by Jessie Cooke
“Well, there she is. We thought you went home and forgot about us,” the balding man on the right said. She was about to apologize when the other one said:
“I guess this one traded brains for looks.” She sometimes wished that she had gotten her mother’s sweet nature. But instead, as Grandpa liked to remind her, she’d inherited her daddy’s foul temper. Sometimes she acted before she thought through the consequences, and this was one of those times. The man with the nasty mouth was wearing a lap full of meatloaf and yelling and the other guy had grabbed her by the arm and she was kicking him in the shins.
“What the hell is going on here?” Joe ran over huffing and puffing with a skillet held up like a weapon in his hand.
“Look at me!” the customer yelled. “She’s crazy!” Joe took in the scene and realized quickly what had happened. Without even asking Dallas for her side of it he said:
“Get your things, you’re fired.”
“But…”
“Now,” he said, firmly. Dallas had to wrench her arm away from the fat man and she all but ran to the back when she felt the tears welling up. No way was she going to cry in front of any of these bastards. Once in the back, she stripped off the ugly pink uniform, pulled on her jean shorts and tank top, and started to leave…but she had worked four days, and she wasn’t going to go without her pay. Squaring her shoulders, she marched back out to the kitchen. Joe was back at the grill.
“Joe, I need my pay.”
He turned toward her with disbelief written all over his face. “You are crazy, aren’t you?” Dallas was getting just a little bit tired of being called crazy.
“I worked four full days and I’d like to be paid for it.”
The old man shook his head. “Little girl, after you pay me back for what I just had to give that man to replace the pants you ruined and the lunch I’m gonna have to comp them, you’re gonna owe me money. I’d say count your blessings I didn’t turn you over to them.”
“Ha! Because you were such a gentleman? You stood there and watched him manhandle me! Big old coward.”
“Get out! And don’t let me see you around here again!”
“Don’t worry! I don’t like food poisoning!” He was still yelling at her as she slammed out the back door and into the alley. She was a block away before she let the tears come. Passing the bus stop, she continued walking the eight blocks home. It wasn’t like she had anything else to do and if one person spoke to her, she just might punch them in the face. She was walking into the apartment complex when she saw the Harley Davidson. The man that sat on the back of it had sandy brown hair to his shoulders and so much facial hair that she couldn’t tell if he even had a face underneath. She narrowed her eyes at him and he waved. She had half a mind to call the cops and tell them she was being followed and harassed. Unfortunately, she didn’t trust the cops any more than she did the bikers. She got up to her door and turned around and raised her middle finger to the biker just as she unlocked it and went inside. She wasn’t sure…but she thought she heard him laughing.
Dallas was shaking all over and she wasn’t sure if it was because she was so hungry, or because Mr. Rooney made her a nervous wreck. Her lecherous old slumlord had knocked on her door less than a half an hour after she got home from the diner. Normally, she would have had at least one good meal, but she hadn’t had her break before she got fired. Her stomach was gnawing at her backbone and it was hard to concentrate on what the man was saying. She blinked hard and made herself focus. Surely she didn’t hear what she just thought she heard? She had told him she was going to be late with the rent…the rent she was already behind on…and he started talking, but she was so incredulous that she could hardly process what he was saying.
“And then it will be taken care of in full…at least for this month.”
“Excuse me?” She’d been sitting on the flowered sofa that she found out by the dumpster and pushed into the apartment. She stood up and said, “Did you just tell me I can trade sex for my rent? Please tell me I didn’t hear that right…” As she was talking, the old leech put a hand out and began to run his fingers down her bare shoulder and arm. She felt like she was going to throw up. She took a step backward and said, “Get your hands off me! And get out of here, now!” Dallas’s anger was slowly turning into fear when she realized that the old man wasn’t going to leave. Instead he moved toward her, backing her into the couch, and it felt like he was breathing in all of her oxygen. She looked up at the man with the bad skin and worse toupee. He was licking his fat lips and suddenly his hands were on her shoulders again, this time pulling her towards him.
“You owe me, girl. You told me yourself you don’t have no money…but you got a pretty ass and a nice pair of tits. You need to learn how to use them.”
She could smell something rank on his breath as he bent down towards her. He was going to kiss her, and she was surely going to throw up if he did. When his big, fat, disgusting lips met hers, she did the only thing she could think of…she bit him, hard. He drew back and screamed, blood was pouring down his chin, and that was as much as she remembered other than seeing his fist come up…and then seeing stars before it all faded to black.
Dallas had a headache – a migraine, really. She opened her eyes, but that made it hurt worse, so she closed them quickly. All she had seen was a blur of color and light, but now she could hear…voices. “I think she just opened her eyes. Should I go get Doc?”
“No, Amy. Doc’s got other things to worry about right now. He left us in charge of her. When she’s good and awake, we’ll let him know.”
Doc? What the hell? Did that biker outside my apartment kidnap me? Vague splashes of memory began to assault her all at once. Someone touching her…someone with really bad breath. She was saying no, but he wasn’t listening…Oh fuck! It was Rooney, her landlord. Rooney tried to attack her, and she bit him…and that was it, all she remembered. So, what the hell does Doc Marshall have to do with all of this? Slowly this time, she opened her eyes again. There was a pretty, curvy redhead sitting next to the bed and behind her was a blonde with long, straight hair and really big boobs. “She’s awake,” the blonde said. “Should I go get Doc?” The redhead gave her a look that shut her up and then she looked back at Dallas and said:
“Do you know your name?”
“Yes. Do you know yours?”
The redhead’s green eyes narrowed. “Don’t be sarcastic. I’ve been sitting here making sure you didn’t die all night. You should be thanking me.”
“Who are you and where am I?” Dallas said. She tried to sit up and a pain shot through her face and into her head and before she could stop it, a cry escaped from her lips.
“I’m getting Doc,” the blonde said, leaving the room before the redhead could stop her.
“Now see what you’ve done? Doc is a busy man. He doesn’t have time for this.”
“Maybe I have a concussion,” Dallas said, “but I don’t even know what ‘this’ is, or where I am, or what happened to me. Can we start there?”
“Jamie.” That voice! Dallas looked toward the door and there he was, the blue-eyed devil, framed in the doorway. “You can take a break.” The redhead shot Dallas another heated look before getting to her feet. On her way out the door she tried to touch Doc, but he stepped to the side and let her out. Dallas wondered if she was his girlfriend. She felt a pang in her chest at the thought. God, I must have gotten hit harder than I thought. “How are you feeling?”
“Where am I?”
“You’re at my ranch, in my clubhouse.”
“Why? How did I get here?”
“Your landlord attacked you,” he said, coming closer to the bed. “My man Coyote was outside when he heard the old man scream. You did a good job on that lip, by the way. I might hire you.”
“That’s what I was aspiring to,” she said, rolling her eyes. It hurt, and Doc was laughing. “Stop it. Stop laughing at me and tell me why I’m here.”
“He hit you, hard. You’ve be
en out cold for hours. I had Coyote, the man that found you, bring you here because I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Why? Are you human after all? Do you really feel so guilty for killing my grandfather that you’re…what? Having me stalked? Why didn’t he just take me to the hospital? What is it that you want from me?” Doc let her finish rambling and with that annoying, but Oh. So. Sexy. Smirk of his on his face he said:
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” again.
“I don’t get you. You took away my life and now you have me followed around, just to make sure I’m okay. What the hell is that?” Doc’s blue eyes never wavered from her face, but he didn’t say another word. Dallas was the first one to look away. “Can I go home now?”
“About that…you’ll be needing a new place to stay. Your stuff is downstairs in one of our storage rooms and you’re welcome to stay here until you find a place.”
“My stuff? You cleaned out my apartment? You went through my things?” In truth, she hardly had any “things” at all. Her furniture was what she’d found in dumpsters or built out of pallets, her bed was an old mattress, and her clothes barely filled half a closet. But still, she didn’t like the idea of a bunch of bikers going through her stuff.
“We had to get it out of there quickly…there was a fire…”
“Oh my God! Did you do that, or have it done?” He didn’t answer her again, but she saw it in his eyes. The blue-eyed devil…Jesus.
“The slumlord won’t be bothering you again,” he said. She winced. He was telling her Rooney was dead. She had no love for the man…but dead? Did I want that? “The girls hung your clothes in the closet. There’s a bathroom with a shower and everything you should need there.” He pointed to a door. “You’re free to go whenever you like, or you’re free to stay; up to you. If you need anything else, tell one of the girls downstairs and they’ll take care of it. Dinner is served around here in about an hour if you’re hungry and you’re free to help yourself to the kitchen anytime.” He turned around, just like that and left. Who is this man? What is he? Dallas hugged her body and a shiver ripped through her. Have I just looked into the eyes of Satan himself?
6
“Doc, Detective Brady is at the front gate.” Doc had just come from talking to Dallas, and Brandt Miller met him at the bottom of the stairs. People mistook him and Brandt for brothers sometimes because they looked so similar. Brandt had been a sniper in the army. He wasn’t in Doc’s platoon, but one of the guys Doc trusted had introduced them. Brandt drank too much and had a taste for women that Doc was sure would get him in trouble someday. But, for what Doc needed him for, he worked, and damn well.
As far as Dallas went, what she did to him was unlike anything any other woman had ever done. It almost frightened him, and he wasn’t scared of anything. What he wanted was a stiff drink. What he needed was some hot, sweaty, anonymous sex to get his mind off her for a while. What he didn’t need was Sean fucking Brady knocking at his door.
“Alone? Or with cavalry?”
“He’s alone. His partner is not even with him,” Brandt said.
Doc nodded. “Okay, let him in. I’ll be in the office.” He walked over to the bar before going into the office, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. If he couldn’t have the sex right then, he was at least going to have the drink.
He went into the office, closed the door, and opened the bottle. Sitting at his desk, his eyes fell on the newspaper in front of him. Hawk had brought it to him almost three weeks ago and it had gotten shoved underneath a pile of property deeds, invoices, and other shit. It looked like one of the girls had cleaned up the office and now the paper was on top. The headline read: Mason “Mad Dog” Carlisle, leader of the Southside Skulls, dead at 43. The rest of the article told how Mad Dog was serving time and what he was serving time for, and then it talked about his death. He was found dead in his cell after an apparent altercation with his new cellmate…a triple-lifer with nothing to lose. It also talked about an investigation being done to find out how the unlikely pair had come to be celled-up together. Doc knew how that happened. Treager was doing his job. All he had to do now was keep his spine intact and his mouth shut…so far, so good. A knock on the door brought his attention back to the present. He slid the paper underneath a book of invoices and said, “Come in.”
Detective Sean Brady looked every bit the Irish cop that he was. His hair was jet black, his eyes dark green, and his skin so white you could almost see through him. His rosy cheeks and big, round green eyes gave him a jolly look. But Doc had been blessed with the gift of seeing beyond skin deep…and when he looked at Brady, he saw a warrior, and he knew it would be a big mistake to take the man lightly. He stood up and the detective smiled at him. “Doc Marshall, look at you with Prez on your patch.”
Doc forced himself to keep smiling as he held out his hand. Detective Brady shook it and Doc gestured at the seat across from him. He’d had the word sewn on his vest the day after Mad Dog’s body was found. Before that it had simply said, “Doc.” He had reserved the spot for Prez because he always knew it wouldn’t be long. Ignoring that remark, however, he said, “What brings you out to see us, Detective. Shouldn’t you be home by now having a big Irish pot roast or something with that pretty wife of yours…and two boys, right?” A very slight change in Brady’s expression told Doc he didn’t like the other man knowing so much about his family. But like Doc, he wasn’t about to play that hand.
“Headed there shortly,” he said. “I’m here about a fire.”
“That one over near Mattapan this morning? I heard about that.”
“That’s the one, and I’m sure you did.”
Doc nodded. “One of my guys was there right before it happened. How can I help you?”
Brady chuckled. “I wish it would be that easy. I’d like to just hear those words for a change, ‘I did it.’ But you’re not that stupid and I’m not that lucky. For now, let’s play this game we play, Doc. You tell me why your boys were seen helping a woman clean out her place and why there was no one home when this explosion happened except for the owner of the building.”
“Did he make it?”
“I doubt sincerely that he was still breathing when the fire started, but we’ll see, when the ME finishes with him.”
“The woman we helped leave her apartment is Dallas Paxton. She’s upstairs now. The reason we helped her move was to prevent that pig of a slumlord from raping her. He punched her in the face, my guy happened to hear a scream and he went in there and found her out cold. He brought her here…that’s as much as I know.”
Brady laughed again. “Good Samaritans, the lot of you,” he said.
“We do what we can. Would you like to speak to Miss Paxton?”
“Would love to.”
Doc nodded and said:
“I’ll get her for you.” He stepped out of the office and left the door open. With a flick of his neck he alerted Coyote. He didn’t want the nosy detective left alone in the office. He was on his way up the stairs when the smell of her perfume stopped him. Just that smell…a light, earthy kind of smell…it did things to him. He closed his eyes for just a second to will his southern parts to stay down, and when he opened them, she was standing in front of him. She was wearing a short romper and her legs were tan and gorgeous…just like the rest of her. Her hair was still wet and if he needed proof all those wiry curls were natural, he had it now. Not a trace of makeup on and a dark blue bruise along one side of her face, a cut near her eye…and still the most fucking gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. The bruise did make him want to kill a motherfucker…again. “Hey, how are you feeling?”
“Hungry,” she said, “otherwise like hell.”
“Sorry about that. We’ll get you some food. First, there’s a detective here that would like to talk to you.”
Her light blue eyes went wide. “About?”
“The fire at the apartment complex.”
“I don’t know anything about that other than
what you told me.”
“That’s all you have to tell him then.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth. My guy heard a scream, found you knocked out, brought you here…that’s all I know.”
“Right.” Doc smiled. He loved her fire when in reality he should stay as far away from it as he could get, before he got burned.
“He’s in my office,” he said. “I’ll show you the way.”
He turned and didn’t hear her following him for several seconds, but by the time he reached the bottom, she was right there behind him…close enough to touch, and damn did he want to touch her. He didn’t, though; he was sure she’d had enough of that with the old pig earlier. He led her to the office and as she stepped inside, Detective Brady got to his feet. “Miss Paxton?”
“Yes.” He put his hand out and she hesitated for a second, but then she lightly shook it.
“I’m Detective Sean Brady of the Boston Police Department. Would you mind having a seat and answering a few questions for me?”
She sat and then said, “Is this about Rooney? Are you going to arrest him for what he did to me?” Doc had his back against the wall and his arms folded as he listened. He was surprised, to say the least, when she said that. He thought that she understood the slumlord was dead.
“I’m sorry about what happened to you, miss. Can you tell me about it?” Fucking Brady. He wasn’t going to tell her yet that the old man was dead either. He was probably hoping she’d say something about it and incriminate herself, and the club.
“I was having trouble paying my rent. I lost my job today.” Doc almost winced again. He didn’t know about the job. She just couldn’t catch a break. Ironically, he didn’t see the role he’d played in that…only the part where he’d swooped in to help her. “Anyway, he came collecting and I told him my situation and asked for more time. The next thing I know, he was pushing me into the couch and telling me I could suck his cock for it.” The detective looked shocked at her candor. Doc tried to hold back his smile.