Under Locke

by Mariana Zapata

  With balls that I didn't even know I had, I leaned forward and spoke louder than I probably ever had. "I know you're in there, and I'm not leaving until you get out here."

  Where the hell had meek little Iris gone?

  "The fuck?" the woman spat, frowning.

  Classy. "The man in there with you needs to come talk to his daughter."

  "Daughter?" Baloney. This woman was absolutely baloney.

  There was a noise coming from the recesses of the hotel room, a voice talking so low I'm surprised the person in front of me could hear. My ears were ringing so loud with adrenaline and frankly anger that I couldn't hear anything clearly.

  I had my eyes locked on the lady in front of me, taking in her dark hair, olive skin, light eyes. She was a poor replica of my mother, I thought, as mean as I would have normally assumed the thought was. But I didn't care then. I sized her up. I watched her take a step back and turn around to talk to the man in there.

  I had to swallow hard to keep from making some awful noise. If it wouldn't have been for the warm heat on my back that radiated from Dex's chest, I'm not sure what I would have done as I waited for my father to come to the door.

  My father. The thought was so immediately detached it should have alarmed me, but I'm surprised by how freeing it was. Not my dad. My father. My sperm donor in Sonny's words.

  "Iris."

  He was there.

  Shorter than what I remembered, or maybe the careful balloon I'd inflated with his memory had been too exaggerated. Or maybe I'd just been around Dex's long bones for too long.

  Curt Taylor stood there. With his heavily tattooed forearms void of any past Widowmaker insignia. A salt and pepper mustache curling his upper lip. Hair still short. And so much older than I remembered.

  My heart churned in recognition—in need. But only for a split second. For a millisecond I allowed myself to miss him. To miss the times he'd made me feel like I was the most important person in the world to him.

  But that time had been decades ago. A faded photograph. It was broken and corrupted.

  And most specifically and fortunately for me, I'd been patched up along the way.

  I let my hand reach backward until I grasped Dex's thigh, using it to center me as I stared at the man I'd denied myself loving for so long.

  But the love I knew, the form of love I remember as a child was completely different than the version I recognized as an adult. There’s no chemistry to it. You can’t break apart love’s properties and make it something it’s not. I knew that now.

  A small, stupid part of me might always feel something my father, but that didn't mean that I respected him. That I truly valued him. Not when it had suddenly occurred to me how obvious it was that he didn't feel the same toward me. And love without respect and appreciation isn’t actually anything. It’s worthless.

  I knew what it was like to be valued. To be cared for. To be a priority. And I wasn't going to settle for less from the man that should have shown me all of those things throughout my life.

  Fuck. That.

  I wasn't a little girl anymore. I wouldn't fall for his tricks or his foolish, meaningless words.

  If I had a baby, a little tiny boy or girl that had grown up in my arms, there was no way I could ever leave them willingly. There was no way I couldn't think about him or her daily and wonder if they were fine, when I did that for my own little brother. Hell, I even worried about Slim and Blake all the time. What did that say?

  It said I wasn't my father, and I never would be.

  "We need to talk."

  "Iris?" His voice cracked.

  I'm not sure what it said about me that I was able to look at his face steadily without feeling a thing besides resentment. "We really do need to talk."

  He blinked those hazel eyes. The Taylor eyes he'd given Sonny and me. "Rissy," he said my nickname slowly, "I haven't seen you—"

  Dex's growl cut him off. "I don't wanna hear it. She don't wanna hear it. Get your shit, 'cuz we're goin'."

  My father, Curt, blinked rapidly. His eyes widened like he had barely seen Dex standing behind me, well, more like towering behind me. My own personal eclipse of ink and ego.

  The angry frown that curled over his mouth was the predecessor for those hazel eyes flicking back and forth between me and Dex. Slowly, his eyes moved over the multicolored bruises on my cheek that still hadn't exactly faded. "You son of a bitch," my father boomed. "Did you do that to her?"

  My bruise?

  Dex? Dex who'd been ready to tear apart the universe because of what those morons had done?

  "Old man," Dex hissed, bringing his body so close to mine that I could feel him settle himself around the curves of my back and bottom. "You should shut the fuck up before you say somethin' I'll make you regret."

  Oh hell. Diffuse the situation, Iris!

  I had to take a calming breath. This wasn't just about me. This was about Dex, Sonny, Slim, Blake, and the little boy in Colorado that shared my bloodline. As much as my subconscious would love seeing Dex stand up to this man, my brain said that this wasn't the right time.

  This visit was about preventing something terrible from happening to all of them.

  I could do this for them. I could keep it together.

  "This is because of the Croatians. Because of you," I stated evenly, watching the color drain from his face. "And I don't care what you have to do, but you're paying them back."

  "The...they...found you?" he blabbered.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  The wicked laugh that snaked its way out of Dex let me know he thought my dad was just as full of shit as I did. "You wanna play stupid? I'll play stupid with you. What'd you think? You'd take their money and nothin' would happen?"

  My father's eyes slashed over in Dex's direction, his mouth pulled tight in aggression. "Shut your trap, kid."

  "Kid?" He was outraged.

  Kid? Dex? Did he need glasses?

  "Yeah, kid. I been bustin' people up longer than you been alive, don't come up to me, trying to be a bad ass. I'll beat it out of you," Curt snapped.

  Dex barked out a laugh. "Old man, you might have been doin' it for longer than me but that don't mean I won't wipe the floor with you. At least I fight my battles with my own two hands instead of lettin' my blood get it beat out of 'em for me."

  "You piece of trash—"

  And... I was done.

  Done.

  What did it say about me that I was willing to throw away the thread-like connection with my father for a man I loved? Nothing. Because ultimately, it didn't matter. I'd throw away more.

  My stretched out palm met with my father's chest as I pushed him back with more force than was necessary.

  His hazel eyes flared, more in response to the moment and the conversation with Dex than with me. At least that's what I could assume. I pointed a finger at my father and shook my head, watching as his eyes drifted the length of my arm until they came in contact with the silver-white scarring my sleeveless racerback left open for everyone to see. See it, he did, and it only reinforced my words and my mood.

  "Don't say a word to him. Not a single friggin' word. In the last month, Sonny's gotten the crap beat out of him. I got assaulted at my job, and I've been asked to become some douche bag's mistress. All because of you. You owe me, and trust me, you don't want me to start with the million and one things I've dealt with because of you before this year."

  He opened his mouth to argue with me. His eyes going from my arm to Dex's face above mine.

  "Don't," I insisted. "Just don't."

  "He's a Widow, Rissy!" my dad yelled, completely oblivious to the fact we were standing outside of a cheap motel with dozens of other people.

  That's where he was going with this?

  "He's mine," I enunciated slowly. "And my business stopped being your business when you left."

  I couldn't have slapped him any harder. And my inner jerk couldn't have been more pleased by the stripe of pain and humiliation that
blazed across his face.

  "Yeah," I taunted him. "Exactly."

  Where had all of this ugliness bubbled up from?

  "I didn't think..." he stammered. "They came after you?"

  I didn't even bother with an answer, settling for a brisk nod.

  My dad lifted both of his hands up, running them over the short trimmed hair on his head. "Jesus." He shook his head. "I never thought—"

  Dex's body heat seared my back as he stepped forward, into me. He braced his hands on the doorframe, caging me. "You never cared. Don't mistake bein' a dick for bein' an idiot."

  He bristled, his mouth poised to argue or talk shit back to the younger man.

  Them arguing wasn't the point. It wasn't necessary. "It doesn't matter anymore. I need to know if you have the money."

  The face he made wasn't a good sign. "Rissy."

  "Yes or no?"

  My father blew out a breath that made his lips flutter. "Not all of it."

  I guess that could be worse, unless he considered twenty bucks to be a significant chunk. "How much?"

  "Fuck." His lips fluttered again. "You wanna come in and talk about this?"

  Dex and I answered at the same time. "No." Especially not when that woman was still in there. Gross.

  "You got five minutes to meet us downstairs," Dex said. "Gimme your keys."

  My father took a step back, frowning fiercely. "Excuse me?"

  "Your keys. Give 'em to me."

  "Why the fuck would I do that?"

  Maybe he didn't know, but I did. I held my hand out. "We can't risk you leaving."

  "I'm not leaving," he argued and for a split second I felt rude agreeing with Dex's request.

  This wasn't anyone else's battle but mine. I held out my hand and waited. He didn't hand them over immediately. My father's face made a dozen expressions until he finally turned around and went into the room. Whispers stacked on top of each other before he returned, dropping a set of keys into my palm.

  "Five minutes," Dex spoke from behind me as I eyed the woman in the room moving around.

  The woman dressed in my father's clothes. The woman that looked like my mom if I closed my eyes, squinted, and made my vision blurry.

  I sighed. All I could focus on right then, was how disappointed I was in this man I used to call my dad.

  ~ * ~ *

  Awkward wouldn't even begin to describe the atmosphere in Luther's truck, or the tension across the table at the pizza parlor.

  Tense also wouldn't be an appropriate adjective.

  "Rissy—," he'd started to say about a dozen times before Dex shut him down.

  "Don't," my dark-haired man snarled.

  I didn't make an effort to assure Dex that it was fine, that I wanted to talk to my father, because honestly, I didn't.

  "Rissy," he'd start again on deaf ears.

  My mom. My poor, beautiful, sweet mom had been in love with this man. She'd thought the world of him even after he abandoned her with two small kids. She loved him even though he never called, never helped financially, never did a single damn thing.

  Rage boiled beneath my veins.

  If I'd known everything that I knew now...

  That I was related to a self-centered man-whore...

  I reached out to grab Dex's hand, threading my fingers over the top of his. The look he gave me was tight. He was seething beneath his skin and I had no idea what directly fueled him, but it wasn't like he didn't have a dozen possible sources.

  Dex wasn't my father. Not in any way, shape or form. And I loved him.

  “I owe ‘em twenty but I got eighteen on hand.”

  Okay, that wasn’t so horrific. A two thousand dollar difference wasn’t as bad as I’d been expecting. Then again, I wasn’t expecting him to owe people twenty friggin’ thousand dollars either. Holy crap.

  How much money did I have in my savings account? I tried to do the math in my head.

  Twelve hundred for sure, maybe fifteen hundred...

  Fingers gripped my forearm. Dex made a grunting noise in his throat that caught my attention more than his grasp. "Don't even think about it," he warned in a stern voice.

  How the heck did he know what I was thinking? "What?"

  "We aren't usin' your money." He squeezed my arm. "We talked about this, Ris. We'll figure it out, right?"

  That's exactly what we'd agreed on. I nodded at him, ignoring the inquisitive look on my father's face as he watched us.

  Dex tilted his face back over to him, eyes narrowed. "You like that, big man? Your daughter offerin' to pay for your shit? Her cleanin' up your mess? Seems to be somethin' you're used to. Leavin' your shit layin' around for other people to clean up."

  It was impossible not to hear the grinding of Curt Taylor's teeth, or miss the way he leaned across the greasy table. "You don't know shit about me—"

  "I know enough."

  "You don't know a damn thing—"

  "You think I don't know everythin' there is to know about you? I know what I need to, and lemme tell you, I'm not impressed. You're a grade A pussy, Taylor, and you're a fuckin' moron," Dex rolled the words out of his mouth.

  Oh hell. They were talking so loud people at the tables surrounding us started to turn around. I palmed the inside of Dex's thigh to try and calm him down. Not that it was an easy task to begin with when he was pissed off.

  He was defending me though, not picking a fight just for the heck of it.

  "What are we going to do?" I asked them both.

  The sperm donor reclined back in the booth, crossing his arms over his chest. The resemblance between him and Sonny was shocking. The eyes, the build, the freaking attitude. "I can come up with the other two but it'll take a little while," he explained in a low voice.

  It was too much to ask for that he'd be embarrassed by the situation, much less have him admit that he was guilty of being a Grade A Jackass.

  Dex snickered, slipping his hand over mine. "Not two. Twenty-one."

  I think we both turned to look at him like he was crazy.

  All Dex did was raise a lazy, defiant eyebrow. "You forgettin' about the money you owed the Reapers?"

  "Goddamn," my dad muttered, scrubbing his hands over his hair again.

  Hadn't he told me just days before that that had been sorted out? Wait, what the hell had he meant by sorting things out? And what the hell had I been thinking assuming that the debt had magically disappeared? Like that kind of crap actually happened.

  "Twenty-one?" he choked out.

  Dex tapped his fingers on the counter, his fingers kneading my thigh. "There's somethin' called interest, ya know." He tipped his chin up. "But don't worry about that right now. You and me can work out a payment plan once my girl is off the choppin' block."

  Payment plan?

  Say what?

  I wanted to ask him for clarification but this wasn't the time, at least not while the sperm donor sat three feet from us. He could see the question on my face. You paid it off?

  Curt opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else. He mouthed, my girl, but said nothing. He rubbed his hands over his scalp again, exasperated. "I can make back the money in a few days if I drop by Mississippi and Louisiana, and hit up the casinos."

  I looked at Dex, and he looked at me, and I didn't even think twice about dropping my forehead to the table and banging it on there a couple of times.

  What had I said before? About how you can't change people's natures?

  It was right then that the buzzer on the table went off, signaling that our food was ready. Dex smoothed a hand over my thigh before sliding out of the booth with the contraption in hand.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my dad reach across the table, fingers outstretched. "Rissy," he whispered.

  I watched him, watched those long fingers try and make a trek toward me but I stayed still.

  "Talk to me."

  I flicked my eyes up to his. There was no effort on my half to forget the memories I had of him as a kid. The
memories that had kept me from bulldozing him into being a complete asshole but now... nothing. I felt nothing toward him. "We're talking."

  He ground his teeth again. "Without the asshole."

  Oh. Hell. No. "I love that asshole. He stays."

  The expression he made gave the impression that I'd slapped him. He was outraged. "You're kidding me."