Unleashing Hound

by Harley Stone

  His brow furrowed. “Okay.”

  “And my appendix ruptured my senior year, piling on hospital bills since I didn’t have insurance.”

  He pushed away from his desk and circled it to find his chair. Once in his seat, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, you needed money.”

  “Yes,” I replied with a little too much enthusiasm. “And I still needed to get my master’s if I wanted to teach, so I needed lots of money.”

  “What’d you do? Rob a bank? Knock off a jewelry store?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Come on, Meals, the suspense is fucking killing me.”

  “I… made friends with this Canadian whose cousin was a demimonde.”

  His face blanked. “A what? That’s not some kind of witchcraft is it?”

  “A courtesan. A… an escort, but only for the wealthy.”

  His eyes widened and his jaw practically hit the desk. “Are you telling me you became a prostitute?”

  I felt my lip curl up. “That’s such an ugly word.”

  “You gotta be fuckin’ shittin’ me.” He threw back his head, staring at the ceiling. “My perfect little angel of a cousin who always did what everyone wanted became a… an escort.” He chuckled. “I guess that’s why you can afford to dress like that on a teacher’s salary. Are you even teaching third grade? Or is that just a cover story for your social media?”

  “I teach. School really is out for the summer.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t know this.”

  “It’s not exactly public knowledge.”

  He leveled a stare at me. “I don’t think you understand what I do for a living. I dig. I get to the bottom of shit. When I found you online and saw you were a teacher, I was happy that you broke away from the family and had no problem envisioning you as a teacher. I didn’t dig any deeper, and I always dig. But you teaching made sense. You as an escort doesn’t. Not much surprises me, Meals, but this sure as hell does.”

  Now that he knew the truth, I couldn’t tell how he felt about it. “Are you slut shaming right now?”

  He barked out a laugh. “No. Definitely not. You never belonged on that fuckin’ high horse anyway. Welcome to the ground where the morals are shady, and everyone minds their own goddamn business. Now I’m dying to know… is some sort of pimp after you or something? Is that the danger you’re in?”

  “No. A couple of months ago, I started getting these weird emails in the account only my clients and a few women who do what I do know about.”

  “What do you mean by weird?”

  “Just your typical turn-or-burn style Bible verses. But the people who have that email address wouldn’t exactly be on a crusade to save my soul, if you get my drift.”

  He made a face. “I’m okay with your lifestyle, but I don’t want details.”

  “Noted. Well, the emails bugged me, but I thought maybe a friend or client was messing with me. Then, a month ago, somebody murdered my best friend. I didn’t realize it at the time, but when I pulled up my deleted email files for Detective Monte, I discovered I’d received one of those emails the night Polly died. Yesterday, my client was stabbed to death between our sessions. The killer left a bloody X over my client’s door frame like the act was some sort of reverse Passover. Then, bam, another fucking email. I was allowed to leave the country, but I have to keep my phone on me so the detective working the case can call me. Hell, I may become his prime goddamn suspect. I don’t know if I’m in danger or just really bad, deadly luck to be around.”

  After studying me for a moment, he let out a low whistle. “Damn, girl, you really stepped in it.”

  “Stepped, rolled around, bathed, swam, and now I can’t get the stink off me.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. No wonder you were being all nostalgic about life at the compound. Your life could probably use a little of that structure.”

  “I miss the safety of it,” I admitted.

  “You need structure, not a stranglehold. Their protection was conditional, Meals. They only extend it far enough to cover their faithful followers. And if they knew what you’ve been up to, your back would resemble mine.”

  “You don’t think the community is behind this, do you?” Sure, their rules were strict as hell, but murder? Besides, I couldn’t see them leaving the safety of their homes to venture into our sinful world of sex. “You don’t think they found me and sent someone to… uh… set me right with God, do you?”

  Levi shrugged. “Hard tellin’. They might believe it’s their responsibility to bring you to justice. Might see it as some sort of crusade. I’ll look into it and see if anyone from back home has ventured out on a field trip lately, but nothing would surprise me anymore. I won’t leave any stone unturned.”

  Thanks to our childhood, Levi had always been a little tormented, but the shadows behind his eyes made me wonder what else my cousin had seen to make him so pessimistic. Had his time in the Air Force done that? Making a mental note to ask him about it later, I replied, “You’ll help me?”

  He gave me a reassuring smile. “Of course I will, but I gotta run this by the club, first. If your presence puts them in danger, they have a right to vote on whether or not you can stay.”

  I hadn’t considered that. “Do you think they’ll kick me out?”

  Levi shook his head. “No. I think you’re about to learn what it’s like to be part of a real family.”

  His confidence was encouraging, but I still had my doubts. Unlike Levi, I wasn’t a veteran who’d honorably served my country. I was just a prostitute who may or may not be in danger. The Dead Presidents had no reason to help me.

  6

  Hound

  “I THINK I’M in danger.”

  Those five little words, spoken by a stranger, had no right to affect me, but they sure as hell did. I didn’t know Mila—I barely knew her cousin—so why the fuck was my curiosity barreling out of control like a ship caught in a typhoon?

  What kind of danger?

  How bad is it?

  Are the cops involved?

  Is there anything I can do to help?

  Questions cycled through my mind as I stood and left Morse’s office, all the while reminding myself I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t even help myself. What’s more, her situation was none of my damn business. She had Morse, and he was more than capable of handling shit. If he needed backup, the entire club of capable, uninjured men would step in.

  They sure as hell didn’t need my assistance.

  Still, I couldn’t stop myself from wondering what had spooked Mila enough to make her show up here. Morse had been so damn surprised to see her. Why? Was their family as estranged and fucked up as mine?

  Why do I even care?

  With no clue, I couldn’t seem to curb my concerns and curiosity. Thoughts fully occupied, I hobbled down the hall and entered the kitchen. There was usually someone milling about the space, and today was no exception. Link and Havoc were seated at the table with their heads together, discussing something. At my appearance, their conversation came to a screeching halt.

  Link eyed me. Some men had a demeanor that drew attention. Link’s very presence commanded respect. He moved with the grace and power of someone who regularly kicked ass and persuaded his victims to thank him for the experience. He was a fair and just president and a good man who ruled our ragtag group of veteran bikers with a compassionate ear and an iron fist. I did everything in my power to stay on his good side and avoid getting caught in his crosshairs.

  “Hound. How’s it going?” he asked.

  Not wanting to interrupt their meeting, I took a step back, preparing to make my escape. “Good. Morse needs to speak to his cousin in private, so I… I’ll just go hang out in the common room.”

  “Stay. In fact, why don’t you take a seat?” Link nodded to the bench beside him, across the table from Havoc. “We could use your input.”

  Wondering what input I could possibly provide for the duo, I meander
ed over and sat. “What can I help you with?” I asked, sounding skeptical even to my own ears.

  “You’ve been a prospect for almost a month,” Link replied, getting right down to business. A busy man, he wasn’t much for pussy-footing around. “What can you tell us about the experience?”

  I mulled over his question for a beat. “I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

  “What exactly does that mean?” Havoc asked. “What do you think the opportunity is?”

  “A roof over my head. Food. Being a part of something again.” People who gave a damn about whether or not I overdosed. It was the little things that mattered to me now. “Didn’t think I’d have any of that after I was sent home.”

  “Despite your injury, you wanted to stay in the Navy, right?” Link asked.

  I nodded. “I fought my release. I wanted to get my degree and become a mustang, but I couldn’t pass the physical exam.” Mustang was slang for a commissioned officer who started as an enlisted serviceman. I’d wanted to be a desk jockey, but after they broke me, the Navy considered me too fucked up to even sit behind a computer.

  “What’s it like to be a prospect?” Havoc asked. “Give us your take on the experience.”

  I needed to answer honestly, but didn’t want to come off like I was bitching about my position. “I feel… limited, but that’s no fault of the club. I can’t do most of the shit the other prospects do.” Prospects usually cleaned, shopped, worked security, and did whatever grunt work the members pointed them toward. Since I didn’t have a car, could barely ride my bike, and my body was far too fucked up for cleaning or maintaining the fire station, bar, or auto and bike shop owned by the club, I felt pretty goddamn useless. Prospecting was all about gaining the trust of your club brothers through proving your worth and dedication by doing what you were asked. At this rate, it’d take years for me to prove anything to anyone.

  They watched patiently as I squirmed in my seat. The hard-ass bench was no good for my back, and I needed to move before my muscles started spasming again. “Can I stand?”

  “Yeah.” Link nodded. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  As I leaned against the wall beside the table, Havoc said, “So, we need to find something else you can do as a prospect.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. “I’m not trying to be difficult, but I’d like to earn my keep.”

  “Do you have any ideas of shit you can do?” Havoc asked.

  Actually, I did. “I’m not afraid of the phones. I can call donors or prospective donors. Especially if you have some kind of script to go off. I’m new, and no expert on all the shit the club does, but I know more than the community. I think if more local businesses are made aware of the ways we give back, they’ll be willing to contribute. Especially since the club operates as a 501(c)(3) and everyone’s looking for a worthy tax break these days.”

  Link scratched at his beard. “But you’re working with Morse now. Think you can do this around your schedule?”

  “On my lunches and weekends. I’d be happy to feel like I’m finally pulling my fuckin’ weight around here.”

  “I can appreciate that,” Link said with a nod. Studying me, he added, “We haven’t had much time to talk. Tell me about yourself, Hound. Wasp said you’re from Vegas. You got any family back there?”

  Link and I had spoken very little, because I avoided him like the plague. The man was intimidating as hell, and I could hear the question he wasn’t asking all too well. He wanted to know how I’d ended up on the streets. A good, respectable, wounded veteran would have come home to a loving family or maybe a waiting lover. I’d had nobody. “My mom and little sister are in Vegas. I call my sister sometimes, but Mom and I don’t talk.”

  “Why not?” Havoc asked.

  Now that was complicated. Trying my best to uncomplicate it, I shifted. “You know those people who lie so much they wouldn’t know the truth if it bit ’em on the ass?”

  They both nodded.

  “She’s one of them. Doesn’t care who her lies hurt as long as she comes out smellin’ like roses.”

  “And your dad?” Link asked.

  That was the million-dollar question. Looking away, I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Havoc leaned forward. “You don’t know him?”

  My childhood was no cakewalk, and talking about it was the last thing I wanted to do. I’d told people about my past before, and always got the same reaction: pity. Link and Havoc were my brothers now, and I wanted their respect. I wanted them to see me as an equal—as an asset to the club—and hearing my goddamn sob story would accomplish the opposite.

  But these two didn’t ask questions; they demanded answers. Wasp had warned me that an interrogation was inevitable, but I was hoping it’d somehow pass me by, like a storm that unexpectedly blew over. No such luck. Time to man up and get it over with.

  “Can I get some water?” I asked, buying myself time to think about how to wrap my childhood up in as few words as possible.

  Havoc stood. “I’ll get it.” He disappeared behind the swinging doors, returning with water bottles for each of us.

  Thanking him, I unscrewed the cap and took a long pull. When I set the bottle down on the table, they were both watching me, waiting for me to start. Seeing no way around it, I took a deep breath, and shared what I knew.

  “Only dad I’ve ever known is an asshole. I grew up with his last name, and thought I was his blood, even though he treated me like shit. He was good with my little sister, and I never could figure out why he was so different with me. I asked my mom, but she always had some bullshit excuse for him. He seemed to go out of his way to make me feel like I didn’t belong. Like I wasn’t part of the family. Shit between us was… fuckin’ frustrating. As far as I was concerned, he was my dad and I wanted to make him proud, but nothing I ever did was ever good enough. Grades, sports, fishing, I worked at all the shit he cared about but couldn’t please the son-of-a-bitch, no matter how hard I tried. After I was hurt and discharged, I got locked up for buying morphine from an undercover cop to supplement my prescription. The DA prosecuting me finally told me the truth. Dave wasn’t even my real dad. He met my mom when she was pregnant and adopted me when I was born.”

  My chest squeezed as a series of memories assaulted me. Dave pushing me off his lap. Dave installing a chain lock on my door to keep me in my room. Mom walking away as I beat on the door, begging to come out and be with the family. Staring at the bleachers, hoping one of them would show up to watch my baseball game, only to be disappointed. Again.

  All I’d ever wanted was a family, and it seemed all they ever wanted was me out of theirs.

  “Why didn’t your parents tell you the truth?” Havoc asked, interrupting my memories.

  Sharing so much information made me feel naked and raw. Wanting to get the fuck out from under their gazes, I glanced at the door, gauging the distance. Morse had to call me back soon. How long could his conversation with Mila take?

  My leg was falling asleep, so I shifted, wincing at the pain in my sciatica. “Mom claims my psychologist told her not to. That it would only fuck me up more.” I chuckled, but it came out sounding angry and cynical. Fitting, since that’s exactly how I felt about her excuses. “But I don’t know if that’s true. I can’t trust a word that comes out her mouth. There was so much shit she lied about.”

  Link let out a breath. “Did you ever find your birth father?”

  What the fuck was this? Twenty questions? Hadn’t they gotten enough of my goddamn history? Did they want blood? To see me breakdown like some of those guys in the narcotics anonymous meetings? Not gonna happen. I shook my head and steeled my nerves. “The Nevada court adoption registry has no record of him and Mom sure as shit won’t tell me. Look, I’m not trying to sound like some little woe-is-me bitch. Lots of people have had it rougher than me, and if you two didn’t corner me and ask, I wouldn’t have said shit about it.”

  A smile played on Link’s lips. �
�Trust me, brother, you’d know if we cornered you. This isn’t that. We want to know your past so we can help you create a better future, but it’s clear you’re not used to people being concerned enough to ask questions.”

  Well, if that didn’t sound like some after school bullshit…. “Thanks. I should probably get back to work. Are we done here?”

  Link held up his hands, still looking mildly amused. “I’m done.”

  Havoc watched me in that quiet, intense way of his. Holding my gaze, he said, “You want some advice, Hound?”

  I didn’t, but I wasn’t about to disrespect him. “Sure. Why not?”

  His lip twitched. “At the end of the day, if someone doesn’t enhance your life, fuck ’em.”

  I don’t know what I’d been expecting him to say, but that sure as hell wasn’t it. Surprised, I stared at him, wondering how to respond.

  He wasn’t done, though. “You don’t need that kind of family,” he added. “You have a whole club full of brothers. We might not be perfect, but at least we’ll always have your back.”

  This shit was too heavy. I felt like I should thank him, but what he was offering sounded too good to be true, and I was skeptical. Besides, emotion had lodged a lump in my throat, and I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. Instead, I nodded and made for the door as quickly as my defective ass legs would take me.

  Hating the memories talking about my childhood had conjured, I headed toward the bathroom to get a moment alone. Before I reached it, Morse texted me to let me know I could go back to the office. Relieved to be returning to work and put the whole conversation behind me, I adjusted my course.

  When I returned, Mila was still there, sitting in the chair beside Morse’s desk. She had a clipboard on her lap and was busily scribbling something down. She looked up long enough to offer me a quick smile as I sat and moved my mouse, waking up my computer screen.

  A few minutes later, Mila plopped the clipboard on Morse’s desk.

  “You finished?” he asked.

  “Yep. Usernames and passwords to all my email accounts. I put a star beside the one he hacked into. You really think you can track his location through the emails he sent?”