"Truth," she says.
We reach the group. Cierra and Abril rush to Esther, wrapping their arms around her. She holds them close, whispering to them in Spanish.
"We figure out how we wanna handle this?" I ask, glancing from Cliff to Donny.
"We're gonna take them to the river," Donny says.
"What about the girls?" I fix my eyes on Donny's ENFORCER patch, tracing the worn stitching. Anything to keep me from looking at Cliff.
"We'll bring them to Esther's grandparents." Donny frowns at me. "Why?"
"What about the case? Don't you think DCF will find it a little weird that all of a sudden, Esther's parents are MIA?" I put my hands on my hips.
Donny glances skyward, shaking his head. "Why you gotta complicate this, Olivia?"
"Because I work for DCF. They're overloaded, but they're not gonna overlook this. We have to cover our bases."
"Let me guess," he says. "You've got those bases covered?"
I lift my chin, ignoring the burn of Cliff's gaze. "I do, actually." I reach into my saddlebag and run my fingers over Finn's business card. "There's a pig who owes me a favor."
Both of Donny's eyebrows lift. "That so, Prospect?" The corner of his mouth twitches. I think he's smiling, but I'm not sure.
"I'll have him come down, corroborate for us. Esther's parents took the girls, but dumped them here when they saw him in uniform." I nod toward the gas station next door. "Then they took off."
"You got this all figured out, don't you?" He shakes his head. "Cliff, you've got your hands full, brother."
I scoff. "Cliff doesn't have anything. I'm a person, Donny, not a piece of ass." Remembering the girls, I wince. "Sorry," I tell Esther.
She sighs. "If that's the worst they experience today . . ."
"All right," Donny says. "Make your call."
A familiar looking SUV pulls into the motel parking lot—Ravage and Mark. Skid trails behind them on his motorcycle.
"Cleanup crew's here. Cliff, pass Jimmy to Olivia. We've got work to do." Donny strides toward the SUV.
Cliff steps toward me, his eyes soft. I hold open my arms awkwardly. He passes the little girl to me. "Got her?" he asks, his hand brushing mine.
The heat from his skin scorches mine, igniting a fuse that threads through every one of my limbs. My pinky twitches toward his, wrapping around his before I have the chance to stop myself. All I want to do is lean into him, let him hold both Jimmy and me, let myself give in to the current. But I know that if I do, I'll sink into him like a stone, falling too deep to ever come back up for air.
Because when I love, I love with my whole heart, with every inch of my marrow. And when I do, I forget who I am, lose sight of what's good and what isn't. Love destroyed me, and I only barely put myself back together. I'm still far too broken.
Cliff deserves better.
His pinky hooks around mine, squeezing for a heartbeat. Then he releases me, relinquishing Jimmy into my arms. With devastation in his eyes, he drops his gaze. Then he walks away, leaving me cold.
39
Cliff
I can't take this anymore.
This woman has a knife in my chest. Every time I get within sight of her, inhale the same oxygen, she twists the knife a little deeper. There's no doubt in me anymore. She was never temporary. I'm in it for the long haul—or I would be. Something is stopping her, something has a hold on her that's beyond my power. The damage Greg did is too deep, beyond my reach. I would kill for her, but killing him won't save her.
At least not if I do it.
I trudge away, holding my head high but barely holding myself together. I need a drink. As soon as I finish up with the club, no matter how late it is, I'm going to Lucy's. Right now I need to be around someone who doesn't want me to go away.
I need my best friend.
While Abraham and I wrap the bodies in tarps, Olivia calls the cop who owes her a favor.
He looks startlingly like Greg.
My blood boils in my veins. When Esther and Olivia finish up with him and he takes off, Donny brings Esther and the girls home.
Olivia disappears.
Officer Byrne must be Greg's brother. I pace and chainsmoke until Donny comes back with the SUV. I help load the bodies into the back of it, and we take them to the river.
When Ravage held Greg's vote, I assumed "take him to the river" meant weighing the body down and dropping it in. Instead, my President passes out shovels and tells Abraham and me to put them deep. Then Ravage, Skid, Donny, and Beer Can keep watch.
Digging is hard. On TV, they make it look easy, just a bigger version of a sandcastle hole at the beach. Near the river, the soil is wet and heavy. My back aches every time I punch the shovel through the dirt and lift another load. This is Prospect work, but neither Ravage nor Skid made Olivia stay. There aren't any other Prospects. I should try to make conversation with Abraham, get to know my brother a little better. But I'm not in a talking mood, and he never seems to be, anyway.
Not when it comes to me.
By the time we bury Esther's parents, every muscle in my body aches and my eyes might as well be smeared with Vaseline, they're so bleary. Since Ravage and Skid rode Abraham's and my bikes down to the river, I'm free to go.
Until Ravage calls Church.
"Not the way I wanted this to go down," Donny says, his hands splayed on the table, "but I think it played out well."
Ravage's mouth is a hard slash in his face.
"I take it you disagree, Pres?" Beer Can puffs from his pen. If I weren't so tired, I'd tell him to pass it over.
"We need to take a vote," Skid says, but I watch Ravage's face. I'm too tired to defend Olivia if he wants to vote her out. Or whatever it is MCs do to Prospects they no longer want.
Ravage's eyes burn into the back wall. "When we took this on," he says, real slow, "I didn't think they'd take those girls. They almost outplayed us. Who knows what would've happened if we hadn't found them?" He sweeps the room, landing on me.
I swallow.
It's not Olivia I need to defend.
Even though every muscle screams, I stand from my seat and face my brothers. "I fucked up. I should've called Olivia."
Donny shakes his head. "I was pissed," he says, addressing Ravage. "Red Dog's good with me now."
"Sit down." Ravage throws a hand at me. "That's not what we're voting on. We'll get to that."
I ease into the chair, keeping my face blank.
"We need to do better," Ravage continues. "This ended well, but it could've gone very badly. This is twice now that this club had the opportunity to save a girl's life, but almost fucked it up. We need to get organized."
"Organized?" Abraham lifts an eyebrow.
"I want to take this club in a new direction. We seem to keep finding ourselves in this position, so why not roll with it?" Ravage clenches the gavel in his hand. "I'm done tolerating violence against women and children, gentlemen. I vote we do something about it." He turns to Skid. "VP? Anything you wanna add?"
"Guns and drugs are only gonna land us all in the pen," Skid says. "We've got The Wet Mermaid income, which is plenty as long as we're careful. I think those of us who were around in the Bastard era and voted yea all feel the same way about this. Not everyone shares those morals." His eyes flick toward Abraham. "We need to be unanimous."
Mark clears his throat. "Unanimous about what, exactly?"
"Apologies," Ravage says. "It's late and I'm just babbling in the dark. I want to put our resources to good use. I want the River Reapers to be the place people turn when the cops won't do shit. When bad pennies like Greg turn up and rape. When mothers become monsters and let fathers stain children. I'm talking about cleaning up this town, gentlemen. Capisce?"
We all nod.
"Let's vote, then," Ravage says. "Yea."
"Yea," Skid seconds.
"We might have to monetize this service," Mark cautions, "but right now, my vote's yea."
"Stixx?" Ravage asks.
&
nbsp; I glance at the tattooed man, who's been so quiet, I didn't even realize he was here. If I'm being honest, the dude unnerves me a little.
"You know where I got my first X?" Stixx asks.
"Do we wanna know?" Beer Can mutters.
The icy glare Stixx slides him makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up straight. "I burnt down a Catholic school," he says with a grin so gaping and empty, he looks lupine. "Walked in on a priest doing things to a kindergartner that no human should ever do to another person. They expelled me. The priest walked. The fire stopped him, though. I was eight." He bares his teeth. "Yea."
The whole table looks at me.
"Cliff?" Ravage asks.
I stare down at my hands. "To be clear," I say, "we're talking about playing judge, jury, and executioner?"
"When the law turns its cheek, yes," Ravage says, gritting his teeth. "You vote nay, brother, and I might kill you with my bare hands, right here, right now."
I scoff. "You really think I'd vote nay? I spent twenty years in federal prison for killing my own father—a veteran. I still want to kill him, whenever I think about what he did to Lucy." I light a cigarette, the back of my neck hot. It's odd, putting my feelings into words. Not something I'm used to. "I've been searching for a purpose. I don't just want to be a biker. I want to . . ." My voice trails off.
"Make a difference?" Abraham sneers. When I turn my glare on him, he holds his hands up. "I'm with you, brother. It just sounds corny. I mean, is this really possible? Do any of you really think we can do this?"
"We've got to try," Ravage says, his voice breaking. "Those three girls . . . They're so young."
I nod. "Lucy, too. And Olivia. I think she was in high school, when Greg . . ." I can't say it.
Beer Can turns away, sniffling. "I'm tired of other men trying to break and control women."
"Me too, brother," I say. I meet my President's eyes. "Yea."
"Yea," Abraham says.
"Yea," Vaughn agrees. "Might as well use these powers for good." He mimes typing on a computer keyboard.
"Do y'all really even need to ask me?" Donny shakes his head. "Of course, yea."
"Yea," Beer Can whispers, still turned away from the table. He dabs at his eyes with the sleeve of his T-shirt.
"Let's kill some rapists," Ravage says, and bangs his gavel on the table. "Get the fuck out of here, boys. Get some sleep."
I crawl up to my room. It's far too late to stop in at Lucy's, and I can't keep my eyes open, anyway. I'm physically and emotionally drained and, outside of my club, nothing feels certain right now. A little sleep will set me right, help me figure out how to fix things with Olivia.
40
Olivia
I roll from my side onto my stomach, fluffing the pillow under my head. Even though I'm exhausted, my heart is racing. The flutter against my sternum is constant, no matter how many times I do a round of slow breathing on an app on my phone. My entire body is poised—for what, I don't know. I should be passed out cold right now.
Yet the time on my phone reads 3:08 a.m.
Then 3:15 a.m.
4:02.
I download an audiobook and pop in headphones. Despite the narrator's soothing voice, my heart maintains its fast beat. I turn onto my other side, pulling a body pillow close. I listen for what feels like twenty minutes. Just as I slide into velvet slumber, another shot of adrenaline floods my system.
I don't want it, yet it seems I've got a constant supply tonight. Or this morning. Whatever.
If I could bottle this shit and sell it, I'd be rich.
I pause the audiobook and kill the app, then download solitaire. I play game after game, hoping to bore myself into sleep. I need to get some rest. Ever since Eli, I've been sleeping like shit, but this is a whole new level for me.
A creak echoes through the apartment, sounding a lot like a footstep. I didn't hear Esther's door open. I stretch out a hand, patting around for Dio. My palm finds his fuzzy head. He makes a short rrr sound, a sort of sleepy half purr. Then he tucks his head back into his paws and goes back to sleep.
I tilt my head, ears straining for the shift of weight in the kitchen, or the groan in the floor next to the bathroom. Nothing happens.
Still, I reach for the gun on my nightstand and touch its cool metal. The sensation against my fingertips is reassuring.
Rolling away from my nightstand, I curl myself into a comma. Maybe if I sleep like a cat, I'll sleep just as peacefully. But when I close my eyes, I see Eli stepping through the front door to my apartment. I hear him calling my name, his voice joined by Greg's.
Olivia.
Eli and Greg stand in front of me, their arms crossed, eyes cold. Other figures step in beside them, forming a circle around me—every man and boy who has hurt me. I reach for the gun on my nightstand but I'm standing in a dark room. Their faces spin around me, faster, their eyes and mouths blurring together.
I lurch out of bed, falling to the floor. My hands and knees absorb the shock, my palms slick against the carpet. Dio meows, hopping down from the bed. He bonks his little head against my thigh, as if to say "It's all right. I'm with you."
I pull him into my arms and sit back against the bed. Then I bury my face in his fur and sob, tears soaking his hair. Yet he stays with me until I'm empty and exhausted.
He rolls over in my arms, orange fur alight in the rising sun. I rub his belly, here in this room but also buried in the past. I've heard of trauma survivors unable to remember the event, only to be triggered by something—a new trauma, a situation similar to the event, or something else. It all rushes back, every bad memory.
So much for forgetting.
Grabbing my phone, I Google symptoms of PTSD, then hop from article to article about rape survivors and trauma. Learning the terms for the things I do and the memories rushing back at me helps. I feel less upside down, more in control. I repeat the facts to myself like a mantra.
I forgot what Greg did to me because my brain—in all its misguided gray matter—was trying to protect me.
I remembered again when Esther told me about her history.
I can't stop thinking about every bad thing that he did to me because my brain is processing it all.
Sometimes I lash out at the people around me because I feel so mixed up inside, it spews out, like shaking up a bottle of soda, pointing it at someone I love, and twisting the cap off.
What I'm experiencing is normal for someone who survived the things I survived.
I'm normal.
And I survived.
I still don't know how. Back then, I didn't have a gun. He outweighed me by at least seventy-five pounds. All I had was my voice, and with his hands around my neck, squeezing the air from my body, it wasn't much.
I want him dead so badly, a sweet metallic taste fills my mouth. I almost wish I'd just let Cliff kill him at the club house. I don't know if that would be enough, though.
It has to be me.
Someday, somehow, I will reclaim my life by taking his.
I fall asleep with Dio in my arms, but my alarm goes off a minute later. At least, it seems like it was only sixty seconds. I stumble through the apartment and get ready for another day of work, another day of pretending to be normal. At least I'll be able to get Esther some news about the girls. With her parents out of the picture, she should have legal guardianship of them in no time.
I find her in the kitchen making coffee.
"Want a ride in?" she asks between yawns.
"Why are you awake?" I moan. "You have the privilege of sleeping in, yet here you are, throwing it away." I give her my sternest look.
"I'm not throwing it away," she insists, flipping on the coffee maker. "I couldn't sleep."
"That makes two of us." I take mugs down from the cabinet and set them on the counter.
"Why didn't you come get me?"
"Same reason you didn't," I reply.
"Stubborn," we say in unison.
She laughs. "At first I thought it was
because I'm feeling guilty about offing Toci. I'm not, though."
I nod. "I get that." I lean against the counter. "So what kept you awake?"
"I feel so restless," she says. "Like, the girls are gonna be okay, so I don't have to worry about them anymore. But now I have this degree and—no offense—I don't think I wanna work for DCF."
"None taken." The coffee maker gurgles, liquid splashing and sizzling on the burner. I wait for the final drip, then fill our mugs.
"I think I'm gonna get my Master's," Esther says. "Become a licensed clinical social worker. Maybe work in a school. I know I want to work with kids, but I also know I don't want to work with them after they've already been taken away. I want to help them as the shit is hitting the fan, you know? Schools need trauma screening training. I can help with that."
"I think that suits you," I tell her.
"I just hope Donny's cool with it," she says with a sigh. "I'll probably enroll in an online program, but I don't know how it's all going to work."
"You'll have a lot on your plate," I agree, "but I think you can do it."
"I'm gonna find out." She sips her coffee. "Now get in the shower. Clock's ticking. I need you in work on time so you can text me intel on our case."
"For someone so quiet and sweet on the outside, you sure are bossy." But I head toward the bathroom anyway, clutching my mug for moral support. I wish I hadn't gone into a career that requires getting up with the sun.
I pause in the hall, wanting to offer her some kind of reassurance. We both know real life doesn't always have a happy ending, so I don't. Instead I just hope that I can give her good news.
* * *
As soon as I walk into the building, Diane waves me into her office. She closes the door behind me, then settles into her chair with a sigh.
"Sit," she says, voice hard.
My spine stiffens, the muscles in my neck tightening. I sink into the chair across from her. I thought I covered our tracks, but there's a good chance I missed something. I'm not a professional, after all.
A Risky Prospect (River Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 2) Page 18