by Marata Eros
Kendra turns, spinning off the cap on a fresh bottle of OJ. Tipping her head back, she chugs about twenty percent.
“What if I wanted some of that?” I try to keep my bubble of laughter contained.
“Cooties,” Kendra states.
And that trapped humor escapes.
She arches an eyebrow at my guffaw. “You’re here on my sufferance alone.” Her chin kicks up. “You must be contaminated.”
I roll my eyes, flipping my palm out. Kendra slaps the chilled glass bottle inside my hand, and I repeat what she just did.
Now the orange juice stands at half full, but we feel better. “Need to be fortified for this.”
Kendra nods. “At least you don’t have to go in until when—three?”
“Yeah, and I hate to restate the obvious, but I’m not sure you’re aware, I do have my own apartment. I should probably move out of yours since I’ve been staying here all week and recycling my two outfits.”
Kendra snorts. “Yeah, but who gets sick of yoga pants or my other fav—leggings.”
“If I had your skinny ass, I’d wear them like a uniform.”
“I want a Kim Kardashian ass, just so ya know.”
I wrinkle my nose, thinking I want about twenty percent of a Kardashian butt.
Kendra watches my face. “What?”
“I think less might be more.”
We smile, then she asks me how stuff went at my parents’ house.
“Uh... okay. They were pretty shocked about this”—I touch my fractured cheekbone lightly—“but I guess they’ve resigned themselves to the force that is Temp.”
“Probably,” Kendra agrees dryly.
“What’s your plan today?” I ask, walking over to my oversized purse. Heaving the heavy bag on my shoulder, I grab my keys off the table and turn.
We very carefully don’t revisit the Puck convo. I haven’t figured it out yet anyway, so there’s that.
“Code,” she says.
“That’s probably why you’re so skinny. You forget to eat.”
“True,” Kendra admits.
She’s the only girl coder I know. All that computer geek stuff looks like a foreign language to me, and writing computer code has got to be the most boring thing I can think of.
Of course, Kendra’s not getting beat up, either.
I turn suddenly. “What about that guy, Perry?”
Kendra scrunches her nose. “He was a master dickhead. Like schooled and everything.”
“He thought you were cute,” I note.
“Oh. My. God. So let me just shelve my life and go with Mr. Asshole.”
My lips tweak. “There seemed to be something there, I’m just saying, and you’re a lot for most guys.” I pause for a sec. “He didn’t seem to mind the K Factor, either.”
“Holy cow.” Then she puts a finger to her slightly pointy chin. “I think there is some mythical dude out there I can’t mow over, and I’ll be excited then. And maybe he’ll be nice, and deep feeling and in touch with his emotional side.”
“Ah...”
She checks out my expression. “Oh, Temp, you need to just dream.”
I dream. I’ve been dreaming so hard, I never wake up. “And you’re sorta STEM-y,” I answer curtly.
Kendra nods. “Yeah, I’m a math-science chick. I gotcha.”
Bending at the waist, I throw my head upside down, my long hair flowing nearly to the floor. I ignore the pain in my cheek from the move and secure a hair tie around a high ponytail and right myself. After winding the mess on top of my head, I spear the loose knot with a hair stick I always have here at Kendra’s.
“That might come out,” she says.
My hair’s so damn straight, it’s really tough to get it to cooperate with any hairstyle except hanging, usually right in my face. “Whatever,” I say on a huff. “I’m already done with today, and it’s not even over yet.”
“Good luck with boss man.”
“Yeah.” I walk toward the door, keys dangling, and I’m thinking so hard, I almost forget to say goodbye.
Hand on the doorknob, I turn and shout, “Bye, K!”
She’s already halfway down the hallway and a saluting palm rises.
Sighing, I lock the door from the inside and walk out into the bright sunshine, thinking of Puck. And Ritchie. I frown. And the loser who clobbered me several days ago.
I’ve questions for all, and all are unanswered.
Puck
Viper’s eyes hold mine a second longer than the other brothers’. There’s no favoritism. We just have a different relationship. He’s the prez.
I’m his brother-in-law now, too. He’s father to my chubby infant nephew, Gabe.
And the only other man I trust with my tougher-than-nails sister, save myself.
Candi can take care of herself, but God knows, I breathe easier with a capable man at her back. In this case, two.
“So Noose will head this up.” Viper wraps up church with that closing statement, and I realize I’m listening to talk of gun-running without blinking an eye.
Some former cop I am.
But I can admit to myself at least, that being undercover for just shy of four years changed things for me. Lines became blurred, and I might actually be more successful at stopping crime from this side instead of the law.
Viper stands, signaling the end of church, and I scan the room, noting a missing face.
The brothers file out and I knock fists with the ones I’m closest to.
Trainer, Snare, Lariat, Wring, and Noose.
Storm’s missing. He won’t let himself get close to anyone. And I’m not sure if I’ve entirely forgiven him for breaking Candi’s rib.
In fact, I definitely haven’t.
To hear him explain the situation, it was all under the umbrella of his deep cover as a fellow fed that had him acting so rough with a woman.
In my opinion, he just flat-out hates females. Buzz around the club is most the clubwhores won’t touch his brand of “sex.” Not even Crystal, who’d bang a toad if it advanced her to being somebody’s property.
Viper eyes me up, stopping by the door, where we do the last back clap and fist bump. When all the brothers have exited, even a sharp-eyed Wring, Viper turns to me. “How are you?”
His hard eyes are just shy of ice, like pool water mixed with frozen blue. Almost as glacial as Wring’s.
“Okay,” I reply.
He doesn’t press and moves on to the next item. “Candace says you hooked up with Temp, the social worker.”
Generally, Candi’s not a huge gossip, but there’s bound to be some pillow talk.
“Yeah.” My voice and response are as neutral as I can make them.
“Good.” Sunlight slides over the tightly closed blinds, lining up perfectly where one slat at the top is not quite straight, turning Viper’s eyes liquid opaque. That frosty gaze asks a question before he does. “I asked Noose what was going on.”
“Really?” I give a disbelieving laugh. “We live next door.” I point my finger at him then thumb my chest. “You’re welcome for a beer anytime, Viper. Hell, you’re over at my place a lot anyway.” I rest my hands on my hips.
Viper cups his chin, where a shadow of stubble peppers his jawline. “Don’t want to talk about shit when Candace is around.”
I feel my frown. “Since when?”
“Since you started subscribing to life. Don’t want Candace to get her hopes up.”
“Too late.” A smile stretches my lips.
Viper shakes his head. A ray of sunlight catches his crew cut, turning his pale hair silver-blondish. “You didn’t tell Candace enough to cause her to think you’re as serious with this girl as I think you are. As Noose does.”
Can’t take back the pause. And I don’t. Words escape me.
“Complicated?” he asks, though it sounds more like confirmation.
I nod. “Sure, because that’s how I roll.”
Viper’s lips curl, and he nods like he’d expected th
at answer. “I’ve been thinking about what I know from Noose. About how Temp encountered loser number one, who banged her up pretty well, then loser number two, who made a try for her.”
Noose has been doing some talking. He must think it’s okay because Viper and I are related, but I’m going to have a little chat with him about that. When I’m ready to discuss deets, I like to confess my own shit, thank you very much.
“Don’t get pissed at Noose, ʼcause I see your wheels turning in that direction. I coerced him into telling me, Puck. Pulling the prez card and the whole bit.”
I rock back on my heels, mildly surprised. “Why?”
“Because he’d been holed up in our super-secret squirrel office here at the club for over five hours.”
My heart starts to pump hard. All cylinders a go. Noose knows about Temp. And about her past and what might be coming back to bite me and, in turn, the club, right in the middle of our asses.
“And I know this much: there’s a huge prostitution outfit that’s moved into Road Kill territory.”
I knew that. Logically, the next criminal element would try to make a play for the region after Road Kill MC shut down the gangs, the mafia, and then the kiddie traffickers.
Why not prostitution?
Viper’s voice drops, “We’ve received threats.”
So?
His light eyes seize on my face, vague panic etched beneath the cool exterior.
The absence of Viper’s normally stoic facade gets my full attention, and my eyes crawl his face for the nuances held within his expressions. “Fuck—what is it?”
“They’re threatening our property.”
My heart’s banging inside my chest now. “Whose?”
“All. All the men who have property have received something similar.”
“Fuck—Candi.”
Viper gives a grim nod.
“What is the content of the threats?”
“The bottom line to what they’re saying is, if we don’t allow them an ʻin,ʼ they will make our women whores.”
He doesn’t have to lay out how they would do that. Any woman can be roofied daily and kept in a state to basically be raped and not offer resistance.
It’s a horrible reality, but not an unheard-of scenario. Hell, I’ve seen it.
A fairly effective threat for Road Kill MC, as those go.
We can’t protect that many woman. It’s pretty much each man’s responsibility to protect his own property one hundred percent of the time.
It’s a different thing when one female is in jeopardy. We rally the entire club and squash the threat made against one of the brothers.
But when all the property is threatened at once? A different matter entirely.
We could call in the charters, but that leaves them open for the exact compromise to go down in their territory as well.
After a few seconds of deliberation, I concede, “They’re smart.”
“Yup,” Viper says.
“How come this wasn’t a church discussion?”
Viper drops his hand from his chin and shakes his head. “Trying to just loop in who it impacts for now, see if things ratchet up to involve all the men. Then we have no choice but to have the brothers en pointe. Right now, we’re fifteen strong, and roughly half our men have property.” Viper continues, “All our women have kids. Our kids.”
Chunky monkey Gabe. Hell. My mind flames over all the kids. Hell, Shannon is pregos with number two. Noose has four. Snare and Sarah have two now. Lariat and Angel have one.
All the women are either mothers, or are on their way to motherhood.
I shut my eyes, scrubbing a rough hand over my short hair. “God.”
“Yup,” Viper says again. “Thought you’d connect the dots pretty damn fast.”
I drop my hand from my head. “So does this have something to do with Temp?”
Viper nods.
My shoulders drop, and my hands automatically fist at my sides. “How?”
I know Noose will tell me more, and that’s when Viper echoes my fresh thoughts, “Temp stumbled over one of the players. Don’t think he’s a principle, but he’s no minion, either.”
“Lionel Ritchie.”
“Yeah. And I’m sure Noose will have a lot more info. He just told me enough to scare the shit out of me.”
Yeah, that’s why Noose had loose lips. Ritchie has somehow linked Temp to the club.
A prostitution ring that has big enough balls to threaten women protected by our club might have the sack to carry it out.
Chapter 14
Temp
I’m glad Harvey said I could come back to work. I’m upset that the meeting held a “final warning” of sorts.
Why should I not be able to defend myself when I need to? I’m supposed to just let someone beat on me because fighting back might have repercussions at my job?
Glancing down at my contact lists on my phone, I scroll until I get to Tabby’s last name. Harvey synced her new address to me during out meeting.
Shifting my gaze to the sky, I realize it’s almost supper time, but it’ll be light out for a few hours.
I have the time to visit the foster home Tabby’s been placed in. And because I’m her social worker, each foster family is assigned a window of time when a social worker can stop by unannounced and visit the residence.
I didn’t recognize the address at first, but now I do. Day just gets better and better.
This isn’t one of the great family homes I was telling Kendra about—that coveted thirty percent. Of course, the system can only provide what it can provide. Tabby needed to be removed immediately, and only a handful of foster families are available for a same-day drop-off.
Like Chenille’s house, the last thing this family wants to do is apparently, anything with the outside. Tabby’s been with them for almost six days, and I feel equal parts guilty and relieved. I don’t think this house is wonderful, but the one she was in was dangerous.
Cement wounds in the cracked sidewalk offer up weeds like green blood. And like Chenille’s place, ruined steps sag from the neglect and the weight of a thousand human treads over the years.
Hauling my purse up to my shoulder, I crank the handle on my car door and slide out. Slapping the thing shut, I hit the lock symbol on the key fob.
Walking around the front of the Rabbit, I steal a glance at one of the windows just as a curtain drops back into place.
Okay, I’m here, and they know it.
This is the kind of foster family that always pissed me off. They know exactly how to milk the system for every penny and provide the bare minimum for the child. Always.
Tucking my hair behind my ear, I march up the front steps and rap on the door.
The bell’s out of service, dangling from loose wires like a small, disgorged plastic animal. The center button is dark.
Slowly the door opens a crack, and a bright-green eye peers out at me.
I don’t know the child. I don’t know any of the children in this home except Tabby. Technically, the other children fall under another caseworker’s load. But if I’m already dropping by, I can still look.
“Hello,” I say, smiling.
The little boy opens the door more, jam smeared around his mouth like lipstick. Bright-orange hair shoots up from his head, and freckles like free-range measles run across the bridge of his nose.
“I’m Temp.”
He screws up his face. “That’s a weird name.”
“Yes,” I agree. “Is your mom here?”
“She’s not my mom.”
I know the foster mother’s name because it’s in the file I scanned about two seconds before I stuffed it in my handbag. “Is BobbyJo here?”
He nods solemnly then leaves the door standing ajar while he goes to fetch the foster mom.
I peek through the opening.
The smell of stale cigarettes and unwashed clothes greets my nose.
Nice.
A shadowy human form approaches from the b
ack of the house. Only a red smolder alerts me where certain body parts are located.
A woman maybe five years younger than me comes to the front door. Gripping the wood with one hand, she pops a hip out, taking a drag with the cigarette she holds in the other.
Shooting a spray of smoke just a few inches shy of my face she says, “Yeah?” as both greeting and question.
I’m used to this. “I’m Charlotte Temperance, caseworker to Tabitha Netter.”
BobbyJo gives me what translates as a slow blink.
“Okay, where’s Tyler?” She takes another drag, gauging me from beneath lashes caked with mascara.
My coworker, Tyler Schmidt, is the caseworker assigned to the other minors here.
“Tabby is my client, so I was doing a routine checkup.”
BobbyJo gazes at my face. “Who did your face?”
I smile, and just the mention of my face makes the healing wounds suddenly hurt. Funny how I’d forgotten about it before her comment.
“Job hazard,” I answer lightly.
BobbyJo’s eyes sweep my face, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh.”
“Tabby?” I press, my eyes attempting to penetrate the murky interior.
“Sure, come on in.”
Pushing the door open, BobbyJo walks back inside, cigarette still smoldering.
A scrawny cat bolts out the open door.
“Shit,” she mutters and stoops to put out her cigarette in an ashtray already overflowing with used butts.
A man, presumably the spouse, sits watching the TV. Puzzle pieces of TV scenes throw themselves in a bizarre dance of light and shadow against the dark walls.
Without looking up even once, he takes a large swallow from his beer.
I follow BobbyJo through the entire house, noting the grime and lack of housekeeping as a matter of course.
We reach the back, and she gives a nervous snicker. “Not much of a housekeeper,” she says, her topknot whipping around as she covers the giggles creeping out of her mouth.
Makes me a little queasy. The house. Her. The silent guy out in front. The nameless little boy who thought my name was weird.
But I don’t remember his name from the file.
I don’t tell BobbyJo it’s okay. I just look at her until she stops the nervous twitter.