I wasn’t aware I was smiling, but I know why. Suddenly it makes sense why Istu was looking at me funny earlier. Maybe that’s why he decided to share what happened in the gym the other day.
Perhaps I should smile more often. Chances are good on that; if it’s up to me I’ll be fucking smiling every day.
“Get used to it,” I fire at Paco.
“Jesus, another one down for the count,” he grumbles. “Chief wants to see you in his office.”
Ouray’s door is open so I walk right in.
“Close it behind you.” I do and sit down across from him. “This is about last night.”
I was wondering if he’d address Chains. I haven’t seen any sign of him this morning. “Okay.”
“Just so you know, I had to hold my wife back last night from ripping off Chains’s dick and shoving it down his throat, or I would’ve followed you out to clear the air.”
I chuckle at the visual. It’s not hard to imagine Luna going off on the asshole. She’s a spark plug. “No worries.”
“Pulled Chains into my office after. The bastard was smug. Said he’d stopped by to offer help; he’d heard we’d run into some trouble and had a proposal for me.”
“He did, did he?” My tone drips with sarcasm.
“Mmm. In exchange for housing a couple of his men and the use of the old storage barn north of the compound, he’d be willing to pay handsomely. Enough we wouldn’t have to be dependent on our businesses to keep us going.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t volunteer why he needs his men here or what he’s planning to store.”
“Course not. I’m about to give Tink a call. I’m curious why he sent his second-in-command with such an offer. He knows we’re not into anything that can’t stand the light of day.”
I’m surprised they’d even approach the club, knowing Ouray is literally married to the FBI. “How stupid is that guy? He knows who your wife is, doesn’t he?”
“Sure he does. That’s not a secret. Difference with guys like Chains, they feel so goddamn superior, women have no power in their world.”
Neither apparently do people of color, but I keep that to myself. “You should’ve let your wife at him last night,” I suggest. “He would’ve experienced firsthand the kind of power women hold.”
Ouray chuckles, probably remembering not too long ago Luna managed to knock me on my ass in the boxing ring. I got her down—by sheer body volume—but damn, small as she is, the woman can kick ass.
“Nothin’ woulda pleased me more, but knowing Chains, it would’ve resulted in war. And that, brother, is something we’re not looking for or equipped to handle these days.”
“So how was it left?” I want to know.
“I’m supposed to think on it for a bit.”
“Are you?”
That question earns me a narrowed glare. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just ask me that. I need time to figure out how to fuckin’ say no without it causing serious problems for us.”
“Gotcha.”
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. You’re a psychologist, but you’re also someone who’s dealt with punks like him before. I need a way outta this mess without making the Moab Reds a full-blown enemy of the club. ‘Preciate if you’d give it a thought.”
“Sure,” I agree, even though I don’t have a fucking clue how to handle this. I’m positive the smile I was wearing earlier has worn clear off by now.
“Anything new on the boys?”
“Just finished talking with Istu about the incident with the weight. He shared a bit. Boys have been pickin’ on him and Ezhno recently.”
“Why?”
“He’s not saying.” He doesn’t really have to. It doesn’t take too much imagination to see why those two may have been singled out. Istu is clearly of Asian descent, and Ezhno is at least partially black.
“Color,” Ouray concludes.
“My guess.”
“That can’t fly.”
“Agreed.”
“Did he mention any other names?”
“Elan is obvious, but he didn’t name anyone else.”
“I want you to talk to Ahiga next. I want to know what has him riled up. He won’t talk to me or Luna. He’s been holing up in his room, doesn’t even want to come to the clubhouse anymore.”
I want to tell him it’s not unusual behavior for a teenager, but I get a sense he already knows that, but is worried all the same.
“Maybe it’s easier if I go to your place?”
Ten minutes later, Luna shows me inside their house. It’s actually across the road from the compound, overlooking Chapman Lake.
“Thanks for doing this, Trunk.”
“No problem, but weren’t you a trained forensic psychologist?”
She smiles. “Yeah, except my son doesn’t give a rat’s ass his mom has a degree. As far as he’s concerned, I’m being typically intrusive and overprotective.”
“Gotcha. Where is he?”
“Up in his room. He may pretend to be asleep. He’s good at that.”
“I remember that trick. I also know a trick or two to make sure he’s awake. You have a problem with wet sheets?”
She starts snickering. “Do what you must.”
I leave her grinning at the base of the stairs and head upstairs.
There’s no answer when I flick the light switch outside his door; I open it anyway. He’s facedown on his bed, a pillow pulled over his head. I walk over and try to pull it away, but his hands are curled in the sides, holding it down. Like hell he’s sleeping.
The bathroom is right across the hallway. I grab the glass sitting by the sink and fill it with water before I return to his bedroom. He doesn’t appear to have moved, but I can see the tension in his lean muscles. I raise the glass over his back and slowly tip it.
The moment the water hits his back he flips over, an angry scowl on his face.
“What the fuck!” he signs angrily. “What was that for?”
I calmly put the glass on his nightstand before answering him. “That was for being a punk and mind your language.” I pull over the desk chair and sit down, leaning forward. “Now, I’m gonna be here as long as it takes for you to tell me what’s been going on with you. Your parents are worried, and I don’t blame them. You’re not acting like yourself.”
“I’m fine,” he gestures.
“Then how come you’re up here pretending to be asleep? I know something is going on with the boys. I’m not an idiot. I think you know something about that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I take a deep breath trying to ignore his attitude. “What made you swing at Matt? He been picking at you too?”
It’s a wild guess, but when his eyes flit up to mine, I know I’m at least getting warm. Istu never pointed a finger at Matt, but there’s something off with that boy, and the problems didn’t start until the club took him in.
Ahiga just confirmed my suspicions.
CHAPTER 14
Trunk
“WHERE ARE YOU?”
I’m in Jaimie’s driveway and her SUV isn’t here. I was on my way home, when I had this sudden urge to see her, and drove over.
After talking with Ahiga—who finally admitted Matt pissed him off by mocking him, but didn’t want a big deal made of it—I briefly stopped into the clubhouse. Ouray was holed up in his office with Yuma and Kaga, so I ended up having a beer at the bar with Wapi and Honon.
It gave me a chance to observe the boys interact while playing what, I assume, is a new game system. They seemed a little subdued, but that may have been because Momma and Nosh were sitting a few feet away, ready to jump in if things got out of hand.
At some point, Kaga came down the hall and went straight for the bar to fetch some fresh beers. He mentioned in passing they’d be a while yet, but there’d be a club meeting tomorrow morning at eleven, so after my beer was done I said my goodbyes and headed out.
“Why?” Jaimie wants to know.
“Because I’m in your driveway and your car’s gone.”
“I’m out shopping. Well, technically I’m done shopping, but we stopped for a bite to eat. You should’ve let me know you were coming.”
“How long you gonna be?”
“Just paying the bill. We shouldn’t be too long.”
“I’ll wait.”
I use the time to check in with the family who took in Ezrah, just to see how the kid is doing. According to his foster mom, he’s healing well, but has trouble sleeping and still won’t talk about what happened to him. When they try to bring up the subject of his attack, he shuts down and stops talking altogether.
“He’s mentioned you once or twice,” she shares. “Asking where you are, when are you coming back, that kinda thing.”
Fuck, that burns. I hated leaving him, but it was the better choice, and that hasn’t changed. No way I’d want him anywhere near the current tension in the clubhouse. That doesn’t mean I can’t go see him.
“I’m gonna try and come visit this week, maybe next weekend. Don’t mention anything to the boy, I don’t wanna disappoint him if it doesn’t work out.”
Not long after I end the call, Jaimie’s SUV pulls in beside me. Before she has a chance to get out, I already have the back door open and pluck a sleepy River from his car seat. The boy snuggles into my neck with a softly mumbled, “Unk.”
“I’ve got him,” I tell Jaimie, who’s waiting with a soft look on her face. “I’ll grab those later,” I add when her mother opens the back door on the other side and starts reaching in for the pile of bags.
“Have you eaten?” Sandra asks, turning around as we reach the front steps.
“Not yet.”
“There’s half a chicken pot pie in the fridge I can heat for you.”
“Wouldn’t say no to that.” I follow them inside, kicking off my boots in the hallway before heading for the stairs.
“I can carry him up,” Jaimie says waiting there.
“I’m good, just lead the way.”
She does so spectacularly, giving me a great view as we head upstairs. In the boy’s room, she flicks on a standing lamp beside the dressing table, spreading a soft light.
“Does he need a clean diaper?” I ask her when she peels off his little boots and snowsuit while I’m holding him.
“I just changed him at the restaurant before we left. I figured he’d be asleep by the time we got home. That seems to be the effect car rides have on him.”
“Pj’s?”
Her eyes flash to mine, but she shakes her head. “Just put him in bed like this. I don’t wanna risk waking him. He hasn’t been sleeping well.”
I walk over to the crib and bend over, carefully laying him down. His little face scrunches up, and for a moment I think he’ll put up a protest, but then his features relax back into sleep. I step out of the way so Jaimie can tuck him in, before she turns to me. Her hands land on my chest as she lifts up on her toes and mine automatically reach for her hips.
“Hi,” she mumbles, pressing her lips to mine.
“Hello yourself,” I whisper back, before deepening the kiss.
A soft grunt from the crib reminds me where we are, and I release her mouth, a final quick kiss before letting her go.
“I’ve gotta grab the bags still,” I mention, taking her hand and pulling her from the room. “You guys bought a shitload.”
“I may have gone a little overboard,” she admits, but does it smiling. “I’d forgotten how much fun shopping could be.” She bursts out laughing when she sees the expression on my face. “Not your thing?”
“Fuck no. I’ll take a root canal any day.”
“You may not enjoy it, but I’m pretty sure you’ll enjoy me shopping.” She wiggles her eyebrows teasingly, and it’s all I can do not to drag her into her bedroom.
“Bags, James,” I growl, reminding her.
“Right. I can’t wait to show you.”
The sparkle in her blue eyes tells me she’s not done teasing.
Sandra has me installed at the kitchen table with a heaping plate and a cold beer, while Jaimie empties bag after bag, showing me her purchases. Some outfits for the baby, clothes for her, and a couple of things for the kitchen. Most of it I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about, but my body takes notice when she pulls a pile of lace from the last bag.
“Mercy,” I mutter under my breath, glaring at her. She’s making it hard for me to concentrate on my food.
“I got these for a steal.” She holds up a pair of barely-there lace panties, a smirk on her face and a challenging eyebrow raised. Revenge for the pair I ruined last night, I’m sure. She has me ready to ruin another pair, but her mother’s soft chuckle behind me curbs that urge quite effectively.
“This one I’m saving for New York,” she announces, lifting an almost see-through, baby blue nightie with frilly stuff at the top.
I drop my fork on my plate and scowl at her. “Like hell that’s going to New York.” In response she cocks a hip and tilts her head defiantly.
“Oh, give it up, Jaimie. You’ve tortured the man enough.” Sandra sounds amused behind me.
“You’re killing all the fun, Mom,” the little minx says, while stuffing the lace confections back in the bag. “I’m just gonna put these away.”
I manage to finish my food while she’s upstairs and get up to put my plate away when a phone rings. It’s not mine. Sandra moves to pick up the landline on the kitchen counter.
I listen with half an ear as she answers.
“Hello?...Yes, Agent Gomez, I remember.”
Jaimie
That was mean.
I snicker as I pull the underwear and nightie from the bag, draping them on my bed.
I spent a whack, but I figure I was due. The last sexy lingerie I bought was right before my wedding. The lace undies Trunk ripped last night had been all I had left. I’d saved them for a special occasion, which is why it didn’t bother me when he tore them off. They’d served their purpose.
Rob didn’t have much interest in what I was wearing once the honeymoon was over, both literally and figuratively. Where he’d been romantic and chivalrous prior to marriage, he was mostly absent and preoccupied after.
I blame myself. I’d been fast approaching thirty-five when he swept me off my feet, and could hear that clock ticking. Tall, handsome, with a successful business to his name, he was a dream compared to some of my previous loser boyfriends. Mom always said it was my core of steel that attracted the weakest guys out there, but even she had declared Rob a ‘keeper.’
There’d been signs—even early on—I chose to ignore. The fact he took more time than me getting ready in the bathroom should’ve been one. The frequent hunting or fishing trips with his buddies another. Then of course the constant arguing about me working outside the house when he preferred me at home. I’d been waiting for the last straw to walk out of the house, when I discovered I was pregnant with River.
Rob had been over the moon, and for the first time since we got married, his focus was entirely on me. Attentive, he insisted on going to each and every doctor’s appointment with me. He made sure I ate right, didn’t take off with his buddies for weeks at a time while I was pregnant, and it felt like we’d turned a corner. He held my hand during River’s delivery, and when I caught him brushing away tears after our son was born, I thought I couldn’t be happier.
That happy bubble popped three weeks later when he left for one of his hunting trips in Montana. He was gone for a month. His next trip, which had been last summer, was finally the last straw for me.
Asshole.
Not at all like the man downstairs, who may be a little rougher around the edges at first glance—and is far from the smooth charmer my ex could be—but is more of a man than Rob ever had the right to claim.
There may not be flowers and foot rubs waiting for me, but who needs those when all the simple, caring things he does add up to so much more.
My son already
adores him, and my mom is not far behind. I’ve crushed on him from a distance so long; the slide into real feelings seems to have come naturally. I don’t want to mess this up by being stubborn and unappreciative.
As I hang my new suede skirt on a hanger in my closet, I decide I should tell him about the package. His mention of River’s pj’s reminded me. Better he hear it from me than someone else.
I flip off the lights, sneaking a peek into River’s room to find him still sleeping in the same position, and head downstairs.
“Agent Gomez just called,” Mom announces when I hit the bottom step. I’d heard the phone ring, and figured Mom would answer. “He asked if he could pop in tomorrow morning. He has a few more questions. I told him that was fine. That okay?”
I glance over Mom’s shoulder into the kitchen and find Trunk’s immobile form glaring at me. Well, so much for good intentions.
Mom seems to pick up on the angry energy coming off him and mouths an apology, before saying out loud, “I think that’s my cue.”
“Night, Mom,” I call after her, my eyes never leaving Trunk’s, even as he mumbles his own goodnight.
“I was just about to tell you.”
“That sounds like a brilliant idea,” he snarls sarcastically.
“Look,” I start defensively. “This all happened when you were on your way to Monticello. There was no point in—”
“Tell me,” he grinds out, cutting me off.
Fuck. This is not going well.
I quickly give him the whole story about the box, the pj’s, and even the note. “I called Keith Blackfoot right away. He was here within half an hour with Agent Gomez.” I watch Trunk’s nostrils flare and quickly add to reassure him, “It’s all under control. Luna mentioned last night, they’re keeping close tabs on Rob.”
I realize my mistake when I see his eyebrows shoot up. “Let me get this straight,” he starts deceptively restrained. “A week and a half ago, you find a package from your cock-sucking ex, with a sick message for your boy—the same baby I just put to bed upstairs—it worries you enough to call the cops, who bring in the FBI.” I wince as his voice keeps rising. “You even talk about it last night at my club, with the wife of my president, but at no time during this past week-and-a-fucking-half, did you think I might like to know?” he thunders, and for just the beat of a second, I’m glad he’s standing on the other side of the counter.
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