I reach into my room and put the keys back on the dresser. Then I unzip the button of my jeans, kick off my boots. "You should shut those eggs off."
"Why?" Cliff glances down at the spatula and shakes his head as if coming out of a stupor. He flips the eggs in the pan.
I put my hands at my hips, curl my fingers over the waistband of the jeans, and tug them off, dropping them to the floor. I shove them aside. "Because I'm going back to bed." I give him what I hope is a naughty grin, then turn my back to him. I pull the T-shirt over my head and drop it onto the floor, then walk into the bedroom.
A second later, I hear the knob of the stove click to the off position.
I lie on the bed on my side, facing the door. My breasts lean toward the mattress—gravity at work—but my nipples point toward Cliff, my true north. He pads into the room, pausing at the door when he sees me. His eyes trace my form, starting at the points of my toes, drifting up along my calves, thighs.
He smirks. "You forgot to take your panties off."
"Come take them off yourself." I pat the bed next to me.
He closes the door behind him. For a moment, he just stands there, the corners of his mouth lifted. His gaze hovers on the lace of my thong for a heartbeat, then skims up, looping around my bellybutton, settling on my breasts. Without even touching me, he's setting my skin alight, dousing each electrified nerve with water.
His silky black hair falls over his shoulders, brushing just past his nipples. My fingers twitch, needing to wrap it around my hand. He likes when I pull his hair.
"Are you coming?"
That smirk returns. "Not yet. Just appreciating the view for a moment."
"I do have to go to work soon, you know."
"We've got three hours." Still, he unbuckles the leather belt on his jeans. I almost tell him to leave it all on—I'll just ride him through the zipper hole. But I kind of like the languid, tender vibe that's so real, I'm wrapped up in it. He drops the jeans to the floor and steps out of them bared to me.
He slides into bed beside me, on his side facing me. His hand slips through the waistband of my thong and cups my hip, his fingers gripping my cheek. I shiver under the heat of his touch.
His eyes flick down to my hard nipples. "Cold?"
"No." But I snuggle closer, my belly flush with the heat of his length.
His hand wanders down to my thigh, pulling my leg over his, pressing him even tighter against my skin. He threads an arm under my head, his hand holding the back of my neck. His other hand slips between us and takes my breast. Those luscious, full lips of his enfold mine, his tongue running along my bottom lip. I tug him even closer to me with the leg hooked over him. I need all of him connected to me, every inch of his skin bound to mine.
"I'm right here," he whispers against my lips.
I kiss him back, tasting first the coffee with a hint of chocolate, then the sweet spice underneath that's all him. He runs his thumb back and forth against my nipple, drawing a spiral out from the center, slowly moving farther and farther away, rambling down, down. His fingers skim my ribs, exquisite bumps breaking out across my skin. Down, down he continues, the pads of his fingers running along the lace, dipping underneath the fabric.
He traces shapes across my lower abdomen—at least, I think they're shapes until I realize that one of them is the letter L.
I break the kiss. "What are you writing?"
A grin breaks out across his face—the mischievous one that always gives him away. "My name."
Before I can even come up with a response, his hand dips lower, tracing an achingly slow C around the hidden nub. My back arches, leg tightening around him. He twitches against me, the skin of his length and crown impossibly hot. I shift my hips, sliding up on the bed until his crown rests against my center.
I slip back and forth, leaving a trail up and down his shaft. His lips move against mine, tongue prodding into my mouth. Again I taste coffee. I moan into his mouth, a contented sigh.
"Hmn?" he moans back. He clamps a hand around my ass, pressing us tighter together.
I pull my lips from his, leaving just a fraction of space between us. "I was just thinking about how nice it is to wake up to Cliff, coffee, and cock."
"The three Cs." He trails a hand down between my cheeks, his fingers resting just at my entrance. He spreads me apart, sliding himself between his fingers and my lips.
"Four, if you count my clit." I wiggle my eyebrows at him.
"Olivia," he groans.
"It's true, though."
"Not that. I need to be inside you." His words come out even huskier than usual, each syllable exhaled through his strained control.
"Oh." I could spend all morning like this, tangled up with him, our need growing more and more urgent. I do have to get ready for work. After yesterday, I can't afford to be late.
I slide up and down, angling my hips until he slips right into me, his head resting just inside me. He wraps his arms around me and I wrap my legs around him. Inch by inch, he eases into me, each gain sending a sweet pang of relief through me. I hook my ankles together and squeeze, sending him in deeper. Once he's fully buried in me, I sigh.
Our eyes meet.
"Olivia," he says again, his voice full of things I don't want him to say.
So I seal his mouth with mine and push him down until he's flat on his back. I move my knees to either side, digging them into the mattress. Drawing my hips back, I keep our chests together and his mouth shut, my tongue exploring his mouth as if I've never been there before. Then I move against him, sliding back down until he's immersed in me once more.
We find a rhythm, muscle memory taking over, senses gone. Every time I'm with Cliff, I lose myself in him—something I've never done before with anyone else. I don't disappear. I become part of something bigger.
Us.
I tell him what I'm thinking with my body. I lace my fingers through his and put all of my focus into kissing him. It feels different this time, this kiss. He kisses me back with abandon, his mouth saying the things I won't let him speak. No matter how much I don't want to hear it, he finds ways to tell me.
It's the way he stayed with me last night when he could've ridden back to the strip club. It's how his eyes hold all of the light in the world when he looks at me, as if he sees me, unclouded by everything I've endured. It's how he strokes my back, holding me both tightly and carefully. It's the coffee and eggs, the graduation party, the motorcycle riding lessons.
He doesn't just think he loves me.
He loves me.
The realization steals my breath. I plummet, shattering into billions of stars. Cliff splinters with me. The remaining fragments swirl, suspended in space and time. It's the big bang, the moment everything changes between us. The closing of one door and the beginning of something new, something I don't know what to make of.
Because I think, if I try, I might be able to love him too. In my own twisted way, anyway.
I roll off him and fall onto my back, chest heaving. My lungs feel tight and loose at the same time, like I've just been born and I'm only now learning how to breathe.
"Damn," Cliff rumbles. The sound reverberates through my bones, vibrating through me. I want to lean closer to him, spend some time floating in this.
I have to go to work.
So instead of snuggling into his side, I slide off the bed.
"I'm grabbing a shower before Esther gets up," I say. "Lock up behind you."
Before he can argue or offer to give me a ride in, I force myself to walk—not run—into the bathroom. I'll get a ride from Esther back to Mercy's for my bike.
Right now, I need to think.
26
Olivia
"Hey there, Rogue One." Glace gives me an exaggerated wink and hands me a case folder.
I stand from the chair in Diane's office, making a mental note to ask Cliff if he's even seen any of the Star Wars movies. I almost roll my eyes at myself. I really just filed away something to say to my boyfriend later. "New clie
nt?" I ask Glace, hoping she can't tell that there's something very wrong with me.
"New to you. This one's a bit of a rough case. I want you to familiarize yourself with that folder."
"So, no home visits today?" I study her face. "Have I lost some kind of privileges?"
"No." Glace scoffs. "Before yesterday, my plan was to ease you into this one. I think you're ready now." She motions to Diane's door. "Walk with me."
I trail her through the office, then out into the sunshine. The air smells like spring—that fresh, pastel green scent, clean and open. Glace leads me down the sidewalk lining the parking lot, far past the entrance of the building.
"This one's rough," she reminds me. "I just got it. The foster family made a complaint about the way the case was being handled. Whatever it was, it was bad. Diane yanked the worker who was on the case off. I don't know any of the details."
I'm beginning to think that the sky is the limit in this job. So far, there's no cap to the awful things that can happen to a child. "Where's the social worker?"
She shrugs. "I think they suspended her."
"Shit." Anything concerning the state usually takes ages. So it really must've been bad. "You said 'foster family.' Two parents. Any other children?"
"Grandparents," she says. "Four children, three of them are with us."
I'm afraid to ask. "Where's the fourth?" He or she is probably dead. I can't let myself get worked up if that's what happened. I've got to find a way to detach myself enough so that I don't keep yelling at people.
"Adult child. She emancipated herself at sixteen. She's the one who made the complaint."
I stop walking. "She?" Flipping open the folder, I scan the briefing. The children are Cierra and Abril Figueroa and Ximena Jiminez.
I have to disclose. It's a conflict of interest that I know one of the people involved in the case. If I say nothing, I could lose my job. Hell, that's probably what got the last case worker suspended. If Esther's social worker knew the family somehow—knew Esther's parents, maybe—she would've immediately been taken off the case. I frown.
Maybe the worker started the reunification process on purpose.
"We're supposed to start some kind of permanency plan after eighteen months of foster care, right?" I ask.
"Yeah. It's impressive that you know that." Glace gives me a thumbs up. "Maybe you are gonna work out."
"I didn't drink my way through college." I tap my temple.
I don't tell her that I did sleep my way through the men's dorms.
"Everything you need to know about the case is in that folder."
"I'll get started now." I continue walking, heading toward a grassy area on the far end of the building.
"Out here? You can sit at my cubicle, you know."
"Gonna take a smoke break." I wave her off, keeping my gait as casual as possible. I wish I could call Esther right now. I have her entire future in my hands. This has to be the first time the universe hasn't thrown a fuck you in my face. I need to use this power for good.
I'm not telling Glace a damn thing.
I'm going to help Esther keep those kids.
I sit under the tree and take out my phone. I scan the parking lot. There's no one around. I take pictures of every page in the folder. There's a good chance I'll have to give it back to Glace, and I'll definitely need these later. I text copies of the pics to Esther, then drop them into iCloud.
Can't be too careful.
Then I spend the next thirty minutes smoking and reading, soaking up every detail of the girls' and Esther's lives. Their mother, Toci, married Josué when she found out she was pregnant with Esther. When Esther was five, someone anonymously told DCF that Josué was sexually abusing her. DCF placed her with Toci's parents, Salome and León Aguirre.
Toci was "distraught," according to the report. She divorced Josué and went through counseling, and DCF gave Esther back. When Esther was seven, Toci discovered she was pregnant again—with Josué's child.
Cierra.
Another anonymous complaint was made, raising suspicions of neglect and more sexual abuse. The girls were taken again and placed with Esther's grandparents. Within six months, Toci got them back. As soon as her followup home visits with DCF ended, she and Josué took the girls to Arizona, where Josué had family. They stayed for almost a year before moving back to Naugatuck.
The cycle continued: another baby, another state intervention. Toci and Josué were smart. Every time they got those kids back, they moved out of state just long enough to fall off child services' radar.
Then, out of nowhere, Toci took all three of their girls and left Josué. For almost a year, she lived with a friend. She couldn't stay away from Josué long. She went back to him, pregnant with Ximena.
A fourth complaint was made. Naugatuck High's school social worker reported that Josué raped sixteen-year-old Esther again.
Esther took a pregnancy test. It was positive. With the help of the school social worker, she emancipated herself. She was never a ward of the state again. There's no mention of what became of the pregnancy.
The little girls were taken away again, but yet again, Toci got them back.
This case now is the fifth complaint, the fifth time the state has taken those kids.
And they're going to reunify them.
Again.
I don't understand how the state could justify this. Because Toci and Josué aren't struggling with substance abuse problems or mental illness—something a social worker could sympathize with. They're not people trying to get their lives together for their children's sake. They're evil, twisted people who know how to work the system to get away with the things they do.
They're poison, and the system can't touch them. Not with its checklists.
I lower the folder into my lap, the hand holding my cigarette shaking. My other hand curls into a fist, my nails digging into the flesh of my palm.
There's got to be something I can do. If the prior social worker knew Toci and Josué and tried helping them, maybe Glace and I can overturn the reunification plan and file a motion to grant legal guardianship to Esther. There's plenty of evidence right here in this folder, if anyone had bothered to read it before me.
And Glace.
Glace is on our side.
I'm going to make this right.
27
Cliff
I sit on Lucy's couch, remote in hand, court TV that I'm not watching on the screen. After Olivia gave me the cold shoulder this morning, I needed a place to crash. There was a chance Greg would be at the club house, so I couldn't go back there.
Not yet.
I will take care of him.
Soon.
I rode around for a little while, drifting aimlessly through the streets of Naugatuck and into Waterbury. I ended up riding all the way up 69 to Pine Grove Cemetery in Waterbury. I said my hellos to my friend Devon and my mother Ruth, then headed to Lucy's. Since she's a teacher and everyone else on her street works nine-to-fives, it's always quiet here during the day.
It's the perfect place to crash and think—usually.
This time I can't. Every time I get a little closer, Olivia shoves me away harder, farther. I don't know how to do this, what to be for her. I don't even know what I am to her.
I just know that she let me in on something huge, something so deep and painful, I'm amazed she's even walking around in one piece. She needs time, and I can give her that. I'll just step away a pace, be here when she needs me. If.
In the meantime, I've got to start thinking about my future.
For the past twenty years, I didn't even think I had one. Olivia might not know what I am to her, but I know what she's been for me: possibility, an awakening. For the first time, I understand that there can be more to life than concrete, steel, and iron. I have lost my mother and killed my father, and my aunt and uncle hate everything that I am, but I still have Lucy. She and the little niece or nephew she's incubating are my family.
I think of Ravage, h
ow he told me that someday I'd be President. Even Mercy—Bastard's best friend and VP, who would've been next in line if he hadn't gone to prison—said that the seat at the head of that table is my birthright. I won't even have to take it like I thought.
The River Reapers are my family. They're the ones who gave me a home and a place to punch in and out of every day. They've had my back even when I didn't know I needed someone looking out for me. They covered for me even when I was a Prospect, helped me make Eli disappear. They gave me respect and a rocker.
The MC was once my for-now plan, but now it's my forever plan.
If I want to be President someday, I've got to be as transparent as possible, even now.
I'm taking Greg to the table.
I can't let him work under the same roof as Olivia. I'm not even sure I can let him walk around the same town, breathe the same oxygen on the same planet. I just know I can't kill him without giving the club a heads up.
And I know they'll back me up.
If Mercy stuck around, I know he'd approve. Hell, he'd fight me to be the one to do it. I'm glad he's gone. The monster inside of me has reared its head, and it won't be sated until it's tasted Greg's blood. I'm a killer. Might as well embrace it.
Shutting off the TV, I toss the remote onto the couch and get up. Then I ride to The Wet Mermaid.
* * *
"Want a drink?" Trish asks as I pass the bar. She holds up an empty shot glass.
I wave it off. "Thanks."
It's still early in the day, so most of the dancers perfect their moves without the hungry eyes of an audience on their bodies. I nod to Pru and the others, then veer into Mark's office.
Ravage sits at the desk, his boots propped up on it. "Yeah?"
"Where's Mark?" I pull up a chair and sit opposite him.
"Meeting with our accountant. Tax season, I guess." He shrugs. "I'm shit with that stuff."
"Good, because I need to run something by you before I bring it to the table."
He swings his legs off the desk with a sigh. "What now? I thought Olivia was working the DCF angle. I've got Vaughn trying to get into the state's records, see if we can dig up any dirt on Esther's old man."
A Risky Prospect (River Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 2) Page 12