Cary

by Jessica Gadziala

  “Hey, at least you know that about yourself now,” I said, shrugging.

  I’d suspected that Abigail had never really gotten a chance to be a person, if that makes any sense. Her father, then her husband, then that bastard Raúl had always seen her as a possession, as someone they could use to their own benefit. She’d never been allowed to explore things, to figure out who she was, or what she might be into.

  Was figuring out if she could make a scarf some sort of monumental self-discovery? No. But at least it was something that she’d attempted, something she’d learned she had no love for.

  It was why I’d picked up all that craft shit. Because my plan was to get her out of Raúl’s grips by whatever means necessary. Then after that, she was going to finally be able to have a life on her own terms. It would be nice for her going into that having at least a little sense of self.

  No, she didn’t have skills with knitting.

  And the thriller book made her anxious.

  They were small things, but sometimes small things could be just as important as the big shit. It was slowly helping her build a picture of herself.

  I couldn’t help but wonder what she envisioned for her future now that she actually had one of her own. Did she have some secret dream? Did she want to travel the world, or just have a nice, comfy little home to call her own? Did she want animals? Did she want to adopt kids? What did she see herself doing for work?

  They were burning questions in my mind, but I tried not to burden her with them too much, figuring she was overwhelmed enough with the changes going on in her life.

  Hell, even little shit like experiencing foods she hadn’t had in years was proving difficult for her. Her frail body, so used to surviving on very small, very low-fat and bland foods, hadn’t quite been ready for the greasy pepperoni pizza she’d ordered on the second night, sending her running into the bathroom, and throwing it back up.

  She had a lot going on.

  I didn’t need to burden her with what six months, a year, or five years down the line might look like for her.

  I needed to get a grip anyway.

  Because, sooner or later, I needed to figure out how to handle her situation. Which, I had to admit, wasn’t going to be easy.

  I’d been in prison with quite a few cartel members. I knew how protected their leaders were. I knew how ruthless their men were.

  If Raúl was as upset as Abigail thought he would be about her escaping, then I had no doubt that he would leave no stone unturned. Which meant he was coming. And I was wholly unprepared for him.

  Yes, sure, Fallon said I had the backing of the club if I needed them. But I also didn’t want to put all of them in danger. Most of them had wives and kids. The ones who didn’t, had the hope of them in the future. I didn’t want to risk that for them all.

  I needed to be smart about this.

  But at the end of the day, there was only one way this could go.

  Raúl had to die.

  As did any of his men who were loyal enough to give a shit about Abigail after he was gone.

  I mean, yeah, I’d been a criminal my entire life. But that didn’t mean I was capable of pulling off a plan like that without a huge amount of forethought. And, yeah, I was probably going to need some backup as well.

  I knew if I asked, Dezi would be game. Voss, I had a feeling, was the kind of man you could tap the shoulder of for something as crazy and dangerous as this as well.

  I didn’t know how I felt about asking any of the core “family” guys, though. Fallon, Finn, Seth, and Valen.

  Which left me at a disadvantage, numbers-wise.

  So, yeah, I needed to think.

  The problem was, having Abigail around was making it difficult.

  So when Dezi showed up to hang with her while I headed to the clubhouse to pull my weight around there, a part of me was almost relieved to get a little space to think straight.

  “Brought her more donuts,” Dezi declared when I met him out in the hall.

  “Good,” I said, nodding. “Have her pace herself, though,” I advised. “If she eats too much too fast, she gets sick. She needs to keep all the calories down that she can. What?”

  “Are you a body double? Where’s my calorie-conscious Zaddy at?”

  “That’s because you want to lose weight,” I reminded him, shaking my head. “She needs to gain some.”

  “So, if I’m reading into this, your girl in there came from somewhere that she wasn’t being fed.”

  “Not enough anyway. And she’s not mine,” I insisted.

  “Sure sure. You all say that.”

  “Who is all of us?”

  “Oh, you know. Each one of you who suddenly has a chick around, but says it’s not like that. Until, a couple weeks later, it is exactly like that. All of you.”

  “She’s an old friend,” I insisted. “We lost touch. During that time period, she got wrapped up with the kind of bastard who likes to control every aspect of a woman’s life. She got free of them, and didn’t know anyone else in this sort of lifestyle, so she came to me. That’s it.”

  “Mmhmm,” Dezi said, unconvinced. “Does she cook?” he asked, forever thinking with his stomach.

  “When she was married, she cooked every day.” Three times a day, in fact.

  “Like food-food, or that shit you eat?” Dezi asked, making a dry laugh escape me.

  “Arguably, the ‘shit’ I eat is the only real food-food,” I said, shaking my head. “But I dunno. Normal shit, I imagine.”

  “Think she will cook when you move into the apartment?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. But don’t ask her if she is going to cook for you someday. The last thing she needs is another man expecting shit from her.”

  “Bad, huh?” he asked, looking past me at the door.

  “Worse than you’re thinking,” I told him.

  To that, he nodded as a muscle started to tick in his jaw. “Well, when you’re ready to remove his head from his torso, let me know. Until then, if you need someone to plump someone up, you know I’m your man,” he said, taking the key from my hand.

  “I should just be a few hours,” I told him.

  “Should be able to fit two or three meals into that,” Dezi said. “I’m gonna need Zaddy Bootcamp after all this is over,” he added.

  “Why? So you can quit after two days again?” I asked, already heading down the hall.

  Was a part of me worried about leaving her alone? Yeah, of course. But the fact of the matter was, if there was anyone she would be safe with, it was Dezi.

  Any of the princesses who’d seen him get into a fight swore the man didn’t feel pain.

  I thought it was worse than that. It was almost like he enjoyed the pain. He took punches with a smile. It was some shit to behold.

  I couldn’t even begin to unpack the kind of baggage that quirk must have come with.

  See, the thing with Dezi—and to an extent, Voss and even Brooks—was that most of us had no idea what their stories were. Chances were that Reign and Fallon knew just because they made sure all brothers got vetted before they could even prospect. But the rest of us were in the dark about what kinds of skeletons were in their closets, what kind of ugly lives they’d lived before they found themselves in Navesink Bank.

  What made Dezi so violent, yet such a puppy?

  Why was Brooks so fucking anal about everyone following the rules?

  Why was Voss so tight-lipped and impenetrable?

  I didn’t know.

  Maybe time would tell.

  Until then, I was happy to call them brothers. And to be able to lean on them when I needed help.

  “What?” I asked when I got off my bike and saw Seth and Finn standing out front, barely able to contain their delight—judging by the wicked light in their eyes, it was probably delight at someone else’s problem. “Is Hope here to scream at Fallon again?” I asked.

  “Didn’t hear that one,” Seth said, brows raising.

  “But no
,” Finn said, smirking. “It’s way better than that.”

  “Does it have something to do with that car over there?” I asked, pointing toward the black Mustang toward the front of the lot.

  “It does,” Seth confirmed.

  “Why are you out here?”

  “Waiting for a couple of the guys to get here.”

  “Are we having Church?” I asked, thinking of Dezi and how I needed him at the hotel to watch Abigail.

  “Not officially. But we called most of us next-generation guys in,” Finn said. “My brother included.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Yeah,” Seth said.

  “And no,” Finn agreed.

  “Depends on how this all plays out,” Seth clarified.

  “Is that why I was called back here?” I asked.

  “No,” Brooks said, appearing out of nowhere. “We have a lot of guys off on a run for a couple days. I needed some extra hands around here,” he said, shrugging. “And, honestly, Dezi was fucking useless, so he’s better off covering for you with your girl for a while, so we can get some shit done. There’s a new shipment we need to sort through.”

  “Alright.”

  “It can wait until after,” Finn insisted.

  When my gaze slid to Brooks, I saw a rare light in his eyes.

  And, quite frankly, if it was something that had Brooks looking amused, then I sure as hell had my curiosity piqued.

  We all stayed outside, waiting for Voss and Fallon who got there pretty quickly.

  “Valen is a few behind me,” Voss said as we all moved inside.

  And as soon as we did, I saw the owner of the Mustang.

  I had no idea who to expect, but I found myself surprised to see a woman standing there.

  She was average height and thick of thigh with curves in her hips and breasts as well. Thick in a fit way.

  She was standing in the middle of the living space with her arms crossed over her brown tank top. Her jeans were skinny and black, ripped in places. But if I had to put money on it, I would say they didn’t come that way, that this woman had damaged them in a more interesting way. There were stories in those rips.

  She was gorgeous with her wavy black hair, her sharp features, and her keen, dark eyes.

  I couldn’t tell if her lashes were naturally so thick, or if she’d piled on mascara, but there was no mistaking her bright red lipstick.

  Tough and strong, but also feminine.

  That was the vibe I was getting.

  I had no idea who she was, or why she was causing so much amusement among my brothers.

  But before anyone could tell me anything, the door was opening, and walking in was Valen.

  Who did not look quite so delighted at the sight of our little visitor.

  No.

  In fact, he looked absolutely horrified.

  “Louana.” Valen breathed out her name, like all his air had been kicked out of him.

  Louana.

  I had to dig a bit to bring up what I knew about her.

  Daughter of a vigilante serial killer.

  Former girlfriend of Jase Mallick.

  Who Valen stole her from.

  And then he’d skipped town on her without saying a word to her about leaving.

  I was starting to understand everyone’s interest in her presence at the clubhouse.

  “What are you doing here?” Valen asked as he looked at the woman. He’d wronged in a way that had all of us bracing for whatever she was about to say, sure words were about to fly like shrapnel, and we were all going to get some damage.

  But it was right then, right that moment, as I watched a wicked smile start to tug at Louana’s lips, as I saw her eyes fill with dark delight as she formed the words that I finally got it.

  “I’m prospecting.”

  “The fuck you are,” Valen said, looking like he’d been slapped. “The fuck she is,” he added, gaze going toward Fallon who was trying hard to keep his lips from twitching. “We don’t have female members,” he insisted. “Aunt Maze is proof of that,” he said, and I remembered the story about Maze once prospecting to the club, but ultimately not being allowed to join, despite being just as capable as the men she’d prospected with.

  “Yeah, man, but that was a long time ago,” Seth, Maze’s son, insisted. “Things have changed. I mean, Fallon is with a former MC president. Equality and all that shit.”

  “You’re not going to allow this,” Valen insisted, refusing to even look at Louana.

  “You know what?” Fallon said, and I could tell from the light in his eyes that he’d already made up his mind. “I think I am. Just because it’s going to amuse the shit out of me,” he added, finally letting that smile break free. “Valen, Voss, meet our new prospect—and your new roommate—Louana,” Fallon said, waving toward her. “I trust you’ll make her feel real welcome.”

  Oh, it was going to be an interesting few months.

  In more ways than one.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Abigail

  Maybe it was kind of pathetic of me, but having three days in the hotel with Cary had been like heaven on Earth to me.

  It was the first time in my entire life that I got to make all my own decisions, when I didn’t have to worry about some man being angry with me for staying in my pajamas, or eating unhealthy food.

  In fact, Cary kept encouraging me to order food. I knew for certain that he was lying when he claimed he “could eat” each time too.

  I was even more sure of that when Dezi spent fifteen minutes telling me about how healthfully Cary ate in his daily life. So he was shoveling grease and processed crap into his “temple”—Dezi’s words, I suspected, not Cary’s—because he wanted me to feel comfortable eating whatever I wanted.

  I’d only spent three days with the man, but I felt pretty confident saying he was very likely the best man I’d ever met.

  I didn’t care what he did, you know, for work. That didn’t define him.

  Maybe he did bad things, but he wasn’t a bad man.

  I would know. I’d met many bad men in my life.

  He wasn’t one of them.

  And as odd as Dezi was, I was pretty sure he might have been one of the good ones too. Even if he did, apparently, have a violent streak.

  “Oh, that thing is hopeless,” I told Dezi he grabbed the loom and started messing with it.

  “Hm,” he said, flipping it around for a second, then dropping off the edge of the bed and starting to wrap the yarn around the spokes.

  And, I kid you not, within five minutes, he’d calmly made more of a scarf coming through the bottom of a loom than I had in hours of frustrated trying.

  “You are a man of unusual talents,” I declared, shaking my head at him.

  “Never did crafty shit growing up,” he admitted. “Maybe if I had, I’d have been a fucking seamster or some shit.”

  “That’s an interesting mental image,” I said, getting a smirk from him.

  “But I imagine they’d frown on me decking rude customers.”

  “Wouldn’t be great for your reviews,” I agreed, getting a smirk out of him.

  “Guess I’m stuck being a biker then, huh?” he asked, sending me a devilish look.

  “Were you always a biker? I mean, you know, like Cary?”

  “Nah. Just since I came to this area.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s different than I thought,” he admitted, shrugging.

  “In a good or a bad way?”

  “Mostly good. It’s like a family. I like having the guys around to hit the bars with. And I like tagging along with the girls.”

  “The princesses?” I clarified.

  “Yeah. The daughters of the OG members.”

  “Are they, you know, bikers too?”

  “Nah. No chick bikers yet. They all got their own shit going. Hope does private investigation. Violet chases skips. Layna is a professional gambler. Oh, and then there’s Billie who does all the hippie, new ag
e shit.”

  “Do any of them have, you know, normal jobs?”

  “Luna is a librarian. Willa is doing the boss bitch shit, making bank. Andi’s a vet. Got a mix.”

  “And what about you guys?” I asked, not having really pestered Cary with any questions about being a biker. I mean, I had back in the day. But it seemed like these Navesink Bank bikers were a different kind of breed altogether.

  I was sure he would answer, but I didn’t want to be annoying. And, hey, Dezi was in a talking mood. I might as well pick his brain, right?

  “What about us?”

  “Are you all just… you know… bikers? Or are there other jobs you do too?”

  “The club and some of the brothers in the club have side hustles. Make shit look legit for the law, y’know? There’s a shop. Fallon and Malc have the diner. When Fallon locks down his woman, he will have a bar too. Fallon is always on the lookout for new legit businesses to invest in.”

  “That makes sense,” I said, nodding.

  I knew Raúl didn’t have anything legitimate going on, but I also knew how deep his pockets had been, and how willing he was to corrupt even the highest local officials to turn the other way and ignore his illegal business practices, so he didn’t have to worry about taxes and things like that.

  I figured the American IRS was a whole other beast to deal with. If you had a nice house and fancy cars, they were going to look for where that money came from.

  “Have you ever thought of getting your own business started?”

  “Me? I’m not what you would call entrepreneurial. Sounds like a headache, and the only headaches I want is from too many shots at the bar. Why? You thinking about opening something up?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know. I have no idea what to do with my life now. Before now I… I had no real choices. Now that I do, they’re kind of overwhelming.”

  “Makes sense,” Dezi said, continuing to work the yarn around the spokes of the loom, doing so without really even needing to look. “Dunno. Figure the best way to go about that kind of shit is to figure out what you like. Seth’s dad, Repo, he always liked cars. So he opened the shop. Seth, he likes ‘em, but not that much. Think I heard him say something about opening a shooting range. He’s a good shot,” he added.