Bear Trap (Rawlins Heretics MC Book 3)

by Bijou Hunter

  “Does it matter?”

  “Not really, but I like knowing how your brain works. These days, you’re blunt, so I think you’d just tell the pimp to do it. Back then, though, you were younger and powerless. You probably had to be sneakier to survive.”

  “I don’t care what you think of me,” I blurt out, wishing I still had the power to protect my heart from him.

  “That’s a lie.”

  Sighing, I say, “I know.”

  “Did you hint about killing your dad to the pimp and he got the point?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How did he do it?”

  “Pharrell beat him to death with a tire iron while I was at school. I found my father and called the cops. Before I left that morning, I hid a bag of my stuff in a nearby drainage pipe for when I would run away from child services.”

  “Did you ever think of staying with them?”

  “No, because they would have hooked me up with my father’s family,” I grumble, offended by Glitch asking an obvious question. “I didn’t know those people, but I sensed they weren’t safe. An asshole like my father isn’t born out of the blue. Someone makes him that way. Plus, his family lived in Texas, and I didn’t want to end up like my mom by getting stuck in a strange place. My plan was to survive until I turned eighteen. In Little Memphis, I felt safe, so I ran away from the first foster house and went to Pharrell.”

  “Was he good to you?”

  “We lived in a rental house with a few other girls. He never hit me, but he did hurt a few of the older girls. I behaved, and he took care of me. No beatings or fear. I mean, sure, with the customers, I worried about my safety. I’d take them into an alley where Pharrell could keep an eye out, but I still worried. I needed to stay alive until I was eighteen and had more power.”

  “What happened to your pimp?”

  Despite our current situation and talking about bad times, I can’t help bursting into laughter. “What do you think happened? He underestimated Ginger,” I say, giggling. “Though to be fair, I did too. She was a fucking teenage girl when she took over blocks of territory. She demanded a say with the whores and drugs. Everyone thought killing her would be easy. Instead, she killed Pharrell and the others, taking over their territory and girls. That’s how she ended up being my pimp.”

  “How did you go from hooker to one of the crew?” Glitch asks, and I hear the amusement in his tone.

  Reaching up to find his face, I discover a smile on his lips. “Unlike most of the other girls working for Ginger, I was a teenager. She asked if I wanted to do something besides fuck losers. I could be a lookout or an errand girl for less money, but she’d give me a place to live and keep me safe. Of course, I jumped at the chance. After that, I watched and learned from her and the other girls in the crew. When I turned eighteen, I remained with them. I liked how she ran things. I also had a taste for the same kind of violence my dad liked except I didn’t pick on kids and women. I wanted someone who could fight back. I liked the idea of defeating my enemies. The crew became my family, and I decided to follow Ginger wherever she went.”

  “What would have broken many people, made you stronger.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.”

  “My mother became an addict because life bored her,” he says, and the hurt in his voice breaks my heart. “She didn’t have a bad childhood. If anything, hers was too easy. She never had to struggle for anything. She never knew loss or the pain of working hard without succeeding. I don’t hate her, but I can’t respect how willing she was to hide from herself.”

  “Does it ever make you feel bad to sell the kind of drugs your mom took?”

  “No. I don’t push anything. I sell a product people want. I don’t make them take it.”

  “Everyone has a vice. Booze, cigs, sex, drugs, food, shopping, it’s always something. Any vice can destroy a person.”

  “I don’t think the banker loses sleep over taking someone’s house or business,” Glitch says, and I swear his hand is searching for my ass cheek. “The government doesn’t shed a tear over those it taxes to pay for dumb shit. Everyone needs to make a living. I make mine by selling something people want. If people wanted to buy paintings, I’d learn to paint. Or find someone who can paint and sell their shit like I pimp out the girls who want to sell their bodies. It’s not a pretty business, but most aren’t. Behind a restaurant is the slaughter of animals to make delicious steaks and burgers. Nothing comes without a cost.”

  “You sound like me.”

  “I am like you. In this way, I guess. It’s why we make sense,” he says and sighs when his hand finally locates my butt.

  “You say that about everything. When we aren’t the same, you tell me it’s a good thing because opposites attract.”

  “I’ve never coveted money or power. In my entire life, I’ve only coveted you, Clove Jones.”

  “Louisa,” I whisper in the darkness. “My birth name is Louisa.”

  Glitch chuckles and kisses my forehead. “More proof we’re meant to be.”

  “Matchy names are lame.”

  “We both go by something else.”

  “Why do they call you Glitch?” I ask, now reaching around for his butt to keep us symmetrical.

  “Check me out when I’m drunk some time. I apparently act like a robot glitching out. I’ve seen a video, but I think I look like I’m having tiny seizures.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I balk, cupping his ass. “I thought you were good at electronics or something.”

  “I am, but that’s not why they called me Glitch.”

  “Oh, well, I most definitely need to see you drunk now. It’s the only way for me to be certain about your explanation.”

  “Then we know what we have to do once we get back into town.”

  I try to imagine us at Rusty Cage with our friends. The bar is overheated and smells of beer and body odor. I close my eyes and feel Glitch against me in a booth rather than trapped in a wind-beaten tent. Simple joys suddenly have value in a way they didn’t weeks ago. Calm replaced my restlessness.

  Then I adjust my leg, sending blinding pain through me. “I fucked up tonight.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I’m scared we won’t get home. I don’t want to die out here.”

  “You won’t. We’ll be home tomorrow night.”

  Resting against Glitch, I struggle with my tears. My leg hurts so much, and we didn’t think to bring pain meds. We’re fucking morons.

  Overwhelmed with hopelessness, I feel like we’re a million miles away from home. No way can I walk back to the snowmobiles in the morning. We’re doomed fucking morons.

  Glitch wraps his arms around me and begins to sing a child’s song. Smiling now, I cuddle closer. Like his mother, he’ll never get a recording contract, but his singing warms me even while the world freezes outside.

  Chapter Eleven

  Irish Variation of Louis: Lughaidh

  ➸ Glitch ★

  Sniffing outside the tent wakes me. Despite the dark skies, my watch reads nine. I hear the animal sniffing again and reach into my nearby pack to secure one of my pistols.

  Next to me, Clove is nearly completely hidden in her sleeping bag. I caress her cheek to wake her and show her my gun. She stares confused at me, still half-asleep.

  “Something’s outside,” I whisper. “Stay put.”

  Clove barely acknowledges my words. I leave her to stare dazed so I can investigate the noise outside.

  My attempt to climb stealthily out of the tent is a complete failure. I get my foot caught in the bag and knock into Clove’s leg, causing her to cry out before she covers her mouth to muffle the sound. I finally topple out of the entrance and find the tent wedged between two trees.

  Turning abruptly toward the sniffing, I’m ready to face off with a pack of hungry wolves. Or even a pissed fox or a rabid raccoon. Instead, I find a Labrador mix. He growls at me while I glance around for his friends. Wild dogs are pretty common in the rural areas
. Not seeing the dog’s backup, I throw a handful of snow at it. Yelping as if seriously injured, the little whiner runs off.

  “Wimp,” I mutter and crawl the rest of the way out of the tent.

  After scanning the area for signs of trouble, I stretch until I’ve worked out the crick in my neck and the tight muscles in my back.

  The tent shivers from the passing wind, and I don’t look forward to prying Clove out of both her sleeping bag and the tent. I study the orange fabric for a few minutes, turn away to piss, and then study it more. Based on how much time passes, I assume Clove returned to sleep since she never really woke up.

  Devising a plan, I reach inside to grab my backpack. I use my blade to cut open the top of the tent, revealing Clove bundled up in her sleeping bag. Her eyes flutter open when the tent begins to move.

  “What’s happening?” she asks, trying to sit up.

  “I’m pulling you to the snowmobiles. Relax as much as you can.”

  “I’m too heavy.”

  “No, you’re not. Now settle down. The more you move, the more likely the tent will tear.”

  “What if you hurt your back?”

  “Clove,” I say, stopping long enough to look back at her, “I’m trying to concentrate. We need to get off this fucking hill and to a hospital to check on your leg. I can’t carry you, and you can’t walk fast enough for us to make it down by dark. So, will you please, shut the fuck up so I can do this shit?”

  Laughing, Clove nods and rests back. I nearly ask if she has to piss, but remember she’s an adult and will speak up if necessary.

  For the next hour, I keep moving. I also chew on bread followed by beef jerky. My stomach wants hot food but settles for what I offer. My throat reacts less welcoming to water, burning when I down half a bottle.

  Occasionally, I peek back at Clove who holds onto the tent fabric to ensure her sleeping bag doesn’t fall out. I hear her messing with her bag too at one point and assume she’s eating. Hell, I even hear her laughing, but I don’t stop or look back. If I take my eyes off the path for more than a few seconds, I might trip on a large rock or branch. I also avoid objects that might hurt Clove when the tent slides over them. Plus, I pray there are no more bear traps around to fuck up my plan.

  “When I was little,” Clove says when I stop to piss later, “I wanted a dog. I looked on the computer for what dogs were best, but I could never decide. Now I know I want a Siberian husky.”

  Smirking at her teasing, I help her unzip the sleeping bag so she can stand up and wobble over to piss. Clove puts on a brave face, but she isn’t fooling me. I know she’s in a world of fucking pain.

  “Another hour and we’ll reach the snowmobiles. You can leave your stuff behind and ride bitch. We’ll send someone up to get the other snowmobile and the rest of our supplies.”

  Clove stares into my eyes and exhales unsteadily. “I might start crying during my pee. Don’t take it too seriously.”

  With great effort, we shove down her pants, and she pisses between two barren trees. Clove doesn’t cry, but she does nearly break my arm when her foot slips on the ice.

  “Fuck,” she growls, leaning against the tree. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

  “You worry too much.”

  Clove gives me a half smile. “I’m a huge fan of yours right now.”

  “If I fucked up big-time in the future, try to remember how great I was today.”

  “Will do,” she says and pulls up her pants. Shivering, she looks at the tent with the dread of someone who knows every flexed muscle will bring more pain. “I would die for you.”

  “What?” I ask and help her to the tent.

  “You heard me.”

  “I don’t want you to die for me.”

  “I know, but I would. You mean that much to me.”

  Before I lower her to the tent, I cup her face in my gloved hands and kiss her gently.

  “Did you kiss me like that because you think I need tenderness or because you’re afraid of my breath?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow.

  “That’s the smartass I need right now. No more talking about death. Not until I get you to the hospital and check your leg.”

  Clove smiles softly and silently grimaces as she crawls back into the sleeping bag. I wait until she’s comfortable and hydrated. A bottle of water later, Clove smiles again and says, “mush” before laughing at my job as her sled dog. Proving my obedience, I grab the tent fabric and return to our trek.

  ➸ Clove ☆

  Glitch is a beast as he drags the tent—along with me and my backpack—down the snow-covered hill. The next hour is painfully boring. I wish I could talk to Glitch, but he’s on autopilot.

  My mind wanders from topic to topic. Is my ankle broken? Will the firebug be capable of hitting and quitting Cayenne’s dormant vagina? What kind of father will Glitch be to our kids?

  The answers to my questions are obvious—probably, probably not, and incredible.

  I consider what my father was like when he met my mother. Not much younger than Glitch, he was immediately taken by my mom’s exotic beauty. They met during his visit to a restaurant where she washed dishes. I don’t know if she fell for him too or if he just offered her a way out of poverty. I do know they were married within weeks of meeting, and he brought her home to the US a month later. Their love at first sight turned into a nightmare.

  Glitch might become a monster like my father, but I doubt it. My man owns his mistakes and doesn’t hate life. There’s no magic bullet for Glitch to find happiness. He already makes the best of what he has and doesn’t cling to his misery. Between us, Glitch is the smarter, calmer one. Less prone to violence, Glitch will be the better parent to discipline our kids.

  If anything, I’m more likely to turn out like my father than Glitch. I know Ginger worried Oz might end up like the men she grew up around. Father-figures scared the crap out of her, and I thought I’d feel the same. It’s why I specifically avoided thinking about Glitch as a father. My fears over him playing daddy are long gone.

  “The snowmobile isn’t too far away,” Glitch says, glancing back at me. “Why don’t you call Ginger and tell her to get moving.”

  Relieved I can do more than hang out in my sleeping bag, I reach into my pocket and fish out my phone.

  Ginger answers before the second ring. “Clove, tell me you’re alive and well.”

  “I stepped in a bear trap, fucked up my ankle, and now Glitch is my personal sled dog,” I babble as the words come tumbling out. “Oh, the actual mission went fine. Anyway, can you and Oz get your asses to the road to pick us up? You might want to bring someone else to help. We can only get one snowmobile down, and I need to go to the hospital.”

  “A bear trap?” she asks as soon as I shut up.

  “It was hidden in the snow.”

  “Well I assumed it wasn’t out in the open,” Ginger says. “We’ll be out the door in a few minutes. Blackjack can tag along to help Oz while I take you to the hospital.”

  “I totally want you to hurry, but could you stop at a drive-thru and grab us something to eat?”

  “Anything in particular that you want?”

  “Surprise us,” I say and then add, “Oh, and bring coffee,” before hanging up.

  “Before we’re joined by the cavalry,” Glitch says, still stomping through the snow, “I wanted to say I’m glad this happened. Despite your leg, I liked spending time with you.”

  Laughing, I shove my hands back into my gloves. “You just like being my savior.”

  “Taking care of you does make my dick proud.”

  Glitch glances over his shoulder and gives me a killer smile. Despite his horny taunts, he worries about my leg. I hear the concern in his voice and see it around his eyes when he winks at me. His protective nature is another reason he’ll make an amazing father, and I’m suddenly very interested in diving headfirst into parenthood with this man.

  ➸ Glitch ★

  Clove eats two McMuffins and a large coffee befo
re we arrive at the hospital ER. She strips out of much of her heavy snow gear and wears a jacket Ginger offers. Oz frowns at how he hadn’t thought to bring me lighter winter clothes.

  “Take my jacket,” he insists.

  “Sure, thanks, man.”

  I don’t know if Oz expected a different response, but his frown only deepens. I’d laugh if I weren’t so worried about Clove’s leg.

  After a very short wait, she gets called. We strip her out of her pants and get a good look at her leg.

  “Nasty,” Clove whispers, seeing the yellow and purple lump on the side of her ankle. “Can you imagine if I hadn’t been wearing those thick boots?”

  “No, so stop asking.”

  “It’d be super gross,” she says, poking me while sliding into her hospital gown. “I bet you’d puke if you saw it.”

  “Probably. Would you hold my hair?”

  “Yes, and I wouldn’t even be jealous while doing so.”

  I share her smile, but I’m on edge until we get an x-ray.

  The doctor shows up, looking frazzled as if someone scared him. He orders an x-ray, walks with us to get it, and orders a short leg cast.

  “The break shouldn’t need surgery,” he says, still sweating too much. “You’ll need to get regular checks with a doctor for the next six weeks to ensure it heals properly.”

  “How long will it take to put on the cast?” Clove asks. “I want to get home and rest.”

  “I’ll get it started right away, and you should be discharged in less than an hour.”

  Clove says nothing while a nurse wraps her leg. She looks tired, and I doubt the Tylenol she got earlier from Ginger is doing much to help with the pain. She doesn’t complain, though. After hearing how much of her childhood consisted of beatings, I’m not particularly surprised by her high tolerance for pain.

  We get a script for hardcore pain meds, but Clove crumples it up on the ride back. “Not worth the trouble,” she tells me.

  “You aren’t my mom,” I whisper as we sit in the back seat of Ginger’s SUV.

  “I know, and you’re not my dad. Good thing too because they would not be a love match.”