“You remember what he looked like, right?”
She didn’t answer. I got my own plate from the kitchen, but I ate standing at the counter. I didn’t want to look at her rotten face. She screwed me over. She almost got me in hot water with Carlos. As far as I was concerned, she was my enemy. From the way she acted, she certainly considered me hers, too.
About ten o’clock, I got busy cleaning up the place ready for the big confrontation. I folded Morgan’s blanket and ignored her sulky expression. No more Mr. Nice Guy. We played it soft and that didn’t work. Now she got what she deserved.
The door buzzed open and Carlos entered, along with Kane, Cisco, and another man I didn’t know. That was odd because he wore a patched vest like the others and I knew all our members all over LA. He looked old—a lot older even than Carlos.
They filed into the living room. Carlos raised his eyebrows when he saw Morgan. “Good morning, young lady. You’re looking considerably better than the last time I saw you. I can see Brayden is good medicine for you.”
She humphed and her eyes flashed. “You can fuck him yourself, then.”
He only smiled. I shrank into the background and made myself scarce near the kitchen. This was his show, not mine.
He angled around next to the coffee table. “Brayden tells me you regained some memories of your father and that he had that tattoo on his forearm. Is that right?”
She bowed her head and inspected her fingernails. “Yeah. That’s right.”
“That’s wonderful,” he murmured. “I’m truly glad to hear it.”
Her head shot up. “Why is it wonderful? It’s terrible if you ask me.”
“It’s wonderful because it means you’re Los Diablos. You’re one of us. That means we can place you under our protection from The Desperados and anyone else who tries to harm you.”
“Why the fuck would I want that?” she fired back. “You say you’re putting me under your protection, but that’s just a nice way of saying I’m your prisoner. You’re holding me here against my will and that fucker over there is your jailor.”
She nodded toward me. My rage seethed out of my soul, but I bit it down. Carlos would handle this. He gazed down at her with fatherly affection. “Can you tell me what happened to your father?”
“No,” she mumbled. “I don’t remember.”
“In that case, maybe you could tell us who he was.” He took out a file folder and laid out six glossy photographs on the coffee table. Each one portrayed a man’s head, each with long black hair and piercing, chiseled features. “Was one of these men your father?”
The room fell silent. Everyone held their breath while she scanned the pictures. In half a second, she pointed to one in the top row. “That’s him.”
Carlos nodded and gathered up the pictures. “His name was Josiah Hunter and he was murdered twenty years ago. He was the only Diablo in California to wear that brand.”
“That doesn’t explain why she has it,” Kane put in.
“That’s true,” Carlos conceded.
The old man stepped forward. He leaned in and extended his hand to Morgan. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Cole. My name is Logan Melia. I belonged to our father’s old chapter in Albuquerque. I handled all the chapter’s finances. About two years before your father died, he contacted me and put all his property in trust. He named me his only trustee. When he died, he left no will, so the First New Mexico Bank still holds all his assets in trust. We never knew he had an heir, but now that we’ve found you, we can begin proceedings to transfer all his property to you. I do congratulate you, my dear. This is a great day for Los Diablos. Welcome home!”
She tried her best to glare at him, but his sparkly old eyes radiated such kindness and cheerful warmth that she ended up shaking his hand anyway. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say. I didn’t know he had any property at all.”
“None of us did,” Carlos told her. “We contacted his old chapter to say we’d found his daughter. That was the first we knew that he left anything behind.”
“That still doesn’t explain her wearing his brand,” Kane interjected. “He served as Boss for twenty years and as a member for thirty. No one ever questioned his loyalty. He never would have branded his own child or anyone else that didn’t earn their place by right, and he sure as hell wouldn’t brand her on the shoulder like that. He held the patch sacred the same way we all do.”
Logan ra
ised both hands. “That is all by the by. We will work out those details in time. For now, we can confirm her identity. We will go ahead with the legalities of transferring his property while you continue to unravel this mystery. Good morning, Ms. Cole.”
“Thank you,” she called after him.
Logan moved toward the door. Cisco drifted after him. Kane scowled down at her and I couldn’t blame him. She left way too many questions unanswered for my taste.
Carlos smiled that benevolent smile. She didn’t threaten him in the slightest. “Don’t worry, Morgan. We’ll get to the bottom of this, and as soon as we determine it’s safe for you to leave, you’ll be free to go. None of us has any desire to hold you here any longer than absolutely necessary.”
He rotated away. When he did, he caught my eye and gave me a significant nod. I sure as fuck had no desire to hold her here any longer than absolutely necessary. He said those words as much to me as to her.
7
Morgan
As soon as the Big Boss left, a crushing coldness seized me. I cowered in a ball and huddled my knees against my chest. I couldn’t get warm to save my life even though I wasn’t wet anymore.
I tried to escape and I failed. Brayden came after me in all his dragon badness. If I ever tried to break out of here again, the same thing would happen. I couldn’t defeat him. I couldn’t defeat any of them.
I started shaking. The tremors didn’t stop even when I pulled the blanket around my shoulders. What was wrong with me? I hated this. I hated all of it.
Brayden stayed in the kitchen. He could see me over the counter, but he refused to come near me. Only now did I realize how bad I screwed up by making him mad. He would never be nice to me again.
I accused him of being my jailor. He wasn’t before, but he sure was now. I could have made an ally of him. Instead, I turned against me the one person who sincerely tried to help me.
He cast occasional glances at me. His features never softened again. He hardened himself against me and he would never slacken his vigilance under any circumstances.
A few hours later, he entered the living room and placed an enormous platter of nachos in front of me. He spun away on his heel and stormed off to the kitchen without a single word of encouragement for me to eat his food.
I blinked away tears staring down at the plate. No one ever treated me as well as he did. No one ever took the time or trouble to make me food as good as this and I threw his efforts back in his face.
A few minutes later, he stomped in carrying a plate for himself. He set it in front of his chair and took out his phone.
I swallowed hard. “I know you think I’m a monster for trying to break out of here.”
His head whipped around and his eyes widened. He stared down at me for a second. Then he dropped into his chair, reclined back, and set his plate on his lap. “I don’t think you’re a monster, Morgan.”
“Then you think I’m stupid. You hate me for trying to escape.”
He lowered his gaze to his chips. “I don’t hate you for trying to escape. I would probably have tried to do the same thing if I was in your position. You just gotta realize we’re doing this to help you. We took you away from The Desperados to help you. You’re one of our own. We couldn’t leave you there, and now that we know you’re in danger from them, we have to protect you. That’s what we do. We’re not doing this to torment you.”
My stomach groaned in hunger, but I couldn’t touch his food—not yet. I had to make some overture to peace before I accepted his kindness. “I never would have known who my father was if your people didn’t track him down. I never would have inherited his property.”
“Yeah, well, property won’t protect you from your enemies. There’s gotta be a reason The Desperados threw you in that cell. Whatever it was, they won’t forget it. Los Diablos’ protection is gonna be a lot more valuable to you than anything else you inherited from your father.”
My eyes crept up to his face. “Really?”
He raised his gaze and locked on me. “Really what?”
“I…..” I scarcely comprehended how to integrate all this. “I inherited Los Diablos’ protection from him?”
“Sure. We wouldn’t be trying to protect you now if you weren’t Los Diablos and you’re Los Diablos because of him.”
I looked down at the nachos. Melted cheese steamed where the coolness of the salsa didn’t touch it. It made my mouth water, but that overpowering cold wouldn’t leave me alone.
When he spoke again, he changed his tone. He murmured in a gentle murmur. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want our protection? You would be stupid not to take it.”
“It’s not that.” My voice cracked. Where did all this emotion come from? “I thought…..”
He waited for me to say something else. “You thought what?”
“I don’t know!” I wailed. “I can’t remember. It seems like…. Oh, I don’t know.”
“Just say it. Maybe you remember something and you don’t realize it. You thought what?”
“I thought he didn’t care,” I blurted out. “He wasn’t there. I don’t know. It’s all jumbled up.”
“Are you saying he never told you what his tat meant? He never told you what Los Diablos was?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t understand all the thoughts and emotions swirling in my brain. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to eat. I didn’t want to be alive.
He picked up a chip and ferried a load of guacamole to his mouth. “It will come back. Don’t try to force it. It will come in time. You’ll see.”
He went on eating and left me sitting there in my own turmoil. My father belonged to this biker club. He left me a bunch of money and property in his will. All mixed up in that knowledge, an insidious foreboding crept over me. It bulged the firm crust of my being and threatened to erupt all over my life.
Brayden focused all his concentration on his phone. His new guitar amp meant a lot more to him than I did, and why shouldn’t it? No, that wasn’t right. He cared—at least, he cared about as much as a total stranger could care.
If I wanted to talk, he would accommodate me. I knew that. He really was a nice guy underneath it all. He just had better things to do than think about me and my problems.
Toward evening, I curled up on the couch and tried to forget everything that happened over the last few days. I wished Brayden would turn on the TV, but I couldn’t summon the will to do it myself or even to ask him to do it. Maybe I was already dead or on the way to it.
The sun went down outside. I dug in for another long night when Brayden snorted. “Huh! How about that?”
I tried to ignore him, but he lurched forward in his seat and held up his phone so I could see the screen. “Take a look.”
I pried my head off the pillow. The phone revealed a beautiful little cottage set among flowering trees. While I watched in amazement, he flipped the picture to the right and another view came up. A wooden porch gazed over a stretch of pristine white beach to the ocean beyond. It reminded me of the beauty and serenity of the garden outside, but so much nicer. I sucked in my breath. “Where is that?”
“It’s a beach house up in Malibu. Your father owned it and now it’s yours. It looks like he had rental properties all over the place.” He withdrew his phone and leaned back. “Carlos just sent me the file from Logan. It contains all the title information on all the properties. I’m messaging him to ask if you can have your phone back so I can forward it to you. I’m sure he’ll say yes.” His thumbs danced across the screen in a rapid typing pattern. “You are one rich young lady, I tell you what. I’m jealous.”
He chuckled to himself, but I could only observe him across the coffee table. In a heartbeat, he reverted to his old comradely tone of voice. He wiped my faux pas out of his mind like it never happened. Not even I could do that.
I sank into my place and stared at the black TV set. I didn’t want to be rich. I didn’t want him or anybody being jealous of my good fortune.
While I laid there thinking over everything, that mysterious pocket of knowing raised its head one more time. It strained the Earth trying to break out. What was it? My awareness zeroed in. I scrutinized the cracks splintering the crusty soil. They swelled and retracted to swell again.
Grass grew out of it and I inspected it from ground level. My awareness expanded and I found myself in the yard behind the eucalyptus trees. Chopper wrestled with my dad and my mom laughed in the background. I jumped on my dad and hugged him.
Dad let go of the dog and straightened up. He got to his feet, still holding me against him. He carried me into the house with the dog loping at his heels. He slid back the glass door and entered the living room.
He sat down on the couch and set me next to him. He picked up a book and started reading it to me. My mom crossed to the kitchen and opened the fridge. I looked down at the book. It was a cardboard version of The Three Little Pigs.
My dad beamed down at me with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes. He dropped his voice into his chest and growled a fearful snarl to make the sound of the big bad wolf. My spine tingled, and I clung to him in fright.
When he finished, he laughed. Then he switched to the second little pig’s shrill squeal. “Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin!”
He broke into a laugh again, but at that moment, a deafening crash scared me out of my wits. I looked up to see our front door crash open. Men streamed in wielding guns everywhere.
I screamed and jumped to get away from them. My dad rocketed to his feet, but the first men through the door acted faster. He swung a shotgun up to his shoulder and fired.
The blast hit my dad in the chest and sent him pitching backward onto the couch. Blood spattered all over his clothes and face and arms. I screamed again.
More and more of those strange men rushed into the house. My child’s mind couldn’t understand how they all fit between the walls. I didn’t recognize their round flat faces and slanted eyes. They wore yellow bandanas around their heads and a weird dragon figure marked their leather jackets.