Coal (Regulators MC Book 3)

by Chelsea Camaron

  Chapter Three

  ~Coal~

  “Picadillo,” I order my beef and potatoes while Ice takes his turn to order the same thing he did yesterday. Today, BJ is with us, ordering a burrito that is almost as big as his head, which is pretty fucking big in my opinion. Where the man shoves all that food, I have no clue. The brother is as skinny as a bean pole.

  The waitress scribbles on her notepad then walks away, leaving us to talk.

  I look at Ice before he can say anything. “My gut is churning on the street chatter. There’s a murder popping up in our vicinity on a regular basis now. I’m starting to think we have a problem.”

  “The question is,” Ice murmurs, “who would come into our territory and pull some shit like that? Either they’re too stupid to care, don’t know that Miami is ours, or they just plain don’t give a fuck.”

  “Do we know any connections between the victims?” BJ asks.

  Ice shakes his head. “Not yet. I’ve got Screech working on it now. We just tied up the cruise liner shipping drugs for the DEA, so we can switch gears and give our attention to this.”

  Taking a drink out of my glass, my cell phone suddenly starts to ring. Putting my glass down, I pull out my phone, take a look at the screen, and frown.

  Precious.

  Why the fuck would she be calling me? I only gave her my number in case of an emergency.

  Pushing the talk button, I put the phone to my ear. “What’s wrong?”

  A muffled sob comes over the line. “Coal, where are you? Can I come see you please?”

  Looking up at Ice, I nod toward the entrance to let him know I have to go. Ice gives me a questioning look, but I don’t have time to answer right now.

  “Where are you?” I bark at her through the line.

  I can still hear her crying, but that’s not what bothers me at the moment. No, it’s the sound of a young child crying near her that makes me see red.

  Taking out my wallet, I throw a twenty-dollar bill on the table to cover my cost and get up to leave. Quickly walking out of the restaurant, I head toward my bike as Precious finally speaks again.

  “222 Sycamore Street, Apt 3B.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” I hang up the phone, start my motorcycle, and speed off through the parking lot.

  Once I hit the road, I open the throttle and let myself fly down the path that will take me to Precious. We aren’t close, and I don’t love the woman one bit, but I won’t stand by while she’s hurt, either. I know that, right now, she must be hurting something fierce. Precious is a proud woman, despite her chosen profession, so there’s no doubt in my mind that something is wrong.

  She doesn’t call me for a hook up. She’s been honest anytime she’s needed an extra few bucks and knows I will cover her. This, the sound of torment in her voice, there is something more to this, and I’m going to find out.

  My mind turns with the possibilities as I make my way to the address she gave me. As soon as I pull into the seedy-looking apartment complex, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Someone’s watching me.

  It’s not hard to guess why. Just because the Regulators MC doesn’t have any beef with the local gangs, doesn’t mean we get along. A place like this? There’s bound to be more than one gang member staying here.

  I ignore the internal warning as I ride my bike back to the building with 222 on it. Once I find it, I park my bike and hurry inside, running up the three floors of stairs to the third floor, and then knock on the apartment door that says 3B.

  It doesn’t take long for the knob to turn, and then I’m looking at the same woman I saw only yesterday. Except for now, she’s black, blue, and purple with bruises. One eye is swollen shut, she has a busted lip, and there are finger marks around her neck. Somebody did one fuck of a number on Precious.

  Her busted bottom lip trembles as she waves me inside. Normally, I would say no. Precious knows I have rules about our interactions. The biggest one is not going to their homes. My release for the women I fuck is a business transaction. I don’t like being anywhere around the women’s personal spaces. I always use a hotel room to meet up with them. This time is different, though, and nothing can bring that fact home more solidly than the little face that’s peering up at me from behind the couch in the small living room.

  The kid has big brown eyes, just like Precious’s, and it hurts something inside my chest to see them all watered up in fear.

  Turning away from the kid, I look at his mother. “What’s going on here, Precious?”

  She runs a hand through her hair and sighs. “Can you find someplace for us to get away to? I can’t live like this anymore, Coal. Anthony—”

  “Who’s Anthony?” I cut her off.

  An embarrassed gleam comes over her eyes, but she tenses and sets her jaw in a stubborn frown. “He’s my”—she looks over at the little boy for a second, then back at me—“boss,” she says slowly, letting me read between the lines.

  Anthony is her pimp.

  “Okay, what about Anthony?” I encourage.

  Waving a hand through the air, she blows out a frustrated breath. “He came around today and did this because he said I didn’t give him enough money. I can’t feed my baby and give him the money he wants, Coal. So, what does he do?” She points at her face. “This.”

  Now her eyes are tearing up as she watches me for a reaction. I give her none, but not because I’m an uncaring fuck. I’m thinking.

  Precious has put herself in a bad situation and needs to get out. Where can I take her and the kid?

  She must take my silence as being written off, because the stubborn woman gets mad and starts ranting.

  “If you don’t want to help, fine. I know there’s not supposed to be anything personal between us, but you said I could call if I was ever in trouble.” She starts walking toward her front door, when I reach over and grab her hand to stop her.

  “Cool your jets, woman. I’m not ignoring you; I’m thinking.”

  Why do women always want to jump into action? Some things require thought, planning, and more time to settle in a man’s brain than two minutes.

  Suddenly, I feel a little fist punch me just above the knee. I look down to see the little boy, maybe four years old, in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts, glaring at me.

  “Don’t hurt my mama,” he says fiercely.

  Fuck, but the sight of that little man trying to protect his mother does something to the black organ that I call my heart.

  Before I can say a word, Precious reaches forward and scoops him up in her arms, holding him close to her body as if trying to protect him.

  “He didn’t mean it,” she blurts frantically.

  The sight of her so fucking scared for her son makes me want to be sick. I would never hurt a child without reason … meaning it was life or death. Hell, I’m still trying to make up for the one woman and child I inadvertently hurt when I was young and dumb. It’s marked me in a way that can’t ever heal.

  Looking at the little boy with determination in his eyes, I tell him the truth. “Not gonna hurt your mom, little man, or you for that matter. You need to go pack a bag because I’m getting you and your mom out of here.”

  The little boy perks up at that. “We goin’ on a trip?” he asks excitedly.

  “Yeah, it’s a trip. Now tell your mom to put you down so you can go pack.”

  Little man squirms in his mother’s arms, demanding to be put down. The moment Precious does, he takes off across the small living room, down the narrow hall, and through an open door to what I can tell is his room by the toys on the floor. I watch him for a few seconds as he gets a bag and starts packing every toy he owns.

  A hand on my arm distracts me from watching the boy. I look over at Precious, who looks contrite.

  “I’m sorry for that. It’s just … Sometimes …” A small sob catches in her chest. Taking a big breath, she blows it out to try to calm herself down. “Sometimes Anthony threatens him, too. Today, he beat m
e in front of Bryce, and my baby boy didn’t take that well at all. He tried to pull Anthony off of me, and Anthony threw him across the room before storming out of here. It scared the shit out of me, Coal. It’s why I need to get us out of here. I can’t take the risk that he’ll try to hurt Bryce like that again.”

  I nod. “Go pack a bag, Precious. I’ll get both of you somewhere safe.”

  In less than ten minutes, Precious has bags packed for her and her son.

  We are walking out of the building, me toward my bike and her toward her little run down car, when a man shouting from the left side of the building catches our attention.

  “Where the fuck you think you’re going, bitch?”

  Looking over, I see a heavy set Hispanic man stomping toward us with a murderous look in his eyes. I step in front of Precious, who has grabbed her son and is holding him tightly to protect him.

  The man tracks my movement and steps right up to my face. “Where you taking my girl, asshole? Unless you’re paying her to spread wide, she doesn’t need to go anywhere with you.”

  The shitbag looks around my shoulder at Precious as a red haze starts to fall over my vision at the way this piece of shit is speaking to her.

  “Don’t know where you think you’re going slut. You’re gonna take your scrawny, little ass back up to your apartment, and you’re gonna get your ass to work—”

  The scumbucket doesn’t get another word out, because I have him by the throat, squeezing with my left hand.

  “Shut the fuck up,” I growl at him.

  The man, who I’m now sure is Anthony, starts throwing punches, hitting me in the arms and kicking me in the legs, but none of it fazes me. I squeeze harder on his throat and watch his eyes bug out as I do.

  Leaning forward, I tell him in a soft, dangerous voice, “You might be good at hitting women, but you’re a fucking pussy when it comes to hitting a man. Let me show you how it’s done, bitch.”

  With that, I lean back, pull my right fist back, and let it fly at his face, clocking him right in the temple as I release his throat with my left hand. The punch doesn’t knock him down, but it does knock him stupid as he stands there, swaying in front of me.

  Pulling my right hand back and fisting it again, this time I give him an uppercut to the jaw, which sends him sailing backward until he hits the ground.

  Anthony lies on the ground, not moving, and my knuckles are stinging like they have been lit on fire, but none of it matters as I hear little Bryce say behind me, “You been knocked out, bitch!”

  I laugh. Probably not the most appropriate thing to encourage, but after what that little guy has seen, it’s a fitting statement.

  ~Paisley~

  I really shouldn’t be doing this. However, when I saw them all at the restaurant, I was just about to go inside to talk to him when he stood up. Then he left, so I stupidly followed. He was focused and in a rush as he pulled away, only making me want to help anyway I can. His body language showed determination in each step as he entered the apartment building.

  I gasp when I see him exit with a woman and a little boy, and then my mind wonders: is this Coal’s woman and son? Maybe that’s why he turned me down. I respect a man who is taken.

  At the same time, I still have to right the wrong. The energies won’t calm inside of me until this is right between us. Or, at least until I can feel the edge he carries within him soften a bit. Maybe then my body, mind, and spirit won’t feel like I need to help this man.

  Since the moment my car rolled into his bike, I have been on edge like never before. The anxiety in my body exhausts me both mentally and physically.

  When he punches the man, knocking him out, I am in shock. Then, taking in the look of fear and bruises on the woman and seeing her son visibly relax at the man being taken down, I find relief.

  I lift my hand in the air, giving Coal a fist bump for protecting his woman and child. Before I can be seen, I then pull away, knowing I need to reevaluate how I’m going to handle fixing things.

  I respect my world and the people in it. If Coal has a wife and son, I won’t worry about making him a meal. That could be mistaken as an attempt at a romantic connection.

  The man is hands down sex on a stick, but if he’s taken, then I respect his woman and her place in his life. I just want to get things right between us so all our energies will be even once again.

  Back at my apartment, I get to work with what I think is best for a family gift. First, I get out the trays and freeze the goat milk. Then I go in my craft bin and find the dinosaur molds. Surely, the boy will like dinosaur soaps.

  Back in the kitchen, I pull out the stainless-steel bowl that fits in the sink with all the ice. Grabbing the essential oils necessary for making the soap and lye, I line it all up for once the milk freezes.

  Coal may not want me to make this right, but by the stars, I will. With my hands and my heart, I will make a cleansing bar for him, his wife, and his son. As they wash away the day’s dirt and grime, my energy will wash away the negative impact I created or became tied to, I’m not sure which. Either way, I will be the positive I set out to be in every person I encounter.

  Making soap is a soothing process for me, but it’s also time consuming. This isn’t going to be something I can finish tomorrow. In fact, the curing will take weeks.

  Instantly, disappointment hits me hard.

  I need another plan.

  Okay, so Coal has a woman and a son. They are clearly important to him since he punched that guy just for being around them.

  I smack myself in the forehead. “Think, Paisley, think!”

  I try to come up with something as my doorbell rings.

  I open it excitedly before immediately rushing back into the kitchen.

  “Paisley, slow down!” Desirae calls as she comes in with Morgan on her heels.

  “What are y’all doing here?” I ask as I go into my cabinets, pulling out pure maple syrup—the real deal, not processed—millet, and a few other items I need.

  “Did you forget?” Morgan asks, watching me.

  “Obviously,” I give back as I pull out my dried cherries.

  “We’re supposed to have cooking class,” Des says dryly.

  I drop everything with a clamor on the countertop. “Yes!” I dance around. “Perfect. Today, we make breakfast cookies!” I squeal with delight. “Yes, you heard me. This ain’t your momma’s breakfast, babes. We’re gonna make carrot and cherry breakfast cookies today for Coal.”

  “For Coal?” both women question simultaneously.

  “You’re not still stuck on this whole hitting him thing, are you?” Des asks while Morgan continues to look at me as if I have grown two heads.

  “Wait! Hitting him? What did you do, Paisley?” Morgan looks at me.

  “Nothing,” Des answers for me, to which I hang my head guiltily.

  “I hit him with my car,” I admit.

  “Oh my, is he okay?” Morgan continues talking to me, while Des moves freely behind me to put away the ingredients.

  “Yes. No, but yes, physically. I’m not, though,” I stammer through my own confusing thoughts.

  “Wine,” Des says, pulling out my homemade plum wine we made last year. “This calls for wine, since you obviously didn’t listen to me when I said you’re off the hook with Coal.”

  Morgan takes me by the hand and leads me to my couch. We both sit down, and like every other time Morgan or Des sit on my couch, they sigh.

  “Really, one day, Paisley, we’re gonna get you off this wooden framed couch with your hand sewn pillows made from your old T-shirts and into a really soft, luxurious couch that we all want to come over for movie night on.”

  “Enough about my couch!” I drop my head into my hands. “I have a crisis.”

  “Look, honey”—Des sits on the floor in front of me with a glass of wine—“Coal isn’t the kind of guy who dates.”

  It’s my turn to look at her like she has two heads. “I know. He has a woman and a kid. I have
to fix things with Coal because everything has been messed up since I bumped him. Like today for instance. My earbuds completely died at the gym. I actually had to listen to the people around me. How can you get in the zone with all that chaos? You can’t! Then I saw him at lunch. I followed him and found out he has a woman and a kid, which is good, but then I want to make dinosaur goat milk soap for his son, but that takes weeks! I can’t have the moons off and the black cloud over me for weeks!”

  Both women laugh at me.

  “Coal doesn’t have a woman … or a kid,” Morgan says between her chuckles.

  “I saw him with them today.”

  “Paisley, there are some”—Morgan pauses—“quirks to Coal. He doesn’t have a woman. He refuses to tie himself to someone like that.”

  Desirae and I both look at the woman who is a close friend to us, surprised that she knows so much about any man other than Ice. Morgan isn’t overly social. She is organized and likes her life exactly how it is.

  Desirae’s shock is what has me more surprised. Since Morgan’s man is Ice, the president of the MC Hammer rides with, the two of them are together more than me. They don’t say much about their men or the club, other than they are in love and happy.

  “Look,” Morgan explains, “when my sister Madyson went missing, Ice and the Regulators put everything into finding her. When she was found … Well, we stayed with Coal for a bit.”

  “You, like, lived with him?” I can’t help the shock on my face. “I’ve met your man, Morgan; I don’t see that sitting well with him.”

  “It was a complicated time. Anyhow, one thing I learned about Coal, he umm …” She hesitates, which isn’t like Morgan.

  “He what?” I screech, feeling like this is some important piece to the puzzle of the man who has interrupted my every thought since I hit him.

  She looks at Des, then me, then laughs. “I don’t know how to say this except the way it was said to me.”

  Des joins Morgan in the fit of laughter, while I sit here, lost.

  “I can only imagine what you’ve been told.”

  Des continues to laugh.

  “Okay, so Coal, he umm …” She composes herself. “He only fucks pussy he pays for.”