EDGE OF REASON

by Barker, Freya

  “He’s right,” Ouray contributes. “Everyone’s gotta keep it together. We’ve got a clubhouse to fix, families to protect, businesses to run. Don’t get me wrong, we’re not going to stand by while someone tries to intimidate and decimate our club, but we sure as fuck are gonna do it smart.”

  Joe finds his way over to my side.

  “I’ve got a guy on the house. Jasper called.”

  “Good to know. Thanks.”

  “Jaime okay?”

  “Freaked. So fucking much going on at once, it’s hard to wrap your head around it all.”

  “Don’t forget to watch your back while you’re looking out for everyone else’s,” he reminds me.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Jaimie

  “GOD, IT SMELLS good in here.”

  I’ve been trying to keep myself busy, checking emails and doing some social media for Tahlula upstairs. Anything to keep myself from worrying and maintain some normalcy in the house, but after an hour or two my mind is drifting again.

  Ezrah is helping Mom pack cookies in containers. So many cookies, you’d think she was getting ready for Christmas. The air is rich with the sweet smell of vanilla and a hint of cinnamon, and my mouth immediately starts to water.

  “How many cookies do we need?”

  “We don’t need any,” Mom responds, slapping my hand when I reach for a snickerdoodle. “We just got a little carried away. Didn’t we, Ezrah?” It’s good to see a little smile on the boy’s face. I get the sense he hasn’t done much of that.

  “So why can’t I have one?” I pout, with a wink for him.

  “Because I’m making tea and you can wait.”

  “What are those?” I point to a rack of cookies covered in icing sugar.

  “Snowballs,” Ezrah answers. “Them’s the best.”

  “I had to look up a recipe. I’ve never made them before,” Mom admits. “But they’re Ezrah’s favorites and taste really good.”

  “So you got to taste them?”

  Mom puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Well, of course. We made them.”

  The small smile on his face turns into a gap-toothed grin. Score for Mom. Again. She really seems to have a way with him.

  When the water starts boiling and she turns to fill the teapot, I break a small piece off a snickerdoodle and pop it in my mouth.

  “I saw that.” My mother’s voice holds a familiar tone, one that places me back at six or seven years old when I nicked a cookie behind her back. She scared the crap out of me then. She always used to say she had eyes in the back of her head. I remember thinking it must be true.

  “You did not. You’re just guessing.”

  “I was right, though, wasn’t I?” She turns around and says to Ezrah, “Never could stay away from cookies, that one.”

  Sadly she’s correct. I have a serious sweet tooth and a particular fondness for cookies, which is why I try not to have any in the house. My thighs don’t need any more dimples, although Trunk doesn’t seem to mind the padding I’ve accumulated over the years at all.

  I grab sugar and milk while Ezrah fills a plate with an assortment on Mom’s instructions.

  “What’s in these?” I ask the boy when I take my first taste of the snowball.

  “White chocolate bits and nuts,” he says, his own mouth full.

  “Ezrah says his nana would use bits of toffee as well, but I didn’t have any,” Mom volunteers.

  “Your nana must be a great baker.”

  “She’s a cook in the big house.”

  My eyes dart to my mother, who takes the lead. “So she must be good at that too, if she’s cooking for a lot of people.”

  He shrugs and looks down at his hands, fisted in his lap. “Lotta people.”

  “Are these the same people you think hate you?” I ask as gently as I can, but his head snaps up all the same.

  “Theey do.” His response is fierce.

  “Are they the ones who hurt you?” Mom probes. He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to, it’s clear on his face. “And you’re scared they’ll hurt your nana or your sister.”

  He nods. “If I tell.”

  I put a hand on his arm. “Maybe you should talk to Trunk when he gets back, I bet you he could help.” I have no idea, really, but I don’t think pushing him to share more than he’s comfortable with right now isn’t going to do anyone any good in the long run.

  I change the subject and ask Mom if she already has plans for dinner. She takes one sad look at Ezrah and quickly follows my cue.

  By the time I hear a key in the lock, we’re on our second cup of tea, finish the last of the cookies, and Ezrah is starting to look bored. Both he and River, who woke up during our dinner discussion, perk right up when Trunk walks in.

  “Unk!”

  I have to hold onto his high chair, littered with cookie crumbs, when he starts kicking his legs to get out. “Hold up, buddy,” I caution him, doing a quick wipe of his face and hands with a tea towel before lifting him out.

  The moment his feet hit the floor, he speed waddles to the front door, where Trunk is kicking off his boots.

  Seeing their two heads bend together, as Trunk lifts my baby on one arm, never fails to make my insides melt. He walks into the kitchen, bending over Mom to kiss her cheek. Then he turns to Ezrah and holds out his injured arm for a fist bump. Finally he comes over to my side, leans down, and kisses me on the mouth. Something River feels he needs to be part of as he tries to horn in.

  Despite the chaos of our lives, they seem to have blended together so naturally. Almost effortlessly. There are times I wonder if I should be more worried than I am. Maybe it’s because what happens on the outside is so unpredictable, when that door closes us in, I’m left with this feeling of complete rightness. Like this is the way things are supposed to be.

  Now if only we can get the rest of the world on board with this.

  “What are those?” Trunk points at the baking rack with snowballs still sitting on the counter, popping one in his mouth in passing.

  “Ezrah’s nana’s cookies. They’re his favorite,” Mom volunteers.

  “That so?” He takes a seat at the head of the table between Ezrah and me, transferring River to his knee. “Your nana bake those for ya?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “He says she’s a good cook too,” Mom prompts.

  “Hmm. Not sure anyone can beat you, Sandra,” he tells her with a wink.

  “Nana can.”

  I hide a grin when Ezrah predictably jumps to his grandmother’s defense. Likely what Trunk was after in the first place. Compared to the almost complete lack of communication from the boy at first, anything that keeps him talking is a bonus.

  “Sounds like I need to up my game then,” Mom picks up the gauntlet and runs with it. “Wanna give me a hand, Jaimie? I think I may need some help if I’m going to do better than Nana.”

  “Well done,” I whisper, when I pass her on my way to pull supplies out of the fridge.

  She throws me a saucy wink. “I haven’t lost my touch. I remember a few particularly horrendous teenage years when I had to virtually stand on my head to get a word out of you.”

  “I remember no such thing,” I lie, knowing full well I put my mom through the paces. I was an ornery teen, if I say so myself.

  While we work in tandem in the kitchen—doing a little reminiscing while we prepare dinner—I notice Trunk and Ezrah have moved to the couch, River playing on the floor in front of the TV.

  The two sit side by side, appearing to be deep in conversation.

  Trunk

  “They’re not like the others.”

  I follow Ezrah’s gaze into the kitchen where mother and daughter are chatting and chuckling while they work on dinner.

  “No, they’re not,” I say, instinctively knowing what he’s talking about. It prompts me to add, “I have good people in my life, Ezrah. Friends, who don’t see or care about the color of our skin. I have
a sister who is half white, club brothers who are Latino, or Asian. I know a Native American cop. All of them are good people, boy. I’m not sayin’ everyone’s like that, but there’s enough of them.”

  The irony is not lost on me, since not that long ago it was me who looked at the world as a hostile place, and although I’ve been the subject of racism in my life, it was minor compared to what this boy’s been through.

  “The people Nana works for, they’re not good.”

  “If they’re the ones who hurt you, then no, they’re not.”

  “They was mad. Nana told me run, so I run for a long time. I hid, but the nights were cold. They found me anyways.” He slams his fist on his leg, clearly pissed at himself.

  Since he was found the first week of March, it would’ve been cold out. I just wonder how long he’d been out there before he was found.

  “How come your nana told you to run?”

  He shrugs. “Saw somethin’ I should’na.”

  “What’d you see, kid?”

  He stares at me for a long time, probably as eager to unload as he is scared for the consequences.

  “You’ll be safe right here, Ezrah. I promise.”

  I’m reminded of Joe’s words to me earlier, and hope I’m not biting off more than I can chew promising that.

  _______________

  “He what?”

  I disappeared upstairs to Jaimie’s bedroom when Sandra called Ezrah to set the table, after telling Jaimie I had to make a call.

  “He says he saw a bunch of guys with motorcycles unload a large truck of crates into an old barn. He snuck up to take a closer look, saw guns in the crates and tried to back away when one of the men spotted him. Kid took off, found his grandma, and she told him to run.”

  Ouray curses under his breath. “Bikers? In Monticello?”

  “No. In fucking Moab, or close to it.”

  “How the hell did he get to Monticello then?”

  I run a hand over my face, still rocked to the core with what the boy told me. “He ran.”

  “Fuck me. It’s a fifty-mile drive. How the fuck long would that be on foot?”

  “Says he stayed parallel to the highway. They almost caught him just outside of town, but he managed to elude them going through people’s backyards. They intercepted him when he was crossing the park. They beat him, carved him, and left him for dead. That was three days later.”

  “Jesus, that poor kid.”

  My sentiments exactly. Eight-year-old kid, three days and two nights on the run, scared out of his brain, near freezing overnight temperatures. It’s a miracle he even got that far. Makes me sick to my stomach.

  “Did he see them?”

  “If he did, he’s not telling. Scared for his grandma and four-year-old sister.”

  “Motherfuckers. Was it the bikers? Don’t tell me it was the Mesa Riders, I’ll fucking lose my shit.”

  “No. He keeps talking about the family. Didn’t say much about the bikers, other than one of them was wearing a bandana.”

  “What color?”

  “Black.” It was the first thing I asked when Ezrah mentioned it.

  “Fucking Reds,” Ouray concludes.

  Aside from the obvious patches and rockers, you can identify some of the MCs by the specific color of their bandana. Black is the Moab Reds’ color.

  “Sounds like.”

  “Think maybe I should give Tink another call. Find out who in the Moab area they’re in business with.”

  “That’d be good. Need to get that little girl and her grandma outta there.”

  I’m called down for dinner right after we end the call, and during the meal I keep a close eye on Ezrah, but if anything, he seems more relaxed. Maybe unburdening a little helped.

  Since the women cooked, I insist on cleaning up and get the boy to help me, while Sandra watches Jeopardy and Jaimie takes River up for his bath. I’m about to sit on the couch with Sandra when Ezrah pulls on my arm.

  “Yeah, kid?”

  “Can you tuck me in?”

  “You tired?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, then lead the way, my man.” I catch Sandra’s warm smile when I follow Ezrah.

  Upstairs we get waylaid by River, who is coming out of the bathroom grinning wide. The kid’s buck naked holding his mother’s hand.

  “Little dude, a little warning next time, okay? Woulda worn my shades.”

  Ezrah giggles next to me and I turn to him, surprised at the carefree sound. I catch Jaimie’s eyes; who looks equally shocked.

  “You heading to bed too?” she asks him, just as River tugs loose and waddles his naked butt into his room.

  “Tired.”

  “No problem. Don’t think any of us will make it too late tonight. I’d better get that baby in bed before he tears apart his room. Night, buddy.”

  She reaches out to ruffle his hair, but he ducks under her hand. He wraps his spindly arms around her waist, giving her an awkward hug before he darts into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

  “Did you see that? Ohmigod,” she mumbles, her eyes shimmering.

  I pull her against my body and kiss her forehead.

  “Big strides, Little Mama.”

  “I know. I overheard some of what he said to you.” She shakes her head. “Took everything out of me not to hug him tight.” Her eyes are filled with liquid fire. “Promise me those people will pay for what they did to him.”

  “They will, baby.”

  I look down when I feel a tug on my pant leg and find River smiling up at me. I bend down and scoop him up with my hand under his bare booty.

  “You really need to get some clothes on, Little Man.”

  “Ma-bah-oh-da unk!”

  “Whatever you say, buddy.”

  Jaimie plucks him from my arm under loud protest, but when I bend my head to kiss his forehead and his mother’s lips, he settles into the crook of her neck, his thumb in his mouth.

  “Meet me in the bedroom after?”

  She smiles. “It’s a date.”

  It’s almost an hour later before I walk into Jaimie’s room.

  Ezrah shocked me when he showed me the scar on his skinny chest and asked if I thought it would fade with time. I promised him we’d try to find a way to make it disappear altogether. That seemed to appease him. While he got comfortable in bed, I noticed the plastic bag holding his earthly possessions on the floor. One extra change of clothes, the flannel pj’s he slipped into, and a few pairs of socks and underwear. That’s got to change.

  I just did a quick tour of the downstairs, and locked the door behind Sandra when she headed for her apartment, making sure we’re secure for the night.

  “Gorgeous,” I mumble, my eyes glued to Jaimie’s pale, lush, and very naked curves in the bed. “I’m a lucky dog.”

  “You’re about to get luckier,” she says with a sultry little smile that has my Johnson plead in urgency while I try to get out of my clothes in record time.

  She scoots over to make room for me, but when I reach for her she pushes me on my back.

  “Let me.”

  Swinging a leg over mine, she sits down on my thighs, her small hands playing over my chest.

  “Kiss me, baby.”

  She gives me a sharp shake of her head when I reach for her. “Hands off, Titus Maximus Rae. This is my show.”

  “Shee-it.”

  Still, I grab onto the top of the headboard as she leans forward, her breasts brushing my chest as she kisses me. It takes almost superhuman strength not to take over as she explores my body with her hands and mouth, without even touching my dick.

  By the time she does, firmly fisting my cock as she positions herself on top of me, I’m almost shaking with need. I have to squeeze my eyes shut when she teases the tip along her hot, wet slit.

  “Open your eyes, honey,” she whispers. She looks so goddamn beautiful as she slowly impales herself on me. “I love you, Titus.”

  I lose the battle and my hands sett
le on her hips, encouraging her to ride me. “Fuck, James. Love you like nothin’ else.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Jaimie

  “I’M NOT SURE it’s a good idea right now.”

  Tahlula is silent for a moment on the other end. “Why?” she finally asks, and I hear disappointment in her voice.

  Trunk was picked up this morning for a meeting at the club, and I left the boys with Mom to look for some ideas on homeschooling for Ezrah on my computer. Since we’re still cooped up in the house, we may as well try to make the time useful. It’s been well over a month since he’s seen the inside of a school, and I don’t want him to fall behind too far.

  I was just about to print off some worksheets for him when Tahlula called about Trunk’s upcoming birthday this weekend.

  “There’s a lot going on, T. The club, Momma and Tse still in the hospital, Ezrah…”

  “I know, but it’s his forty-fifth birthday. It’s a big year. I don’t wanna ignore it.”

  “I get that, but why don’t we do something here? Something simple on the day of. Then when things settle down a little we can throw a big bash. It would be even better, since he wouldn’t be expecting anything.”

  She’s quiet, but I can hear the wheels turning.

  “Maybe we could do it at the club, once they finish the reno.”

  “How about a big cookout? The weather will be a little warmer in a few weeks. That would be fun. I can talk to Luna, see if she’ll talk to Ouray.”

  “That could work, but it can’t be any later than early May. I’m already getting big as a house with this baby, and given what happened with Hanna, I don’t wanna risk anything.”

  Tahlula gave birth to her daughter Hanna prematurely last year. I can understand her concern.

  “A, you’re not big as a house, and B, who’s to say this one won’t take his sweet time?”

  “His? Do you know something I don’t?”

  I grin. She’s been adamant not finding out the sex of the baby, wanting it to be a surprise. “Not really, you’re just carrying differently than with Hanna. You were all out front with her.”

  “See? Big as a house. I swear this baby has taken over my entire body. I can’t even shave my own legs.”

  “You could get waxed,” I suggest.