‘I take it that’s not the response you were looking for?’ John enquired.
Damn, he was perceptive. I had practised my poker face to perfection, but there was something about him, something magnetic that made it feel like he could crack my head open and unravel every lie I’d ever told. Maybe it was because I saw him as an actual human being, instead of the monsters I normally encountered. Donning my poker face with Emilio wasn’t a choice, it was a matter of survival.
Either way, I could count on one hand the times I’d seen John act so casually. Usually it was within the confines of the tiny office where he’d do money drops, when his mask would occasionally slip and he’d flash me one of those grins. But over the years those smiles had become less and less common. He always seemed like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders these days.
I shrugged. ‘No, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting company.’
He nodded, running his tongue over his perfect teeth as he looked me up and down. ‘I know.’
‘Screw you, asshole,’ I joked. ‘On my days off, I am the queen of sweatpants and bird’s-nest hair.’
He tipped his head back and laughed. The sound was almost startling. It had been years since I’d heard John Portland laugh. It made his eyes sparkle, something about the way the light bounced off his baby blues. There was always some other biker club to worry about, some transaction to officiate, some police heat to deal with. He. Never. Laughed.
I swallowed thickly, my cheeks suddenly pooling with blood. ‘I’ll go get ready,’ I muttered, hightailing it to my bedroom.
I chose something pretty, a blue spaghetti-strap dress – the exact colour of John’s eyes – that fell to just above my knees. It was only later that I realised I’d chosen it because of the colour match and that made me feel kind of jittery. I shouldn’t be looking at a married man’s eyes long enough to notice what colour they were, let alone get lost in them. Because I had Dornan, and he loved me, and he had always done right by me. Dornan adored me. He worshipped me. He’d risked everything to make sure I wasn’t sold to the highest bidder as a slave nine years ago. If my heart belonged to anyone, it belonged to Dornan. More importantly, it belonged to my son.
But the heart is a fickle thing, and my heart was lonely. In John Portland’s blue eyes I saw something I hadn’t seen in a very long time.
Kindness.
The boardwalk on Santa Monica Beach was teeming with people when they arrived. John parked in a tow zone. He didn’t have to worry about things like that. This was his town, and he took what he could get in the way of favours like free parking and generous discounts. He was less keen on the other perks offered to him on a daily basis, like free hookers and every kind of drug under the sun, even the ones the Il Sangue Cartel weren’t involved in.
The ice-cream parlour was packed, but it didn’t matter. John’s booth was always available. It had a permanent ‘reserved’ sign on it. The irony of having a booth in an ice-cream store didn’t escape him, but it sure came in handy when he needed to take his little girl out.
Only his little girl was getting older, and sweet, frozen dairy products and shiny plastic booths had lost some of the lustre they’d once had. Now she remained quiet when he took her out, barely touched her ice cream, and sulked for eighty percent of the visit.
He didn’t take it personally. He remembered being fourteen. Fourteen sucked.
Especially today. His only daughter had just had her heart broken by the local stud and it took every tiny bit of self-control John possessed not to ride over to the boy’s house and strangle him to death for making his baby hurt. The boy was a senior, and apparently he’d dumped Julz for an older girl, Shailene, whose loose reputation preceded her. John knew of her reputation because he’d had to personally escort Shailene from his clubhouse on several occasions after finding the underage girl drunk and making a play for some young prospect’s cock.
It reinforced John’s desire to keep Juliette away from his world, but at the same time she was forced into it, because there were only so many places he could keep an eye on her. And entrusting his wife to watch over their daughter was like throwing chum into shark-infested waters and then expecting the sharks to stay away. Caroline always found some way to endanger their daughter, either through sheer neglect, or by doing something completely inappropriate like taking her on a trip to score some blow and making her wait in the car. In the projects. At three in the morning.
Yeah, Caroline didn’t get to be in charge of their daughter anymore, and that was probably the only reason she was still relatively young compared to girls like Shailene.
John was glad for today.
‘What’ll it be?’ he asked Mariana and Juliette. Mariana was across from him, a look on her face that said she was still trying to figure out what was going on, and Juliette was beside him, crammed into the middle of the U-shaped booth.
Juliette shrugged, taking her headphones out. ‘Whatever.’
Mariana smiled, looking at the menu. ‘Surprise me.’
As John approached the counter, he heard Mariana talking to his daughter. Maybe because she wasn’t high like Caroline, he thought. No. Today was not about Caroline, or about worrying. Today was a goddamn day off from everything, and unless somebody called to say somebody was dying, they could fuck off until tomorrow.
The woman who owned the place knew his order by heart. ‘Add in a . . .’ He surveyed the glass display cabinet, reading each flavour as his eyes passed over the ice cream, ‘strawberry, as well.’
He didn’t pay for anything here. He’d stopped trying to years ago, after Didi, the owner, had told him his money wasn’t welcome. Before John had started frequenting the place, it had been robbed so many times that she was considering boarding the place up and declaring bankruptcy. But John couldn’t have that. If they closed, he would have had to take little Juliette to one of those crappy chain stores to buy ice cream, and they sure as shit didn’t have a view out to the ocean and the Ferris wheel like this place did.
As Didi bustled off to prepare his order, John couldn’t help but listen in to what Mariana and Juliette were talking about. It was quiet in this corner of the store, and the acoustics were excellent. He felt bad for eavesdropping, but he was worried about Julz and her poor broken heart, and he needed to make sure she was okay. She wouldn’t speak a word to him about what had happened, and so for her to be chatting up a storm with Mariana made his heart lift.
‘Most boys are idiots,’ Mariana was saying. ‘Especially the popular ones. What was his excuse?’
‘He wanted to fuck me,’ Juliette said plainly. ‘So I dumped him. And he told the whole school he dumped me first.’
John stole a glance at them, his hands balled up into fists, his head about to explode at the casual way his teenage daughter had just mentioned some guy wanting to fuck her. John debated getting the club together and cutting the boy’s dick off.
Mariana’s eyebrows looked like they were about to lift the ceiling off. ‘You should get your revenge on this boy,’ Mariana said. ‘Nothing dangerous, nothing that would lead back to you. But maybe a rumour.’
Juliette leaned in closer. ‘What kind of rumour?’
Mariana smiled. ‘Oh, you know, something like . . . he’s got herpes or something. Tell people you had to dump him because you caught him kissing his sister.’
Juliette laughed. Mariana looked directly at John and smiled, as if she knew he’d been listening the entire time. John grabbed the ice creams, which had been sitting in the holder for some time already, and took them over to the booth as if he hadn’t heard a thing.
‘My mama used to make ice cream from fresh cream and strawberries,’ Mariana said, taking a bite of her cone. Almost as soon as the words had left her mouth, she seemed to still, her eyes widening slightly, before she composed herself again.
If John had blinked, he would have missed it.
‘Do you see her often?’ John asked, his tone casual. ‘Your mama?’
> Mariana froze like a deer in headlights, bracing for the car that was about to plough headfirst into her.
Juliette poked her father. ‘Can I play the pinball machine?’
John reached into his pocket, taking a pile of loose change and giving it to her. Immediately, he felt lighter. He hated carrying shrapnel around. ‘Stay where I can see you,’ he said softly. Juliette rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. ‘Yes, Daddy,’ she said, climbing out over the back of the booth and heading for the small bank of pinball machines in the far corner of the ice-cream parlour.
John turned his attention back to Mariana, who was staring out of the window at the water, her ice cream starting to melt in her hand, forgotten.
‘You know, in all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never heard you talk about your family. I’ve never really heard you talk about . . . anything.’
She turned back to meet his gaze; her lips pressed together tightly. ‘Yes, I know that.’
John raised his eyebrows slightly. ‘How’s your ice cream?’ Great. She was gonna clam up before he’d even said three words to her.
She smiled, but her eyes remained impassive. ‘Cold,’ she said, holding it away from her like it was poisoned. ‘It’s cold.’
John laughed. Mariana remained stony faced and silent.
‘Jesus, you really don’t get out much, do you?’ he said, the humour gone now.
Her lip curled up, an amused smirk. ‘It took nine years for you to notice that?’
Nine years. Christ. They’d been working together for nine years, and their conversation had barely gotten past the weather. There had been that one time, when he’d taken the photo from her, and the other time, when he’d given her the burner phone with his number programmed in. He’d wanted to help her, but she hadn’t called him once. Not ever.
‘You never answered my question. Do you see your mama very much? I know Dornan and Emilio keep you busy in the office.’
‘I don’t, no. You see your wife very often? I know Dornan and Emilio keep you busy with . . .’ She paused for a moment. ‘. . . whatever it is a president does.’ She waved her hand at the tattoo on his neck that marked him a Gypsy, before returning her eyes to the water that lapped at the Santa Monica shore.
Wow. Talk about sucker-punching him in the gut with a dig about Caroline. He went to bite back, but then he realised: she was deflecting his questions, diverting his attention. She was like this ghost that was always around. He spent several hours with this woman every week, and beyond her name, he didn’t know a damn thing about her. He knew that she was stuck here, but she’d never told him why. And Dornan wasn’t one to offer up specifics, even when John pressed him. It seemed that Mariana Rodriguez was off limits in their conversations.
And that was a shame. Because he liked her. She was funny and kind, not to mention fucking beautiful.
Shit. He needed to not think of her like that. She wasn’t fucking beautiful. She was nobody. Christ! Under the table, his cock was straining against his pants again at the mere sight of her tongue running lazily across her bottom lip as she stared into space. Those lips looked so soft, he wanted to reach out and brush his finger across them. Jesus, you’re married, and she’s taken. Cold showers. Emilio. Ahhh yes, nothing made his cock go softer than thinking about his psychopathic boss.
‘You don’t like talking about your family, that’s OK. I don’t like talking about mine.’
Mariana got up and tossed her cone in the trash. Sitting back down across from him, she started shredding her paper napkin, making a neat pile on the table in front of her. John observed her as he finished his cone, unsure how to rescue the conversation.
‘What do you want to talk about?’ John asked. ‘I’ll give you the floor.’
He watched her face, waiting for a reaction, but there was nothing. As she pressed a hand to the window and continued to stare at the sea beyond, it occurred to John that she wasn’t ignoring him.
She hadn’t even heard him speak.
‘Can I go on the wheel?’ Juliette asked.
The three of us gazed up at the Ferris wheel. John shrugged. ‘Sure. You want me to come with you?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m not a baby, Father.’
Defiant little thing. If I had spoken to my father like that, I would have been smacked upside the head. Then again, if I’d talked to my father at all when I was Juliette’s age, he would have smacked me upside the head.
Thinking of him did nothing to lift my black mood. I should be happy, being out here like this, but I was fretting. Why was it suddenly necessary for John to babysit me? Had Dornan somehow figured out Murphy’s plan? Was he waiting to see if I shared what I’d learned the previous night with him? Or was this just a happy coincidence, that the very day after Murphy dropped a bomb on me and I then learned the truth – that my entire family had been murdered – that John had decided to take me out?
And John’s questions about my family were starting to irritate me. They made me suspicious. Was he baiting me to see if I’d confess knowledge of their deaths, only to punish me for making the forbidden phone call to Este’s brother? Has John been listening to the calls I’ve made through the burner cellphone, the one he gave me, this entire time?
So many questions. I didn’t know who to trust. Had he brought me out with Juliette so I felt more comfortable, so I let my guard down?
Well, he wasn’t getting anything from me. Not one iota. If I was wrong, and this was innocent, I’d apologise later.
Maybe.
Once Juliette was riding the Ferris wheel, John turned his attention to me again. I’d been expecting it. He was as stubborn as me.
‘So, you don’t like talking about your family,’ he said, lighting a cigarette. ‘What do you like talking about?’
I shrugged, not meeting his gaze as I squeezed the metal railing that separated us from the wheel. Did he have to pick at me like I was an open wound, begging to be torn open and exposed?
Sighing, he stood closer to me, so that our shoulders touched. I wanted to jerk myself away in protest, but my shoulder burned pleasantly where it touched his. I am such a loser, I thought to myself. Any tiny bit of human contact and I’m fighting to keep my hands to myself.
I was so deprived of affection, a casual touch of someone’s shoulder against mine sent a thrill through me. Not just anyone, though. There was something about John that did it.
I felt heat rise in my cheeks. I couldn’t afford to think like that.
‘Tell me something about yourself,’ John pressed me. ‘Tell me anything.’ He’d angled his body so it was achingly close to mine, his hips twisted so that his stomach was inches away from my ass. And he was talking directly into my ear, so close I could feel his breath on my neck.
I shook my head resolutely. ‘No.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that he looked almost amused. ‘Where are you from?’ he asked, stepping back a little as we watched Juliette go around and around.
I eyed him warily, shaking my head. His questions made me mad. I would tell him nothing.
John sighed. ‘You had a son.’
I wanted to punch him in the face. Was he part of this, then? Was he working with Murphy? Was he trying to find out where Luis was, so he could kill him? I whirled to face John, jabbing my finger into his hard chest as a look of surprise spread across his face.
‘Do you really think if I had a son, I would be standing here with you?’ I asked, gritting my teeth. How dare he? He had no right to talk about Luis. No right.
He considered that for a moment. Leaned back, putting space between us as he took another drag of his cigarette. He dropped his gaze, staring at the lit end as if he was pondering something, before levelling his eyes at me once more. His stare was intense, but I didn’t look away. I wouldn’t back down.
‘You carry a photo of a baby around, but he’s not your son?’ John asked dubiously. ‘Okay, whatever.’ And I could tell he was offended that I wouldn’t tell him a
nything.
He was hurt. And somehow I knew that he was telling the truth. That he wasn’t trying to get information from me to hurt me. I had an overwhelming feeling that he was on my side. Call it intuition, call it gut feeling – but suddenly I felt terrible for assuming the worst of him.
I hated to lie – especially to someone who was trying to be nice. But I did. Because he’d been Dornan’s best friend forever, and he’d worked for Emilio almost that long, and one more person knowing about my son was one too many. I thought of Murphy, of the way he used Luis as a pawn against me, and how effortlessly it worked. I couldn’t handle Emilio Ross doing the same thing. Not to mention Dornan’s reaction if he found out that I’d kept the knowledge of my child from him all these years. He’d never forgive me for lying to him about it, even if it was technically only lying by omission.
‘He was my baby brother,’ I said, skimming the murkiness of the past to extract and craft a suitable lie. ‘He died a long time ago. So don’t make things up to try and bond with me, John. Do I look like somebody’s mother to you?’
He looked disappointed. He didn’t respond.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said finally, dropping his cigarette butt and crushing it under his heel. ‘I just assumed, is all.’
‘It’s fine,’ I said, feeling like a fucking bitch for lying to him, nice, dependable John. ‘I can see how you’d think that.’
But I clung to my secrets. My son was already in danger, our future together seemingly impossible. They couldn’t have his memory, too.
‘Like I said, I’m nobody’s mother.’ I snorted. ‘I’d make a lousy mother, anyway.’
John let out a breath, turning to watch as Juliette’s chair descended slowly and she was let off the carnival ride.
‘You did more motherly things for her in the past hour than her actual mother’s done in years,’ he said, and my heart broke a little for the both of them.
‘John—’ I started.
‘It’s fine,’ he said, echoing my previous sentiments. He started towards Juliette. ‘Let’s go.’
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