“I’ll call them.” I was texting Snow as we were talking, asking him to call me when he got a chance.
“Thank you. I appreciate it. Now get out of my house. I need to tidy up for my company.” She stood from the table and brushed me off with her hand.
“Grams…,” I drew out in warning.
“Oh, stop. You know I’m only teasing. I’m too damn old for him, but it doesn’t mean I don’t like to browse the buffet.”
With a groan and chuckle, I stood and gave her a hug. “Love you, Grams.”
“I love you too, boy.” If anyone else had called me boy when I was sure as hell a grown-ass man, I’d have been pissed. With her, I laughed with fondness.
“Goodnight.”
“Same to you. Now shoo! Get on the road and be safe.”
Her laughter followed me as I stepped out into the early evening and trudged through the cold to the main house. I’d no sooner stepped through the door when my phone rang.
“Snow,” I answered as I threw enough shit to get me through the night in an old rucksack.
“What’s up? You sure are asking a lot of favors,” my old friend teased.
“Fuck off.” I grinned as I replied. Then I told him I was headed up there shortly and explained what my grandmother had said.
“No problem. I got you.”
“Thanks. And Snow?”
“Yeah?”
“Bro, you know if you ever needed me or my club, we’d be there for you. Even if you were wrong as fuck. I’d just beat your ass afterward.” A lopsided grin stole over my face.
A boisterous laugh carried over the line. “Likewise.”
“Later,” I said before ending the call. For not the first time, I wished he’d come with me and Raptor when we joined the Bastards. But I got that he wanted to go home.
I simply had not.
Raptor had tried to insist that Voodoo or Angel needed to go with me, but I wasn’t one to air my personal life in front of the club. They didn’t need to know I’d fucked my grandmother’s neighbor who was possibly half my age. They also didn’t need to know that I was inexplicably driving up there intent on checking on her. There was no real reason for me to want to, so I said I’d do it under the guise of appeasing my grandmother.
After I was on the road for a while, I thought about calling her. Grams had given me her number, but I figured she would be working. Instead, I called Snow to let him know I was getting close.
“You got a room I can stay in tonight? I’ve been thinking, it will be late by the time I get there. Grams’s bed was a twin, and that pull-out loveseat is uncomfortable as fuck.” The truth was, I didn’t trust myself to be sleeping across the street from Loralei. It made it too convenient and too much of a temptation to cross the road once again.
“Hell, yeah. Come on over to the clubhouse when you get here. I’ll have a room made up. Let me know when you pull into town.”
“Will do. Oh, and one more thing,” I said, tapping on the steering wheel.
“Boy, these favors are adding up.” He laughed.
“Put them on my tab,” I joked, then casually asked if he’d have someone swing by Loralei’s house to check on shit. “For my grandmother,” I added.
“Bro. All you had to do was ask, and I would’ve had someone check on her anytime.”
“Well, I didn’t know. Grams mentioned that she thought something was bothering her. Says she’s not one to ask for help, but—” I insisted. He was quiet.
“I get it,” he finally replied. I wondered if he really did.
We ended the call, but he called back briefly to tell me he sent a prospect by who said her vehicle was safely in the driveway and her lights were on in her home. They were making rounds and said they’d call me if anything was out of the ordinary.
Once I got closer, I called him again.
“Everything still seems good at her place. I even had Blue walk around the house to make sure nothing was out of place. Other than the porch light, that is. I’ve already got one of the prospects on that.”
“Thanks, bro. She was close with my grams, but I don’t really know her.” Which was true despite me having fucked the hell out of her the night before I’d left with Grams.
“By the way, I thought her name sounded familiar, and I was right. She worked at our strip club for a few months about a year ago,” he said.
“What?” Outrage jolted through me at the thought of men jerking their shit to thoughts of her tiny body undulating in front of them.
“Chill, she was a waitress. Jesus, don’t go telling Grams her friend was a stripper,” he said with a humorous tone. That only slightly mollified me. She’d still strutted around in a strip club. I knew what their waitresses wore.
“She’s obviously more than a friend of your grandmother’s from the way you responded to that information. You fucking her?”
“No!” Though I tried for indignation, I sounded fucking ridiculous. “Well, I did, but I’m not currently.”
“Of course you’re not, you’re driving,” he teased.
“Fuck off,” I grumbled, and he busted a gut.
“I never asked before. You alone?” he finally asked me when he finished laughing.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
“Is that wise?”
“I’m not flying my colors. No one should know it’s me.”
“We all have enemies. They don’t need to see your colors to recognize you. You’re the president of the Royal Bastards in Iowa. That’s pretty significant.”
He was right, but I wasn’t going to admit it.
“Let me deal with that.” I rarely pulled the technically-I-outrank-you shit, but I wasn’t going to answer to him. Friend or not.
“Roger that,” he replied, a little tighter than he’d sounded before. It told me that I’d offended him, though he’d never admit it.
“Anyway, I’m only a few miles out of town. I’ll see you soon.”
He sighed. “Love you, bro,” he said.
He made me feel like a dick. I shoved the feelings down, because goddamn it, I’d earned my position in my club. I was the top of the motherfucking food chain. “The feeling’s mutual. Thanks, I appreciate you, brother.”
“I told you. Anytime.”
We ended the call, and I drove the last few minutes in silence.
My internal debate continued as to whether I should check on her personally like I told Grams I would or be satisfied with what Snow could find out. Unfortunately, I knew what would happen if I stopped by to see her.
A coward I was not, but one feisty little woman had me questioning where my fucking balls were.
“A Little Bit Off”—Five Finger Death Punch
Two things were on my calendar for the day. Both were equally unpleasant but in very different ways. One was Kelvin’s incarceration anniversary date—yes, I tracked it—the other my coochie doctor appointment.
“Ms. Barnes? We’re replacing your Mirena today, correct?” the doctor said with a kind smile as she came in the room followed by the nurse. I nodded. “Okay, if you’re ready, you can lie back.” She gave me further instruction, which I followed since I’d done this before.
She seemed to be all up in my hooha for a long damn time.
“Ms. Barnes, when was the last time you checked for placement?” she asked from down in my personal area. Eye contact would’ve been nice.
“Uh…” I had to think. I usually checked for it after my period ended, but my periods had become infrequent, and I’d had a lot going on over the last few months. I couldn’t remember. “It’s maybe been a few months,” I admitted apologetically.
“I can’t seem to locate the threads.” She continued to work down there while she asked me a bunch of other questions. Then she did look up and narrow her eyes at me. “Wait… you answered ‘no’ to sexual intercourse on your questionnaire.”
“Well, it was only once.” My checks flamed. Not because I was uncomfortable discussing sex, but because I was rememb
ering that time in detail. Weird when my doctor had been all up in there.
Instead of chewing my ass, she chuckled softly. “Well, we need to do a pregnancy test then. I’d advise some tests for sexually transmitted infections as well. The only reason we didn’t do one when you got here was because you said you hadn’t been sexually active.”
“Well, I really wasn’t. It was only one time.” Well, one night and several times.
“You do know it only takes once to get pregnant,” the doctor said with a cocked brow.
“But he was older,” I argued.
The doctor laughed, then asked “Was he dead?”
“Of course not!” God, did she think I was a sicko?
“Then you can still get pregnant. Men do experience a decrease in sperm count and motility as they age, but it’s not unheard of for an older man to impregnate a woman. It would appear you lost your IUD at some point. Let’s start with the tests.” She covered my lady bits up with the paper sheet and stood up to peel off her gloves.
“I mean, I guess he’s not that old. Just older,” I clarified as she washed her hands.
She raised her brows. “Well, then let’s get those tests out of the way.”
That’s how I found myself peeing in a cup as my stomach bottomed out and my heart stuttered.
When she came back in, she had a printout and a friendly but slightly concerned smile. She took a deep breath before she shattered my world, and with it, my sanity.
“We won’t be able to replace your Mirena.”
Confused, I frowned at her. I asked the question, but I already knew the answer. “Why not?”
“Because you’re pregnant,” she explained as if she was talking to a simpleton. For a second, I stared at her, trying to make sense of what she was telling me. I didn’t feel pregnant in the least. There had to be a mistake. Then I started laughing.
My laughter ended in an unladylike snort. “You almost had me. I believed you for a minute,” I said as I wiped tears from my cheeks.
“You should, because you really are pregnant,” she insisted and handed me the paper with my test results. All the standard sexually transmitted infections were negative, but under the HCG row, there was a bold, all-caps PREGNANT.
“Holy shit.” I covered my mouth.
Everything else was a blur. All I was sure of was I had walked into my OB/GYN to get a new IUD and I’d left with an appointment slip and a due date.
Sitting in the small cab of my black truck, I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. I stared at the entrance to DS Customs, wondering if I was making the right choice. It was either this, or I called Ms. Margaret and contacted Decker through her.
Not my first choice.
That’s why I was sitting outside the custom bike and car shop in town, preparing to go in to ask for the man who had fixed my light and picked up my car. I knew he was friends with Decker somehow.
“Well, here goes everything.” I pulled on my gloves and wrapped my scarf around my neck. Then I pulled the hat down over my ears. Texas had never gotten this cold. Ugh.
The wind was bitter, and the skies were overcast. There was a storm system moving in, and I prayed it wasn’t so bad that Mel would close down over the next few days, because I really needed the money now. I thought about seeing if he needed me to work tonight.
The bell over the door rang as I pushed it open and rushed inside, shivering.
It was a different guy at the counter this time. He looked up with a kind smile that seemed out of place on his tattooed, bulky frame. The dude was big and scary. Until he smiled.
“Can I help you?” he asked in a growly voice more fitting for a, oh, I don’t know, maybe a grizzly bear.
“I hope so. I’m looking for Mr. Snow.” I flashed what I hoped was a friendly smile, but I was pretty sure came off more like a grimace.
His eyes narrowed slightly, and his smile faded a bit. “And you are?”
“Loralei Barnes.”
“And this is regarding?”
“He, uh, did some work for me. And I bought my truck from him—well y’all,” I replied. My heart was damn near bursting out of my chest, I was so damn nervous.
His head cocked, and he grabbed a phone from the counter. “I’ll be right back.”
He cast a glance over his shoulder at me before he stepped into the shop area. I would’ve thought he’d be able to hear better in the reception area, but maybe he thought I was some psycho stalker. I didn’t think I looked like a stalker.
Deciding I might look more human if I wasn’t bundled up like the abominable snowman, I removed my hat, gloves, and untied my scarf. I tried to straighten my hair out, but it was full of static, and I finally gave up.
I was starting to get nervous when the door opened and a guy who looked around Decker’s age came in. His beard was fuller than Decker’s close-cropped one, but it was also a little salt and pepper.
“Ms. Barnes, is everything okay with the truck?” He had a curious but sort-of friendly look on his face, which was at least a little comforting. Nervously, I glanced to the big dude who came back with Mr. Snow.
“Soap, I’ve got this. You can go finish up with Reaper.”
The guys at that shop had the weirdest names.
The one named Soap nodded and went back into the shop area. Mr. Snow returned his attention to me.
“The truck is fine.” I clenched my fingers, then twisted them together. “I, uh, was hoping you might be able to get in touch with Decker Pruitt.”
At Decker’s name, his friendly smile dropped. He didn’t look angry as much as wary. “I would think you’d have his contact information. Weren’t you friends with his grandmother?”
“I, well, yes, but I need to speak to Decker.”
“And you can’t call Margaret, why?”
It was evident he was going to make this difficult. Dammit. “It’s delicate. I’d rather not involve her in this.”
He still hesitated, so I continued. “I don’t expect you to give me his phone number, but if you could contact him for me and ask him to call me, that would be great. It’s really very important. I’ll give you my number.”
I was damn near pleading.
“I’ll call him, but I’m not going to make promises,” he offered.
“That’s awesome,” I gushed, then reeled myself in as I scrawled my number on a notepad with the shop’s logo on it. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
Dressing in my winter accessories again, I gave him a nervous smile and walked to the door.
“Ms. Barnes? Are you sure you’re okay?” he questioned.
It was on the tip of my tongue to be honest and tell him no, but I didn’t really know him. Instead, I took a deep breath, exhaled, and replied, “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just imperative that I speak to Decker.”
“I’ll do what I can,” he said, and I left. For a second, I banged my head lightly on the window of my truck. Pulling myself together, I got inside and started the engine.
When I pulled out of the lot, it was getting dark. Another weird thing about Iowa—it seemed like it got dark a lot earlier in the winter.
There was another truck in the lot that pulled out after me, and I wondered if it was Snow. My overactive imagination had him following me to see if I was plotting against his friend. At first I was nervous, then I giggled a little at my weird brain.
The shop was on the same edge of town as Mel’s, so I decided to stop in to grab a pizza. When I pulled in Mel’s Pizza’s parking lot, the other truck kept going. I really laughed then.
“You don’t get enough of us when you work?” Mel shouted out to me when I approached the counter. I gave him a wide grin.
“Never.”
“Your usual?” he asked me as he stepped out of the kitchen, wiping his hands off.
“Please.” I spent the twenty minutes while I waited checking my phone to see if Decker had called and I’d somehow missed it. Of course not. Fucker.
Pizza in hand, I left the
restaurant and continued home. A truck passed me going the opposite direction. I wasn’t sure, but it looked like the truck that had been at the custom shop. That weird brain of mine started working overtime.
Especially when the truck pulled into the gas station and, instead of stopping, came back on the road and followed behind me. It was an older white Dodge with a red front quarter panel on the driver side, which made it hard to miss.
“It’s a coincidence. Don’t get your panties in a wad. It’s a small town. You’re bound to see the same people more than once a day if you’re out and about.”
My ringtone sounded, and I cursed the timing. Blindly, I dug around in my purse for my phone. Once I located it, a quick glance told me it wasn’t a number I knew. My heart started racing again.
“Hello?” I put it on speaker and set the phone on the seat.
“Snow said you needed to talk to me,” Decker’s deep voice rumbled. There was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before.
I’d known I needed to talk to him, but I hadn’t given much thought to what I was going to say when I did. Suddenly the thought of telling him was terrifying.
“I—” I began, but the truck I’d noticed earlier passed me, cutting me off. I slammed on my brakes to avoid hitting him as he cut back over, and my phone went flying to the passenger floorboards. “Holy shit!”
“What the hell is going on?” he shouted as my pulse hammered and I gripped the steering wheel tightly. Shaking like a leaf, I pulled into the dollar store parking lot.
“Hang on,” I called out. I had to unbuckle to reach my phone.
“Hello?” I said.
“What. The. Fuck. Happened?”
“This truck almost hit me,” I stuttered out. When I’d talked to Margaret yesterday, I hadn’t wanted to admit that weird shit had been going on over the last couple of weeks. Except it seemed like one strange thing after another.
My porch light was only the beginning. Several times I had an odd feeling that I was being watched. Then I would’ve sworn on my life that someone had been in my house. Nothing was missing, things were simply “off.” Today, it had been the incident with that truck.
A Very Venom Christmas: RBMC: Ankeny IA Page 5