by West, Dahlia
Shooter muttered something she couldn't quite make out and suddenly there was a strange tapping on the door. It sounded like metal. A scream caught in her throat. A knife. He had a knife. And he was here for her.
"Hayley," another, calmer voice, stated firmly. One she didn't recognize. "Look through the peephole again, sweetie."
Hayley stood frozen for a moment then slowly, reluctantly, leaned up on her toes. The darker haired man standing next to Chris was holding up a badge. A badge. Not a knife. Better. But not by a whole hell of a lot, she decided.
Well. She hadn't done anything wrong. She'd paid for the room. She hadn't stolen anything or broken any laws other than tax evasion. She wasn't sure, but she thought maybe RCPD had better things to do than go after undocumented workers.
She pulled her hoodie tighter around her, and opened the door. "I-" she stammered. "I didn't do anything."
"Take the chain off the door," the cop requested.
Hayley frowned at him. "But-"
"Hayley," the cop said, growing impatient. "I want to see inside your room."
"Why?" she asked, confused.
"To see if you're alone."
Hayley bit her lip, shut the door, and slid the chain off the door. Shooter shoved his way in immediately. The cop followed, less agitated than his friend. The other two remained outside. Hayley stood as close to the door as she could and still be inside the room. Cop or no, she was ready to bolt.
"What the fuck was going through your head?!" Shooter roared.
"Shooter," the cop warned.
Hayley flinched. "What?"
"I want to know what the fuck you were thinking. Who brought you here? You can’t just leave the bar with any random person," Shooter said through his teeth.
Hayley blinked at him then looked at the cop. Finding no reprieve, she looked back at Shooter. "No one brought me back. I took a cab. I only just got here."
Chris rocked back on his heels. "A cab."
She reached into her pocket and fished out the receipt. She handed it out to the cop. She really didn't need to justify herself to anyone. Especially not to Chris Sullivan, but if it made him leave faster, then she would.
The cop glanced at the receipt, set it down on the dresser and gestured for Sullivan to leave the room. "It's fine. She's fine. She took a cab."
The cop steered Shooter out the door and followed him. She stood in the doorway gaping at the four of them.
"You did the smart thing, Hayley," the cop said in what was clearly his cop voice. "Don't walk home alone. And don't accept rides from anyone in the bar. You don’t know who’s safe to go home with."
"I-" Hayley began but she was cut off by a familiar maniacal giggling. She looked down at the ratty carpet and sighed.
"Who's that?" Shooter demanded.
"I don't know," she replied.
"What the fuck is he doing standing in the walkway?" Shooter asked loudly enough for the Giggler to hear. The giggling abruptly stopped. "Slick, who is that?"
"I don't know!" she snapped, losing patience. "Just an asshole."
"An asshole," Shooter repeated, eyeing the guy. "What did he do?"
"Nothing."
"Fuck me,” he growled “Hayley," he said, his tone full of warning.
"Nothing!" she repeated. "He didn't do anything. He doesn't do anything. He just...."
"What?"
"Knocks on the door."
"Knocks on the door."
She sighed. "Late at night. When I'm trying to sleep. I'm sure he thinks it's funny."
Shooter started toward the guy, but the cop put an arm out and got ahead of him. The guy started to retreat, but the cop flashed his badge. "Sir, step out into the walkway, please."
"Why?" the Giggler snarled. "I ain't done nothing."
"Step out into the hallway." The Giggler reluctantly stepped out. "Are you harassing this woman?"
"What? Fuck no! I'm not harassing no one!"
"You knock on her door?"
The Giggler shrugged. "Sheeit. Maybe once."
"Once?"
"Maybe twice. A man can ask, right? That's still allowed."
The cop pulled himself up to his full height. Even out of a uniform, he looked positively lethal in his black jeans and tight fitting black t-shirt. "Just so we're on the same page. You knocked on this woman's door. Twice. In the middle of the night. Propositioning her for sex."
"It's just a joke," the Giggler protested. "Like she said. I was just being..."
"Neighborly?" the cop suggested.
Shooter took a menacing step forward. As though he sensed he might lose control of the situation, the cop took the Giggler by the arm and gently steered him further back from his angry friend. "Sir. I'm going to need to see your identification."
The Giggler glared at the cop. "But I ain't done nothin'!"
"If that's true then it'll just take a second."
The Giggler reluctantly pulled out his wallet and handed the cop his I.D. The cop glanced down at it and slid his cell phone out of his jeans pocket.
"What- what are you doin'?" the Giggler asked.
The cop held up a single finger. He spoke quietly into the phone, relaying the Giggler's personal info. Then he looked up at the Giggler sharply.
"Sheeit," the giggler muttered.
*************************
Ten minutes later the Giggler was handcuffed by an on duty patrolman and pushed into the backseat. He was squalling nonstop about being railroaded and the patrolman patiently explained the statute of limitations on failing to appear in court on a meth charge. For the third time.
Chris was planted a few feet from the squad car, near his bike. Occasionally he glanced up to Slick's room. She'd bolted herself inside fairly early on but he could see the curtains twitch every so often.
"Doc," Chris called quietly, and when Caleb turned to look, Chris jerked his chin at the squad car.
Doc sighed. It was obvious he was over this shit, but he spoke quietly to the uniformed officer then slid into the front seat of the squad car and began typing quickly on the keyboard of the cruiser's on board computer.
A few minutes later, he hauled himself out of the car, waved the officer away and sidled up to Chris, Tex, and Hawk. "She's a junkie. Busted for prostitution more than once."
"Mother fuck me," Chris growled.
Doc grinned. "Kidding," he said good-naturedly, ignoring the look from Chris that said certain death was imminent. "Hayley Crystal Turner, Hayley Turner, Crystal Turner... no such person has a criminal record within the state of South Dakota. Of course I could be more thorough with a driver's license...."
Chris had already told Doc that Slick hadn't produced one for Maria. Doc was more concerned with taking down rapists, arsonists, and murderers and had little to no interest in barmaids.
Chris, again, looked up at Hayley's window.
"Just let it go tonight," Doc said, sounding exhausted. "I'm tired. You're tired. She's tired. Asshole’s gonna cool his heels in lock-up for a good long while. Justice was served here. Let's head home."
"She's not safe here," Chris declared.
"No. No she's not. But there's nothing you can do about it tonight short of kicking her door down and carrying her to your bike." Chris looked like he was actually considering this. Doc sighed. "Don't make me arrest you. Tomorrow. Fix it tomorrow." Instead Chris headed for the stairs. “Chivalry is not a defense against kidnapping!” Doc called after him.
Chris actually agreed with Doc. It was late. It was not the time to try to convince Slick that the Rainbow was the end of the line for Rapid City’s bottom feeders. But that didn’t mean he was just going to walk away. He rapped on her door. He could practically hear her debating whether or not to open it. When she finally did, chain on the door, of course, he scowled at her. He reached behind himself and grabbed his wallet. He took out a business card for the garage and handed it to her. “Anyone else bothers you tonight, you call me.”
She bit her lip and looked at
the card. “Why- why wouldn’t I just call the police?”
“Jesus, why are you busting my balls? Fine, Slick. Call the police! And when you’re done, you call me. I can get here faster.”
She glanced down at the card. “No one will bother me after this,” she said, gesturing to the squad car.
“It’s like you’re trying to piss me off,” he declared. “Anyone bothers-”
“Okay! I get it. I- I’ll call. If anyone bothers me. Which they won’t. But I’ll call if they do.”
Chris gave her a curt nod and walked away.
Chapter 4
Hayley made her way to Maria's the next morning with a little more pep in her step. She grudgingly thanked Shooter and his cop friend for that, albeit silently. Getting rid of the Giggler had resulted in a a far more decent night's sleep than she'd had since arriving in Rapid City. She wasn't exactly happy about four huge bikers invading her personal space, well, two invading her space and two standing sentry at the door, but they didn't press her for personal details and had left her alone after arresting the Giggler, so all in all it had been worth the trouble.
She stowed her bag in Maria's office and tied her apron around her waist. She'd lost a little bit of weight. Especially since moving to South Dakota. The room at the Rainbow didn't have anything like a kitchenette or even a hot plate and when she was off-shift she was too tired to walk to a nearby place to grab some food. Also, that kind of thing would hit her savings hard after a while.
She smiled at the regulars, warmed their coffee and served their lunches and decided that she'd splurge on a danish tomorrow morning and peruse the paper for a place to stay. Her shift went by pretty quickly, or maybe it just seemed that way because she wasn't hurting for sleep this afternoon. She cashed out, said goodbye to the other girls, and finagled her duffel through the swinging door out into the main bar area when the front door swung open and in stepped Chris Sullivan. Hayley frowned. He was alone and from her limited experience at the bar, he rarely, if ever, came to Maria's in the afternoons. Usually only on Fridays and Saturdays, Miranda had said.
She stopped. Face to face with him now was awkward because one the hand, he'd basically stalked her to her motel room last night. But on the other hand, he'd done it because he was worried about her safety and he'd also gotten rid of the Giggler. She reluctantly decided that the pros outweighed the cons and resumed her approach as his gaze zeroed in on her. He started toward her.
Meeting in the middle, Hayley said, "Um. Tell your cop friend thanks for getting rid of that guy." There. She'd said it. Now she could live her life knowing the scales of karma had been balanced once again. She started to step around him when he moved in front of her. She sighed inwardly, not really wanting to have an actual conversation with the man when he did worse than that. He reached down and grabbed her duffel off her shoulder. She was so surprised that she almost accidentally let go of the damn thing. Coming to her senses she gripped it tightly.
"Hey!" she cried.
"Let me carry this for you," he said. But he didn't say it in a way that sounded helpful and friendly. He sounded pissed.
"No! Why?"
"Because it's obviously heavy," he replied.
"Give me my bag," she demanded, yanking hard. It didn't work. He didn't let go.
"I'm in my truck," he announced.
"What?" she asked, bewildered.
"I drove my truck to work today," he told her.
She stared at him. The man was obviously unbalanced and no amount of apologizing was going to do anything about that. He couldn’t even carry on a conversation that made sense.
He sighed. "Slick." She stiffened at the insult. "I'm tired. It's been a long day. Get your ass in my truck so I can take you home with me."
Glaring at him, she said, "I’m not going anywhere with you."
He sighed again. "I had this all worked out in my head before I got here. But now I see you and I'm tired and I'm still pissed off at the stunt you pulled last night. I'm in no mood to argue with you."
She gaped at him. “What stunt? I didn't pull any stunt," she insisted, getting pissed herself. "I took a cab!"
"No," he said, leaning toward her. The glittering intensity in his eyes sent shivers down her spine. "What you did was sneak out the back door to avoid me."
"I-" she spluttered. "I did not." But she knew she had. She had felt him eyeing her most of the night. At the time she'd had no idea it was because he was some kind of crazed stalker, she'd just wanted to get the hell out of there and get back to the motel.
He smirked at her. "Slick, you gave our table to Miranda and you avoided looking at me so much at one point I thought you were gonna give yourself a neck injury."
Hayley scowled at him. "Well, I just think we should stay away from each other."
He shook his head. "That's not gonna happen, Slick. You're coming home with me. Where I can keep an eye on you. Where meth heads don't knock on your door at two o'clock in the morning."
Her chin jerked up a notch. "Why do you care? Nothing's changed. I mean, you're still even calling me ‘Slick’."
"Yeah, I am."
"Well....stop it."
"I think maybe I'll call you Slick a little while longer."
"Why?"
"To remind myself that I can be a real asshole sometimes." Hayley stopped yanking on her bag. His face softened and along with it, his voice. "Maria says you're a good waitress. She says I was unfair and I should eat crow to make everyone's life easier. So this is me eating crow."
She chewed on her bottom lip. She really did need a place to stay. A place with a real kitchen and a shower that didn't require a hazmat suit. But this man was crazy. Were hot meals and shower worth potentially being murdered in her bed? "I don't-"
"Jesus, Slick. Stop busting my balls. I screwed up. I'm sorry. Get. in. the. truck."
"I won't sleep with you," Hayley suddenly blurted out.
He snorted. Loudly. "I'm not that desperate," he replied.
Hayley let go of the bag entirely, her hands unconsciously pressing against her torso. His words felt like a punch in the stomach. She was thin. Pale, even. But she wasn't ugly. Even though she had no intention of sleeping with Chris Sullivan it still hurt like hell that he'd just announced to every in the bar that she was beneath him. She looked over her shoulder at the regulars, grateful that Saturday afternoons were not that much busier than weekday afternoons. She felt heat creep up her face.
**************************
Fuck. Chris had fucked up. Again. She'd been standing there, arguing with him, making him look like a damn fool, and worse, when she said she wouldn't sleep with him. Loudly. Like he was some kind of sexual predator. He figured she'd be so grateful after last night, after seeing first hand what kind of lowlifes stayed at the Rainbow, that she'd jump at a second chance at a decent place to stay. Instead she'd looked a cross between mad as hell and in fear for her life. And now she looked like he'd gutted her.
"I'm sorry, Slick. I didn't mean it like that. Will you just come home with me?"
“No!” she snapped. “Give me my bag!”
Chris suppressed the urge to curse loudly and handed her the bag. “Hayley, listen. I’m sorry. I wasn’t saying-”
“I don’t care what you were saying!” she told him and stormed past him, throwing open the front door.
He turned and followed her, past his own truck, and through the parking lot. "What I meant was, Maria told me that you had .... problems.... with your old man. And I'm not the kind of guy to take advantage of a woman who's recently had problems. All I’m offering you is a safe place to live. I need a renter, you need decent place. That’s it."
“Well…whatever,” she told him. “It’s just not a good idea.”
Chris fell into step beside her. “No. It’s a great idea. Staying at the Rainbow, that’s not a good idea. That place is not for you, Hayley.”
She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. “I won’t be there much longer. I’ve been l
ooking at other places.”
“Within walking distance of the bar?” Chris countered, immediately. He knew there was no such place.
He watched her chin jut up, defiantly. “I can take the bus during the day,” she told him.
“And eat up half your tips with cab fare clear across town at night?” he asked. “At least my place is only a few blocks from here. It wouldn’t burn so much of your money.”
“I- No. Just no,” she insisted, attempting to outdistance him. But he was taller and in much better shape and it wasn’t even much of a race.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re crazy!” she snapped, crossing the street. “You followed me home! And…and what are you doing now? Are you going to follow me all the way to the motel?”
“Yes. If that’s how long it’ll take to convince you that you can’t stay there anymore.”
She stopped short. “You can’t follow me!”
He grinned at her. “Obviously, I can and I am. You need to stop busting my balls. I already apologized. You are one stubborn woman,” he mused.
They finally reached the parking lot of the Rainbow. “I-” she told him. “If I say I’ll think about it will you leave me alone?”
He pretended to consider. “Not really. How ‘bout you think about it for 30 more seconds and then we get the hell away from this rat trap?”