Protect

by C. D. Breadner

  He sat next to her, leaning over her with one hand planted on the bed, other side of her hips. “You going to be able to talk to your coworkers? Or should we tell them you herded everyone to the back and didn’t see what was going on?”

  Sharon weighed her options. She hated lying, and because of that she wasn’t very good at it. “I don’t know because I didn’t see it” sounded easier to pull off than the idea that they fought outside bikers for guns and turned the tables on them.

  “I didn’t see anything,” she said quietly, and then she let him kiss her quickly.

  “Good. Let’s get this over with, momma.”

  Deputy Troy took her statement. It was a surreal experience to already know which question was coming next, but it helped her prepare her answers. She had no idea how Troy was going to play this, since he hated the club so much. But as she watched the scene she could tell it was going to be same-old, same-old. The story would be believed, case considered closed, and somehow, somewhere justice would be done in the shadows where no one would know.

  She was relieved to hear the Nomads that had given chase simply ran the Rats out of Markham County and turned back. No ambush, no stupid maneuvers.

  The girl that had died was named Tessa, and she’d only been twenty-six. Another Nomad, with the unfortunate road name of Scrote, had also been killed instantly. He was thirty-eight.

  Where had the Red Rebels of Markham gone? Well, a few had felt it was a good day for a ride, and most their visiting Nomad brothers had also gone along. The Dirty Rats must have been watching, waiting for them to leave. And why were so many family members around? Well, they had guests and decided to put on a breakfast spread for them. Being good hosts and all.

  Then Troy broke her out of the fuzzy, surreal quality of the fucked day. “You’re losing the election, Sharon,” he said, quietly, like he was sharing a secret.

  Sharon leaned in to his as they sat on two chairs placed out in the lot while Markham’s version of CSI combed through the clubhouse. “I didn’t even vote yet, Deputy. I know I’m not going to win it.”

  Troy snapped his book shut, shaking his head. “This is a fucking travesty, by the way.”

  Sharon sighed. “Maybe. But ... you know, for the first time in a long time, I really feel ... free.”

  Troy frowned. “What?”

  “I feel free. I don’t have to hold my tongue anymore when Mrs. Taylor calls to complain about the neighbour’s cat. And the next time someone suggests I do my hair differently or dress better, I’m going to tell them to fuck off. And then I’m going to go home and let my old man fuck me until I care even less about small people and their small, stupid problems.”

  Troy was smiling by the time she was done. “All I can say is, I don’t look forward to working under him.”

  “He’ll be leaning on you,” she admitted. “You’ll be doing everything and he’ll take the credit. Because God forbid he get his own hands dirty.”

  “I’d love to see what he thinks about this situation,” Troy mumbled dryly, rubbing his forehead. She honestly did feel sorry for him. She really liked him. “So your story is consistent with everyone else’s, of course. I’m going to ask for a heads’ up the next time, even though I know I won’t get it.”

  She was staring off though, not hearing him. His previous thought stuck in her head. I’d love to see what he thinks about this situation.

  “Where’s my badge?” she asked suddenly, interrupting him.

  Troy blinked. “What?”

  “My badge. I turned it in to you. Where is it?”

  “In my desk. Why?”

  She got up. “Can we go?”

  “Where?”

  “To get my badge. I think it’s only proper I resign by handing my badge over to the new Sheriff.”

  “Sharon—”

  “Fritter!” she called out, searching for that dark-blonde hair she knew so well. When she found him he was already heading for her.

  “What’s up?”

  “I’m going to go turn my badge in to the new Sheriff.”

  Fritter frowned. “Baby, you’re a mess. Worry about it later.”

  “I want to show everyone the Sheriff they lost,” she whispered, trying not to sound like she was blowing her own horn. “I want him to see what it takes. And I want him to all but piss himself in front of his friends.”

  As she spoke he went from looking concerned about her to outright smiling. “You’re nuts,” he laughed.

  “I want to do it. Wherever he’s having his celebration.”

  “His dealership,” Troy supplied. “I heard that’s where it is.”

  “Is it in that top drawer that still won’t lock properly?” she asked Troy, smiling.

  He shook his head. “Yeah. I’ll cover, but only if you go with her.” That was directed at Fritter.

  “Of course.”

  She had to smile. No one was trying to talk her out of it anymore.

  “We’ll take the truck,” Fritter told her as she stood.

  “Is your mom okay?”

  He nodded, kissing her cheek. “She’s going to be fine. Let’s do this so we can get you back and resting. Okay?”

  Her chest swelled as she threw her arms around his neck. She knew she was in love with him, but she wasn’t where she could say it yet. Instead she quietly held him and he gave her a slight squeeze.

  After stopping quickly at the Sheriff’s department, they headed for the industrial district of Markham. As Troy said, there were cars lining both sides of the street in front of the Turnbull GM dealership. Including along the yellow curb. She considered calling in the parking infraction but decided it didn’t matter.

  With a grunt she shoved both glass doors open, feeling the reassurance of Fritter behind her as she stepped into the garish brightness of the beige-tiled floor and wall to ceiling windows on all sides. Even in the sunset the room was flooded with light.

  The group turned to the door when she entered, and it was a two-dozen double-take salute as she strode across the tiles between two sports cars. Her badge was in hand, and when she got to the reception counter where Turnbull and one of his overweight cronies were talking, she decided that losing her job was going to be a good thing. She knew right then what she wanted to do for a living, and it would piss this prick off a hell of a lot.

  With a quick motion she slammed the badge down on the high counter, and it was a delight when Turnbull jumped.

  “Sharon,” he greeted her, eyeing her up and down. “Jesus. You look like hell. Is that blood?”

  She smiled. “There was a shootout today. I was in it, yes. But none of this is mine, thankfully. Your deputies are over there starting the investigation. I just wanted to tender my resignation to you in person.”

  “Sharon, I don’t take office for weeks.”

  “I don’t care. This town obviously wants you for some reason. And sometimes people get what they deserve.” She was about to turn, then changed her mind and faced him again. “Good luck, Archie. You’ll need it.”

  Then Fritter led the way for her as she spun on her heel and left the dealership, feeling about three tons lighter.

  Epilogue

  -TWO MONTHS LATER-

  Fritter’s back and shoulders were aching like a bitch as he swung his leg off his Dyna and carried his helmet up the walkway to the back door. It was well past midnight, and his new home was entirely dark.

  He’d spent the day helping Knuckles move into his home, formerly Sharon’s place. After the fire her insurance paid out and she sold the place “as is” to his brother. As a team the Red Rebels had gone back into reno mode, removing carpet and burnt drywall to replace what had been damaged. Other than that Knuckles had left everything as is, arranging a few new pieces of his own furniture with help from Fritter, Buck and Tank. After pizza and a couple of beers Fritter was plenty happy to be home and headed for his own bed.

  He let himself in the back door, shushing the four-month old German Shepherd puppy that starte
d yipping and scurrying around his feet with insane puppy energy.

  “Keep it down, Drew,” he hissed, shutting the door and throwing the bolt before engaging the security system. He liked this house and its split four-level layout. The top floor was a master suite, the next level down five steps had two smaller rooms and a full bathroom. Then there was a kitchen and dining room, then den on the lower level with a bedroom and another three-quarter bath. Perfect for when Brayden came to visit. There was also a double detached garage in the back.

  He didn’t care that he’d shot a couple people to death in this house months ago.

  The dog knew to stay in the kitchen, by way of the plastic gates on both entrances. It had vinyl flooring; that was just smart. After toeing off his shoes Fritter stepped over the gate, leaned down to give Drew’s ears a good scratch, then headed up the stairs to the master.

  There was some light seeping under the bedroom door, and he grinned. Maybe she was reading something dirty and he could get a little nookie before lights’ out. When the door pushed open he was about to say her name but froze in place, attention riveted by the puddle of blood in the middle of the mattress.

  “Sharon?” he finally called, voice cracking as his phone vibrated in his pocket.

  “Fritter?” The voice sounded thin, and it was coming from the attached bathroom. He ran for the door, flinging it open.

  “Sharon, what’s the—” he stopped, trying not to lose his mind. Sharon was crouched on the floor, back to the wall, cell in hand. Her face was red from crying and the blood running down her legs to pool under her hit him like a freight train to the gut.

  “It’s too soon,” she panted, dropping the phone and holding her hands out. “It’s too soon for the baby.”

  He yanked the towels off the rack and scooped her up in his arms. “It’s okay,” he told her, aware of how his arms were shaking. And not from the weight of her.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Momma, don’t be sorry. Everything’s okay. We’ll go see the doctor, okay?”

  She nodded and rested her head on his shoulder.

  “It’s not very warm. Let’s get you a blanket, okay?”

  He knew something was wrong because she was letting him do everything. He leaned over so she could open the closet in the hall and reach in to grab a throw. Then he headed through the kitchen, kicking the dog out of the way in his panic. It was a struggle to get back into his shoes and a comment about “no shoes in the house” but he swallowed it. Sharon was able to punch in the code to kill the alarm, then they were in the back yard and he was bee-lining for the garage.

  Towels spread on the seat and the blanket wrapped around her as she leaned into him, he beat his own best time getting to the hospital. Once through the emergency doors the nurses took over and whisked her away, one staying behind to ask him how far along she was and who her obstetrician was. He numbly gave all the information they wanted, and when he found himself alone he pulled out his phone.

  Sharon’s mom was in his phone list. He hit that number, hands shaking, and waited for her to answer. It was late and he bet she’d been sleeping by her tone, but she was nothing but alert once he told her what was going on. She promised they’d be in Markham as soon as they could.

  Next, he called Ma. It had been a real point of pride to watch his mother and Sharon get along so well the last several weeks. He knew that would make life better. Not surprisingly, Ma was halfway out the door before he hung up.

  Then he called Jayce. His Prez beat them all to the hospital.

  Sharon’s doctor made it in about half an hour after they admitted her. He didn’t pause to talk, which was good. Fritter wanted him in there with her. He couldn’t sit, couldn’t be consoled. He just paced, stomach rolling and churning.

  “She’s okay,” Jayce kept saying. “She’s tough.”

  Fritter knew that. His problem was the deal he was trying to broker with ... God, maybe? Or whoever might be able to swing things for him. All he could think was, Take the baby, don’t take her. He didn’t care if that made him an asshole. He fucking needed her.

  “Fuck,” eventually he burst out. “This is probably my fault.”

  Jayce shook his head. “What?”

  “Last night, she was tired. I was horny. I should have left her alone.”

  “That’s not what causes this.”

  He shook his head. “Fuck!”

  “Hey, no one caused this.” Jayce put a restraining hand on Fritter’s shoulder. “Don’t start that. I’ve been there, man. It’s a slippery slope. And it doesn’t do anyone any good. We wait, we see what happens. Yeah?”

  Fritter nodded. Of course that was logical. But he wanted to be able to do something.

  His mother arriving was a good distraction. She held his hand, got him to sit down, and Jayce went off to get coffee.

  “Where is she at again?” Ma asked.

  “Twenty-two weeks, give or take.” His voice was hollow. It was way too soon.

  “She’ll be all right,” his Ma whispered, pulling him close by the shoulder and kissing his temple.

  When Jolene showed up she approached him, arms wide, in jeans and a zipped hoodie. No make-up. They’d all been pulled from bed. He took the offered hug, relieved that she seemed to be pulling herself together lately. She’d been present in her own life the last little while, slowly making inroads. She was trying to figure out how to get the garage up and running, with Jayce’s blessing. That was only because they’d moved the Thebaine again, one night not too long ago.

  Every now and then she’d be staring off into space though, and a guy would have to put a hand on her shoulder to bring her out of it.

  When Rose and Tank showed up he felt like a heel. Rose was so pregnant she almost waddled, but he thought that might be because of how slight she was of frame. All that belly out front was throwing off her natural balance and grace.

  “You didn’t have to come,” he told her, kissing her cheek as she did the same. “You should be restin.’”

  She shook her head, her eyes soft, none of that humorous sparkle she normally had. “No way. I wanted to be here for you guys.”

  No surprise here, either. Rose and Sharon had taken to being Mom Twins the last month or so. They’d gone baby furniture shopping together, even went looking for maternity clothes. And on really warm days they could be found in either back yard, feet in a blow-up pool, drinking iced teas. Gertie would sometime take part as well, her little one already crawling and not happy to be contained to a blanket spread out on the grass in the shade.

  Not that it had been that warm in quite a while; November was starting to behave like its usual self and the temperatures were dropping just a bit. October had been a hot one, though. Could the temperatures cause something like this? He had no idea.

  Maybe this happened because Sharon was still doing too much. They’d bought the house, and she’d gotten the nursery painted a soft, natural green. And they’d steam cleaned the carpet three times. But they hadn’t bought the crib or change table or rocker. She’d insisted there was still time for all that. There were no baby clothes in the house, either. She hadn’t hit the nesting stage.

  And she wanted to start a private investigator’s service. He thought it was a great idea. She was so excited about it her enthusiasm was contagious. He wanted her doing something that she loved, and this suited her perfectly. She was also hanging out with Adeel, a kid that had been rescued from the Mazari’s human trafficking warehouse in Hazeldale. He was in foster care, and as nice as Mark and Bernice Turner were, they had two grown kids they’d gotten out of the house and their third child—one they’d adopted a while back—was starting his final year of high school. Expecting them to take on a ten-year-old was a big ask, and he could tell Sharon was falling in love with this kid. She took him to the park, shopping, out for lunch, to the library, and to the petting zoo when it was in town. He wanted her to relax, and she wanted to be there for Adeel however she could be. She
hadn’t said it yet, but he was expecting her to suggest they take him in.

  Next Buck and Gertie arrived. He cursed under his breath again, seeing the carrier that Davie was in. He accepted the hand clasp from Buck and the kiss on the cheek from Gertie. “You guys should have stayed home. It’s late.”

  Gertie smiled, looking down at the carrier she held. “He wasn’t sleeping. Sure enough, the second the car starts moving he passes out and he hasn’t woken up since.”

  Fritter peered down, and sure enough Davie Junior was unconscious, tip of his tongue sticking out between his rose-pink lips. Fritter had to smile.

  Okay, so the kid was cute now. Good for him.

  “Any word yet?”

  They looked to the doors, and Tiny was striding through now, followed by Spaz. Fritter felt his eyes prickle, and he sniffed to cover the unexpected rise in emotion. Tiny approached with long strides, giving Fritter a quick hug before surprising the hell out of him by holding his face in both hands.

  “Be strong, yeah? Be strong for her.”

  Fritter searched his face, but the old fucker was totally serious. It was freaking him out more. “I will be,” he replied stupidly, not sure what to make of the sudden fatherly advice.

  “She may be tough, but she’ll need you to be there for her. No matter what this is.”

  “I will be.” Fritter gave Tiny’s arms a squeeze and the guy let him go.

  Once his family was assembled, he took to pacing again. No one tried to get him to relax or drink a cup of coffee. Knowing him the way they did, they let him be.

  -oOo-

  It was three hours before they let him back to see her. A lot happened in that three hours, and his eyes were burning with tears when he finally pushed open the door to her room. She was in a shared room, but there was no one in the other bed. Sharon was closest to the window, and she was curled on her side, staring out the window at the sky. It was pitch black, but for some reason tonight the stars were actually visible.

  He took a deep shuddering breath, swallowed the urge to start sobbing like a bitch again, then moved to her bedside. She didn’t move, even though she had to have heard him.