Slam (The Brazen Bulls MC #3)

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Slam (The Brazen Bulls MC #3) Page 12

by Susan Fanetti


  Wagner didn’t even look at him. He kept his eyes on his daughter. “Jennifer, don’t you do it, too. Don’t you fucking leave me, too.”

  His words were quiet now, but they were just as filled with anger, and with fear, as his shout had been. The relationship between these two was all about anger and fear. And guilt. A great big heap of guilt, at least on Jenny’s part, which was outrageous. If there was any real love in there, too, it was stunted and dying. Or already dead. Just its corpse lying there to remind them it had once existed.

  Maverick didn’t remember having parents, he’d been raised with a staff of adults whose responsibility to him had begun and ended with food, bed, and shelter, but even he knew how deranged things were in this house.

  “I’m not leaving you, Dad. I’m just moving a few miles away. I’ll see you tonight.”

  Maverick turned back to her. “What? You’re still working the poker thing? No. You’re not.”

  She helped out at her father’s bar when there was some kind of party or other. He hated that, too, and he’d sure as fuck thought she’d give that up when she moved in with him. How the fuck could he keep her safe if she wouldn’t stay away from this man?

  “Yes. I am.” She looked him dead in the eye. “Let’s fucking go. Dad, I’ll see you tonight.”

  She walked out of the house and straight to his Impala, which was loaded with her belongings. Maverick watched until she was sitting in the passenger seat, staring out the windshield.

  Then he turned back to Earl Wagner. “I will kill you. Any mark on her. Ever. She even gets a new freckle, and I’ll string your guts across Tulsa.”

  He left her father standing against the wall, silent and shaking in impotent rage.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Over the past four years, Jenny had had cause to be in the neighborhood of the Bulls’ clubhouse a few times, and she’d driven by the corner with Delaney’s Sinclair once or twice. She’d always felt a shiver of...not fear, exactly, and not guilt, either, but a tweaking sense that she was behind enemy lines.

  The clubhouse had never been her favorite place, even while she’d been with Maverick. Everybody had been nice enough, for the most part. She’d been his old lady, and she’d been treated with respect. There were a couple of Bulls she wasn’t wild about, but she’d gotten along okay with them all and really liked a few. But there weren’t a lot of women around that she could relate to. Mo, Joanna, and Maddie all had their own deals, real careers, and they were a lot older, anyway, so they’d treated her like a kid.

  And then there were the sweetbutts. A whole bunch of women hanging around to serve, and to service, the Bulls, and dressed the part. Jenny knew she was okay-looking, maybe even cute, but she always felt schlubby around women dressed to maximize their physical attributes. Just handing Maverick a drink, they performed the act like they were offering him themselves as a bonus, even when Jenny stood right beside him. She hated it.

  It was just a scummy, dark, stinky place full of discomfort and stress, and she’d been happier to be at home alone with Maverick—and he’d seemed happy with that as well.

  When she parked on the Sinclair lot, she was facing the clubhouse, and for a minute or so, she stared out the windshield, focused on the Brazen Bulls MC sign, and felt all that old discomfort and stress bubble up and blend with all the new discomfort and stress. She really hoped she didn’t hurl all over the floor when she went into the station. It was a possibility, though. Maybe a probability.

  She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Almost two weeks had passed since Maverick’s explosion at her back door, and she hadn’t heard a peep from him. That was a good thing. He was leaving her alone, like she wanted. She should let that stand and get on with life.

  But she couldn’t. She jumped like a frog on a hotplate every time the phone rang, or the doorbell rang, or the door at the bar opened. Every time, it might be Maverick—or worse, another Bull, maybe Rad or Eight Ball or Ox—coming to demand Kelsey. There was no way he would just fade away. She knew that for a certainty. And when he came, he would do all he could to force her to his will. After that scene at her back door, she no longer believed that there was a line he wouldn’t cross to get what he wanted.

  She no longer trusted him not to hurt her.

  Which was why this was such a horrible idea, coming alone to the lion’s den. And also why she absolutely had to. There was no one in her life she could have asked to join her, and she had to face him and know what was in store.

  So she pulled her shit together and got out of her car.

  As she walked toward the station, a car pulled from the full-service pumps, and she heard her name. Without breaking her stride, she turned and saw Gunner trotting up to her.

  “Hey, Jen. What’s going on?”

  “Looking for Maverick.” She didn’t stop, and he grabbed her arm. He didn’t grab hard, but she jerked away with a gasp nonetheless, and finally stopped. “Don’t.”

  “Sorry, just—this is a bad place to get him fired up, Jen.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Fuck! No. It’s just...it’s not cool to come up on him unannounced like this.”

  She laughed, because that was fucking funny. All Maverick had done was pop up unannounced—at her bar, her home, Kelsey’s school.

  “Fuck you, Gun.” She started for the station again, and pulled up short after one step. She didn’t have to go in. Bulls were coming toward her—through the main door and from the bays, like an advancing front.

  That urge to puke clamored in her belly and began to swell.

  Maverick came from the far bay, where they did auto body work. Even with one, two, three, four, five other Bulls, in addition to Gunner, arrayed before her, scowling, even sick with dread, Jenny had a fluttery moment as Maverick came toward her. He looked so good in that uniform; she’d forgotten how good. Just a service station uniform, a couple of shades of bland green, dark pants and lighter shirt, but he made it as sexy as a GQ cover.

  He always tucked his shirt into his pants for work, showing slim hips and firm belly. He left three buttons undone so his snug white beater showed, with a hint of the curve of his pecs. The contours of his biceps swelled from the short sleeves of the shirt, which he’d cuffed so they cut across the midpoint of his upper arm. Still the most gorgeous man she’d ever known.

  When she’d seen him at the bar, she’d noticed that his hair was nearly shorn, barely longer than the stubble on his face. The past two weeks had put actual hair on his head. Still shorter than he’d worn it before, but enough that the arc of his skull was softer. His stubble was the same, however. During their time as a couple, he’d cycled from clean-shaven to stubble to full beard and back a few times. She liked stubble best—like it was now.

  He wiped his hands on a red shop towel and shoved it into his back pocket. “Is Kelsey okay?”

  That was the first question a good father would ask in this situation—thinking of his little girl before anything else. God, what would Kelsey’s life had been like if she’d been born with a mom and a dad who loved each other and lived together and made a family for her?

  It was a stupid thing to wonder, because the reality was nothing like that, and the past was unchangeable.

  “She’s fine. I wanted...I want to talk.” She glanced at the line of Bulls. Gunner had backed off and was watching like the others, but without the same dark distrust in his eyes. “Is there a place we can go to be private?”

  “You’re not afraid to be alone with me?”

  She was, a little. But face to face with him now, remembering her love for him, and surrounded by angry Bulls, he was the safest person around. “Should I be?”

  “No. You’re always safe with me.”

  “Then can we talk?”

  “Yeah.” He cast his eyes around like he was looking for somewhere to go. “The clubhouse is the best place I can think of. It’s empty, as far as I know. You okay with that?”

  He knew she didn’t like it ther
e. But there weren’t many options—something she hadn’t considered when she’d dropped Kelsey off at school and decided to do this.

  “That’s fine. That’ll work.”

  “Guys, I’m taking a break.”

  “Mav...” Gunner began.

  “It’s cool, brother. It’s all good.” He held out his hand to Jenny.

  She almost took it. She wanted to take it. But she locked her arms at her sides and began to walk to the clubhouse.

  Maverick sighed heavily and followed.

  ~oOo~

  The clubhouse was empty, not even a loitering sweetbutt or a prospect doing chores. Jenny looked around, surprised. “They fixed it up.”

  “Yeah. Mo’s been on a tear for a few years, going through room by room, I guess.”

  It was...nice. Homey and warm. A big improvement over the flophouse it had been. “It looks good. She did a good job.”

  “From what I hear, the old ladies did the shopping and the guys did the work. But yeah, I guess it’s okay.”

  He reached for her again and stopped. Instead he waved toward the bar and headed behind it himself. “You want a drink?”

  “It’s not even ten o’clock in the morning, Mav.”

  Returning the bottle of Jack he’d just picked up from the back of the bar, he turned to the coffee machine. “Coffee?”

  “No, thank you. Just talk.”

  He picked up the Jack again. “Well, then, I need a real drink.” He poured his drink, then stayed behind the bar. Jenny got the feeling he kept it between them on purpose. “What do you want to talk about?”

  She wished she’d taken him up on the offer of whiskey after all. With only her will to rely on for strength, she took a breath and said, “I’m ready to tell Kelsey about you.”

  That was the conclusion she’d come to, the night before, when, yet again, she’d nearly leapt from her skin at the ringing phone. She couldn’t sit back and wait for the Bulls to force her hand, and she knew they would. At some point, they would come, and they would stomp all over her. If she wanted to control the situation, then she needed to fucking control it.

  She hadn’t decided to just show up here until this morning, when she’d pissed herself off second-guessing the decision.

  Maverick had been taking a drink. Now he stopped and stared at her over the glass. His eyes stayed on her as he slowly set the glass on the bar. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I’m not...I’m not ready to just hand her over to you for an overnight or anything like that, but I’m ready to tell her and—if she wants it—I’m ready to let you meet her.”

  “Yeah? Jen, Jesus. Thank you.” He reached across the bar and wrapped his hand around hers. The heat of him pulsed through her arm at once. “Thank you.”

  She drew her hand away. “I’m not ready to just hand her over. She stays with me, but you can see her while I’m there. Not on your own—at least not until I know she’s comfortable with that, and I’m comfortable with it, too.”

  He stared at the top of the bar. Jenny studied his face, learning all his new scars.

  “What did you tell her about the other night?”

  “She thinks it was an angry man who was mad at somebody else and came to the wrong house. She doesn’t know it was her father. She never saw you, and the cops didn’t talk to her.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for dropping it with the cops.”

  Jenny nodded. She began to feel a new layer of watchfulness. Maverick wasn’t saying much. He hadn’t argued at all about not spending time with Kelsey on his own. He hadn’t even pushed to define the parameters of the situation. All he’d said was ‘thank you.’

  There was another shoe hovering around somewhere, waiting to drop, and if she wasn’t careful, it would smack her in the head.

  “I still need to talk to her, but after I do, I was thinking we could meet somewhere—like a park or something, somewhere with a playground—and you could meet her there.”

  He stared at her—not aggressively, but like he was trying to work out how to behave. Jenny grasped something important: he was trying. He might fail, and the shoe might still whack her, but he was quiet because he was trying to listen to her.

  “I’m okay with that. But can I make a different suggestion? I guess it’s more of a request.”

  Waiting for the shoe, she nodded.

  “I got a place. Pretty nice one. It’s a house, in Ranch Acres. I’m fixing it up.” He smiled. “How’d you feel about bringing her there? You could take a look, tell me how I’m doing, if I’m making a place she’d like.”

  “You bought a house?” They’d been looking for one together when everything had gone to hell.

  “It’s a rent-to-own deal, but yeah. Got a fireplace.”

  Remembering that flimsy thing in their apartment and how much he’d liked it, Jenny smiled—and then wanted to cry. She dropped her head so he wouldn’t see her struggle for composure.

  “If that’s too much, okay. The park is fine.”

  God, he really was trying. Jenny wanted nothing more just then than to hug him. She cleared her throat and made herself look calm. “No, I think that’s a good idea. It would help me to know what your house is like, and Kelse would like that, too, I think.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. We’ll do that.”

  The smile that broke across his face was wide and bright, full of relief—and of happiness—and Jenny saw the man she’d loved.

  The man she still loved.

  She had to get out of here. “Okay. I’ll talk to her tonight, and I’ll call you to set something up about coming over. I’ll be in touch.”

  As she stood up and started for the door, Maverick came swiftly around the bar and stepped in front of her. Jenny flinched, and he held out his hands like a plea.

  “Wait. Thank you, Jen. I mean it. I’ve been losing my mind, and you just gave it back to me. So thank you. Can I—I want to hold you.”

  “Mav...” If he touched her, she’d melt.

  “Please, Jen. If I blew it with you, I get it. That’s not what I mean here. I just...” Words seemed to fail him. “Please.”

  She could see him try, and she loved him all the more for it, despite the mess between them. She nodded, and his arms came around her, and she melted. It felt so good, so perfectly right.

  After only a second or two, she felt the shift in his body that signaled his intent to pull away, but she couldn’t let him go. He relaxed again, resting his head against hers, and they stood together, entwined and silent, while Jenny wished everything between them away.

  “Jen.” His voice rumbled at her ear, and he turned his head so that she felt his lips on her cheek. If they stayed like this much longer, he was going to kiss her, and she was going to welcome it.

  She leaned reluctantly back, and he released his hold. For a heartbeat, as they moved apart, their lips nearly touched.

  “I’ll call you. Soon,” she said and stepped out of the range of their embrace.

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  As she got to the door, he called, “Jen!” and she turned around.

  “What’s her favorite color?”

  She smiled. “Green.”

  “Green? Not pink?”

  “She likes pink, too, and yellow, but green’s her favorite. Mint green, not dark. She says it makes her belly happy. Mint chocolate chip is her favorite ice cream.”

  He grinned and gave her a nod, and Jenny left the clubhouse feeling warm and happy and sad and anxious—deeply confused and more hopeful than she’d have thought. Too hopeful.

  He was really trying.

  ~oOo~

  That evening, while Darnell did his checks on her father’s equipment, changed his bedding, and prepared his bath, Jenny sat at the kitchen table with Kelsey and her father, and they ate supper together.

  Her father couldn’t chew well, so he ate only soft foods, like grits and oatmeal, mashed potatoes, and pureed fruits and vegetables. His fine motor skills were almost nonexistent,
and his gross motor skills were erratic at best, so he had to be fed. He could swallow what was spooned into his mouth, and he could use a straw. He got most of his actual nutrition from protein drinks. But at supper, on those evenings she was home at suppertime, she always tried to give Kelsey the closest thing to a family meal she could have.

  For Kelsey and herself, she’d made beef and noodles—a variation on a stroganoff recipe Mrs. Turner had given her, without the ingredients her picky little girl wouldn’t touch. This was basically just chopped sirloin and egg noodles in a cream sauce, without mushrooms or onions or garlic. Pretty bland. Jenny sprinkled a ton of pepper and garlic salt over her own serving. But Kelsey always gobbled it up and asked for seconds, which was a minor miracle and not to be dismissed.

  She set up Kelsey with her Beauty and the Beast dish set, pouring milk into her mug. She fixed her own plate and set it at her place, then hooked the adult-sized bib around her father’s neck. He watched her, his eyes wide and mobile. His muscle tone as it was, he had to actively keep his mouth closed, and he rarely did, so it sagged open most of the time. He didn’t drool much, because his meds tended to dehydrate him a little, but he always looked—and probably was—profoundly confused.

  “Jen,” he said.

  “I know, Dad. I’ve got cheese grits for you tonight. That sounds good, right? And Granny Smith applesauce.”

  “Jen.”

  She sat down and scooted her chair close to her father’s wheelchair. When she held up a spoon of grits, he opened his mouth and closed it over the spoon. Just like she’d done for Kelsey when she was a baby, she used the empty spoon to scrape the residue from his lips.

  “Hey, Kelse,” she said as she spooned up more grits. “I have something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Did I do bad?”

  Jenny turned to her daughter, leaving the spoon hovering, mid trip. “No, pixie. Not at all. Why would you think that?”

  “I don’t know. Is it about my birthday? ‘Cuz I want to go to the zoom and I want Maisie to come, too. And I want ice cream cake and presents and a balloon.”

 

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