As I sit there, holding my boy close, his little tummy starts to growl.
“You hungry, bug?” I ask him, ruffling his hair.
“Yeah,” he admits. His eyes light up as he gives me his most winning grin. “Can we go get ice cream?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say no, but I stop myself. After all, what’s one ice cream? I still have twenty-four dollars and fifty-eight cents. It’s hardly anything, but it’s enough money to bring some joy to a little boy’s heart. If I don’t get anything but a coffee for myself, treating Noah will cost me less than three bucks.
“You know, what?” I say. “Sure. Let’s go get you some ice cream.”
Noah lets out an elated yell and bounces up off the couch like he has springs on his feet. It makes me laugh. Which makes me realize I haven’t laughed in a while. Determined to let go of my problems for an hour and just be Noah’s mom, I grab my purse and lock up the apartment. We descend the staircase to my car, Noah carefully navigating the steep steps, and I push away the thought that I’m needlessly wasting gas. Then I drive us the two miles to the Downtown Diner, which is the only place I can think of that serves ice cream.
I haven’t been to the Downtown in years. Since I was in high school, in fact. But as always seems to be the way with diners like this, the Downtown is timeless, and everything is pretty much the same as I remember it. Noah and I slide into a booth, and soon the waitress appears, holding a plastic cup full of crayons for Noah. I order a cup of black coffee for myself and a bowl of chocolate ice cream for him, and Noah gets to work drawing all over the placemat.
As we wait for our order, I scan the mostly-empty diner, and notice that there are voices coming from the back room. Curious, I look over, and what I see makes my blood go hot and cold at the same time.
It’s a group of Lords, in their leather cuts.
And in the middle of them is Cas Watkins.
9
Cas
It’s funny how quickly life returns to normal after you’ve been gone for a while. It didn’t even take me a week to fall back into my normal routine like I’d never been gone at all.
I’m making my usual protection rounds, going around to all the businesses we watch out for and getting updates from the owners. I’ve pretty much finished the rounds, and ended up here at the Downtown Diner, where a bunch of the brothers are already gathered for a big, greasy hangover breakfast-for-lunch. The partying last night at the clubhouse got a little out of hand, even for us, and more than a few of the men must have some wicked hangovers.
Last night was a good thing for the club, though. After the tensions of the past few weeks, it seemed like last night the fever seemed to break a little, and we were back to partying like brothers. Like a family. I have no illusions that some of the hard feelings about which direction to look for new business have evaporated. I know that’s not the case. But I’m hoping they’re not a sign of a bigger rift to come.
We’re sitting around a big table in the back of the diner, and Tweak is telling some fucking ridiculous story — probably half made-up — about some guy he went to high school with who got pulled over for speeding when he’d been drinking.
“The stupid fucker put a handful of change in his mouth, because someone had told him that copper and silver make the smell of alcohol go away,” Tweak is saying, already laughing and shaking his head. “Turns out, he can’t get the coins out of his mouth before the cop shows up and has him roll down his window. So when the cop starts asking him questions, the guy starts choking and spitting the coins out of his mouth like a slot machine!”
Tweak barely gets the last words out before he’s shaking with laughter, slamming his hand down on the table like he can’t get his breath. The other guys are laughing, too, because watching Tweak tell his stories is almost always more entertaining than the stories themselves.
Anyway, it’s still good to be there laughing with the brothers, even if I’m mostly laughing because Tweak’s full of shit. He’s swearing up and down, insisting it’s true, when I happen to glance over and see a girl sitting at a booth over by the front door.
For a second my brain doesn’t quite register who it is. Then I realize why.
It’s Jenna Abbott. There’s no mistaking that body.
But her hair’s s totally different. It’s a dark brown, instead of the honey blond I remember her having. She must have dyed it.
It looks… good. Hot, even. My dick thickens in my pants in agreement with my brain.
But it’s weird to see her as a brunette. So even though I know it’s her, I keep staring, then trying not to stare and looking away, then cutting my eyes back at her and staring again.
The years have definitely been good to her. She’s changed a little bit — the angles in her face are a little more pronounced, and she’s lost some of her adolescent softness. Her waist is slimmer, her breasts fuller. But one thing is the same: she's still a fucking knockout.
Something else has changed, too — so subtle that at first I don’t notice it. It’s something about the way she’s holding herself. Tightly, almost like she's afraid she'll shatter. She sits, almost ramrod straight, the cup of coffee she’s ordered clutched in both hands. The way she’s holding that mug, it looks like she’s almost afraid it will fly away if she lets go of it.
This isn’t the carefree girl I remember from when we were kids, I can tell right away. The girl who never seemed to take anything all that seriously. This Jenna looks like she’s carrying the weight of the whole world on her shoulders. Looking at her now, it makes me wonder what life has done to her in the last five years, to change her like this. It makes me wish I could turn back time for her, and make all the bad things go away.
At first, I think Jenna hasn’t noticed me or the brothers back here. I feel myself gathering my legs under me, getting ready to go up and say hello to her. Then, just as I’m shifting my weight, she glances over. Somehow, just by the way she locks eyes with me, I realize she knew I was here all along. I give her a slight nod and she nervously looks away toward the other side of the booth. I start to stand, and my eyes follow hers to see what she’s looking at.
And realize that I’ve been staring at her so intently I didn’t even see there’s someone else sitting there with her.
It’s a little boy, with brown hair. He’s coloring on a placemat. A small bowl with a spoon in it is sitting next to him.
Her kid. Just like Angel said. Somehow, seeing her like that, I’d forgotten.
And then, for some reason, I shift my weight back into my chair and don’t go over.
10
Cas
The murmur of my brothers’ voices washes over me as I continue to sit there in silence. In my mind’s eye, I flash back to the last time I saw Jenna. It’s almost five years ago now. Hard to believe.
Jenna came back to Tanner Springs for the summer at the end of her freshman year at the university. Somehow, even though Jenna has always been smart as hell, she’d managed to flunk out of college. She came back to town with her tail between her legs, swallowing her pride to face up to her father’s wrath.
It was funny: Jenna had never been much of a wild thing when she was younger, but that summer she seemed completely changed. She spent a hell of a lot of nights partying with whichever group of friends she happened to be out with, and because of that, our paths crossed more than a few times.
Looking back on it now, it was probably inevitable that we were going to hook up eventually. Jenna and I had been circling around each other for years, truth be told. By then, I’d been around the block with enough girls that I could usually tell by just a glance when one of them was waiting for me to make a move. With Jenna, it was a little tougher, but I’d catch a little flicker of something in her eye, or see the way her lips parted when she knew I was looking at her. She had the most fuckable goddamn mouth I had ever seen. When she was around, all I could think about was what it would feel like to have those full, pouty lips wrapped around my cock. A
nd judging from the way she looked at me, I was pretty sure she was willing.
I wasn’t wrong.
I ran into her one night at a big-ass bonfire someone had set up at an abandoned farmhouse outside of town. It was the end of August — way too hot for a bonfire — and the night had one of those end-of-summer blowout feels to it. I knew from Gabe that Jenna had pulled her shit and her money together over the summer and managed to get herself enrolled at a community college about an hour away, to try to make up the credits she’d lost by failing out at the state university. That night, she acted like she was looking for a last hurrah, as well.
Normally, Jenna didn’t drink all that much when she partied — though she would dance with a wild abandon you couldn’t help but admire — but she seemed like she was a couple beers in when she strode up to me in the dark with a saucy smirk on her face and a challenge in her eye.
“Haven’t seen you around much these past few weeks, Cas Watkins.” Her chin lifted toward me, her mouth slightly open in that tempting pout that always made me want to pull her lips down onto my waiting cock.
It was true, I hadn’t been around much. I’d stopped going to as many parties with the townies I’d gone to high school with. I’d recently begun prospecting with the Lords of Carnage, and the club was taking up a lot of my time.
“I didn’t figure you’d notice,” I drawled back at her, curving my lips into a lazy grin that I knew from experience drove girls wild.
Jenna blushed, but the alcohol made her bold. “I’m leaving town tomorrow.” Glancing over toward where all our vehicles were parked, she added, “How about taking me for a ride on that motorcycle of yours?”
It was my first bike, an old but serviceable Harley that I’d gotten for free from one of my uncles who wanted to get it out of his garage.
“You sure you’re in shape to take a ride?” I teased her, nodding toward the beer.
“This is only my second one,” she protested, holding it up to show me. “And besides. I won’t be the one driving.” Jenna took a step toward me, until she was close enough that I could smell the faint perfume of her shampoo. “I trust you,” she said softly.
I was used to girls throwing themselves at me — even flat-out propositioning me — but with Jenna it kind of threw me for a loop. I’d spent so much mental energy keeping a wall up between me and her because of her brother that having it knocked down like that knocked me off my guard a bit. My cock jumped in my pants as I imagined how it would feel to have her body tight against my back as we rode.
“You ever been on a bike before?” I asked her.
“No,” she breathed, looking into my eyes. Suddenly, it somehow felt like we were talking about something else. “But you know what to do. You’ll teach me.”
I put her on the back of my bike and took her out into the country, driving just fast enough that she clung to me and pressed her breasts against my back as we rode. My cock was like a fucking iron rod the whole time, and by the time we arrived at the lot with the old motor home a distant cousin of mine used as a hunting cabin sometimes, any final resolve I was hanging onto had melted away into the night.
I broke the lock on the motor home, pulled Jenna inside, and took her once, then twice, the two of us writhing and clutching at each other until we were both drenched with sweat and exhausted. Eventually, we fell asleep, with her in my arms, and didn’t wake up again until right before dawn. I took her once more before we left, then drove her back to town. I dropped her off a block away from her house, and she kissed me deep and long before dashing off through a neighbor’s yard toward her back door.
The next day, she caught holy hell from her dad about staying out all night. I heard about it from Angel, who of course had no idea that it was me she’d been out with, or what she’d been doing. To this day, I’ve never told him. And I don’t plan to. It was maybe the best night and the best sex I’ve ever had in my life — the culmination of years of pent-up feelings and desires. But both Jenna and I knew it was a bad idea. A mistake. Even though it felt better than any other mistake I’ve ever made, before or since.
Sarge’s bark of laughter as one of the brothers tells a joke brings me out of my reverie. With a start, I glance over at Jenna’s booth to see that she’s paid her bill and is standing up. She holds out her hand, and the little boy takes it. Together, the two of them walk out the door. My throat constricts a little as I watch them leave. I’m not sure why.
I should have said hello, I think. Well, fuck it. I’ll wait for the right time, whenever that might be.
Back at the clubhouse, I can't stop thinking about Jenna. I’m hanging out at one of the low top tables with Angel, playing Texas Hold’em and drinking beer. Jewel’s still out with her fucked up hand, so one of the prospects is behind the bar, looking kind of harried.
“The board gives me a straight flush,” I announce, laying my cards out on the table.
“Goddamn,” Angel swears, throwing his hand down in disgust. “That’s the third hand in a row you’ve won.”
“You sure you don’t wanna play with one of the prospects?” I kid him. “Up your chances?”
“Fuck off,” Angel tosses back. He moves to grab up the deck when Rock’s voice explodes toward us from over near the bar.
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Rock yells. “How hard can it be to make a Red Rooster? It’s just fucking beer and tomato juice!” He flings the glass he’s drinking from toward the floor, emptying its contents with a splash, then slams the mug back down on the bar so loud the prospect jumps a mile high.
Angel snorts. “I don’t know how he can drink that shit,” he mutters.
“Just give me a goddamn beer!” Rock bites out. The shaking prospects reaches for the empty glass, and Rock explodes again. “Give me a fucking clean glass!”
“Holy hell,” I chuckle. “That prospect must be pissing himself.” I’m guessing some of this is just for show, to test the prospect’s mettle. But Rock is definitely particular about his drinks.
And then, as Angel and I are chuckling at the show in front of us, the germ of an idea takes hold in my brain.
“Hey,” I say, leaning over. “Didn’t you say your sister was a bartender in the city?"
“Yeah,” Angel replies absently, and then his face transforms into a frown. “Wait. Are you seriously suggesting my sister should be a club girl?” His fist tightens around his beer bottle.
“Fuck, brother, not a club girl,” I laugh, spreading my hands. “A bartender. Hey, you said she needs a job. And she's your sister. Nobody here will touch her."
11
Jenna
Three days and endless applications later, I still have no job and I’m feeling more desperate than I ever have in my life.
It’s time to do something I hoped I’d never have to do.
Sam’s Pawn Shop is about half a mile away from downtown in an aging strip mall, between a nail place and a sad little coffee shop that never has any customers. It’s the only place in town I can think of to do this. I hate the thought of coming here, because I know Sam from when I was a kid. Back then, he used to own an appliance repair place, and my dad swore he’d never buy his appliances from anywhere else. Of course, when the big box stores started moving into Tanner Springs, little places like Sam’s shop couldn’t compete, and he had to close down. So now, he does this instead.
I take Noah with me to the pawn shop. Partly it’s because I don’t have anyone to leave him with. But partly it’s because I’m hoping Noah will distract Sam from asking too many prying questions.
I pull into the parking lot of the strip mall, and easily find a spot right in front of Sam’s shop. After helping Noah out of his car seat, I square my shoulders and put on a bright, carefree smile. Then I push open the door and say a quick prayer.
Sam is sitting at the counter clipping his fingernails when I walk in. He looks up, startled, like he’s not all that used to having people walk into the shop. It’s clear he doesn’t recognize me, though
he’s eyeing me like he’s trying to figure out if he knows me. Granted, he hasn’t seen me in many years. Plus, my hair is a different color now. My heart jumps a little: maybe I can get through this whole thing without him realizing who I am. Then I realize that I probably have to give him my name and my ID if I want to be able to get my pawned item back, and my heart sinks a little again.
“Hi,” I say. I decide not to give him any hints yet. “I have something I’d like to pawn.” Duh. Of course I do. What a dumb way to start. I smile, too wide, to compensate for sounding like an idiot. “It’s this ring.”
Reaching into my pocket, I take out the small box where I’ve put my mother’s engagement ring. It almost broke my heart to take it off the chain around my neck. I was afraid I’d start crying in the pawn shop if I did it here, so I left the chain at home and brought the ring like this instead.
Sam is still peering at me curiously, his head cocked, when he takes the ring from me. He breaks my gaze and looks at it, holding it up to the light. “Nice,” he remarks. “Wedding ring?”
“Engagement,” I correct him. “Not mine.” He looks at me sharply. “I mean, it was my mother’s,” I stammer. “The ring belongs to me, though.”
A flicker of something crosses his features. Recognition? If it is, he doesn’t say anything. For a moment, he says nothing. Then: “Hold on just a second. I’ll be right back.”
He leaves the ring on the counter in front of me and disappears into the back of the store. I wait for two minutes, three minutes, trying to be patient. Noah gets tired of waiting by my side and wanders off to stare at the rows of chain saws, guitars, amplifiers, and electronics.
GUNNER: Lords of Carnage MC Page 23