She slid into the chair facing Lisa. “You always look good, too.” Lisa liked clothes and fashion as much as Juliana did. But she had the money to shop off the rack. Today, she was wearing a wrap-around silk dress, ecru with a light pattern of brown butterflies, that did fantastical things for her gorgeous, curvy figure. The earth tones were perfect for the burnished honey that was her current hair color. She’d complemented it with amber and gold jewelry and a pair of brown, brushed leather hidden wedge shoes.
“I know, but I can’t take credit for my look. I stole it off the internet and just shoved my phone at the salesgirl so she could put the whole thing together for me. Which reminds me: I need my style guru. We’re so due for a trip to LA.”
Juliana had just been to LA.
What a weekend she’d just had. It hardly seemed real—in fact, waking up alone this morning, she’d had the stomach-sinking impression that she’d dreamt the whole thing. Until she’d realized that she was wearing Trick’s t-shirt.
Friday night had been a revelation of physical intimacy. Saturday had been a heart-wrenching panorama of emotional connection, from the fear and then joy of riding with him to the worry and horror and compassion of learning his story.
But Sunday was her favorite day. On Sunday, they’d stayed in. She’d made breakfast, he’d made lunch—among his many talents was cooking—and they’d spent the day quietly. He’d read, and she’d sewn. And then Lucie had come home, and they’d had pizza and heard all about her Disneyland adventure. It was the perfect kind of day.
And now she had a place to wear the pretty dress she’d started Friday on a desperate whim. Trick had asked her to go to his friend’s wedding with him. He’d wanted Lucie to go, too, but the wedding was in two weeks, and she’d be with her father that weekend.
Thinking of her wonderful weekend, Juliana smiled and took a sip of the wine Lisa had ordered for her.
“Okay. What is with the grin? What did you do this weekend? Did you get laid? Oh, MY GOD. You got laid! Wait—how? Is there a guy? Since when is there a guy? I just saw you the night before you moved!” Lisa knew she didn’t get physical quickly, and Juliana could see her struggling to put together all these random—and accurate; Lisa knew her well—conjectures.
She took another sip of her wine—a longer one, this time. “Okay, yes. I have news.” Juliana’s grin got goofier. She couldn’t help it. She was happy—still scared, but the happy was drowning out the worry. She was falling in love.
Lisa leaned in and squinted at her like she was the fine print on an eye chart. “Well, hell. We’re gonna need a whole bottle of this shiraz. My little Juli has been up to some shenanigans.”
~oOo~
Lisa had had most of that bottle of wine, so when Juliana got back to the office, she was steady. She felt good and happy, and as she walked down the sidewalk and into the building on this early August day, then through the atrium lobby toward the elevators, she didn’t mind that she was catching notice.
Usually she felt self-conscious when she realized that people were watching her—a combination of wary discomfort and surprised pleasure that felt like the opposite of confidence. She knew she was attractive, and she was proud at her skill at putting together an outfit, but that didn’t mean she was comfortable in the light of other people’s regard. She dressed for herself.
Today, though, buzzing with wine and delight, she walked like she was on a runway at Fashion Week.
She hadn’t told Lisa exactly everything. Mainly, she’d skipped the PTSD or anything about Trick’s military service. She wasn’t sure she understood all of her feelings about that herself, and anyway, it seemed like a breach of trust to share something so painful and personal with someone who was a stranger to him. If he couldn’t even tell his own best friend, she didn’t think it was right to tell hers.
She’d also faltered about telling Lisa he was Horde, but her friend was savvy and nosy, and as soon as Juliana had said he designed motorcycles, Lisa had the rest of the truth in about three questions.
Juliana had been worried that Lisa would be judgmental. Instead, though, she’d thought it seriously hot.
Which it was—all the parts Juliana knew about it, anyway. He looked unbelievably good in his black kutte and sunglasses, his ink and metal, his dark jeans and heavy boots, sitting astride that big black and chrome monster of a bike. And oh God, riding with him. She’d feared for her life at first, but then it had become exhilarating. Like Titanic-King-of-the-World exhilarating.
Possibly not the best simile, considering how that movie ended.
Yes, she was aware of the Horde’s reputation as criminals. But as her understanding of Trick Stavros, the man, became clearer, her concern about his ‘club’ and its alleged activities faded. That man was not a criminal. He was a good people.
Lisa’s enthusiasm for her news had stoked her happiness and cooled her fears even more, so when she pressed the call button on the elevator, she was grinning stupidly to herself, looking forward to seeing Trick again that evening. She decided that once she got to her desk, she’d call him, just to say hi.
In the high sheen of the brass elevator doors, she saw Mark walk up and stand behind her.
When he saw her see him, he smiled. “Don’t you look happy, Julie. You look like a woman who is well and truly fucked.”
She swallowed and forced herself to stay calm. No fear. Not of him. Without turning around, she said to his brass reflection, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m working. Don’t get your thong in a twist.” The elevator dinged and opened. It was past the lunch rush, and they were the only two people waiting for the elevator. Still, Juliana made to turn away, to wait for the next one. She did not want to be trapped alone in a box with her abusive ex. But he grabbed her arm and nearly dragged her in with him.
He pushed the button for her floor—23—and no other button. Fuck. Striving for calm even now, she said, “I thought you were here for work.”
“I am. But as long as I’ve got your attention, who is this Trick asshole?”
She was not going to tell him the truth, not like this, trapped and alone. “He told you. A neighbor.”
Mark pushed her into a rear corner and leaned in, blocking her escape with his arms. “That’s a load of steaming horseshit. Lucie wouldn’t fucking shut up about him the whole weekend. Every fucking thing we did, she wanted to show Trick, tell Trick, bring Trick. Who the fuck is this guy?”
His face had clenched and reddened as he’d spoken, and now fear had Juliana in its teeth. She couldn’t answer. Her eyes went to the doors, over his shoulder, as she willed the elevator to stop and open, bring in new passengers. Witnesses.
But no luck. It was the two-o’clock lull.
“No? Nothing?” he sneered when she could only stare silently. “Well, I know some things. Patrick Robert Stavros. Thirty-four years old. Born in Torrance, graduated from Torrance High School. Ex-Army: Sergeant, enlisted almost five years, three tours in Afghanistan. Sniper. General discharge.” He lifted his eyebrow in a theatrical display of being scandalized by that. “Art history degree from UCLA. Member in good standing of the Night Horde Southern California since the charter was certified. Employed at Virtuoso Cycles on Mariposa Avenue in Madrone—owned by the Night Horde. Which is where he is right now.”
They arrived at her floor, and the elevator finally opened. Mark smiled and stepped back, the hostility erased from his face. “I don’t want your neighbor around my kid, Julie. Whore yourself out to whatever scum fits up your cooze, see if I care. But not around my kid.”
She escaped from the elevator, her pulse slamming against the backs of her eyes and drumming in her ears. He smiled cordially and pressed a button. “Have a nice afternoon. I’ll talk to you Wednesday.” He called Lucie every Wednesday.
Juliana stood where she was until the elevator doors closed and she could hear the mechanism move the car away from her floor.
She understood exactly everything that Mark had just do
ne. He had threatened her and Trick both. His club, too. That fading understanding of the Night Horde’s alleged activities came back into stark relief. Trick had secrets, secrets so potent that he couldn’t get the help he needed for his anguished head. Mark could do him real harm.
The confident, happy strut she’d entered the building with gone, Juliana slunk back to her office.
~oOo~
By the time she picked Lucie up at her preschool/daycare center, Juliana had made some decisions and had her rioting fears and feelings more or less in hand. Being a mother had helped her learn to control her emotions in ways she’d have said, in her pre-Lucie life, were impossible for her. Once she’d understood how profoundly she influenced her daughter’s comprehension of the world, she’d learned to calibrate what she showed of her emotional state.
So they had a normal evening. They changed into ‘play clothes’: shorts and t-shirts. Lucie had a worksheet to do for homework—they had to color and cut out a paper and then fold it into an origami crane. Her teacher, Mrs. Amy, had read a book called The Paper Crane to them.
After that, Juliana heated up some chicken and rice for dinner. They watched a little television, and then Lucie stretched out on the floor and played dinosaurs while Juliana worked on the dress she was making. She hadn’t started it with any idea that she’d have a place to wear it, so there was no reason now not to finish, even if she was again unsure where she’d wear it.
She never had made that call to say hi to Trick.
Lucie was in bed, and Juliana was sitting in the living room with the television on, sketching in her sketchpad, when there was a light knock on her door. It was nearing midnight.
Knowing who it would be before she stood, she set her sketch aside, turned off the TV, and went over. A look through the peephole confirmed that yes, it was Trick. She opened the door.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” He grinned, and she wanted more than anything to pull him inside and feel his arms around her. But she stayed where she was and didn’t say more.
His grin faltered. “You okay? I’m not asking to come in—I get what you said about going slow around Lucie. I just saw the light and wanted to see you quick before I went up.”
Going slow around Lucie. Yes. They’d talked about that, about how he shouldn’t stay over when Lucie was there, that they needed to pace themselves and let her adjust to any changes that might be happening in her life. Now Juliana felt a new flutter of hope. Maybe if they went slowly enough, played it chill enough, Mark wouldn’t need to know Trick was in their life.
That was dumb, though. Even if they moved at a snail’s pace, at some point, if where they were headed was where they ended up, Trick would be in Lucie’s life.
She had to simply be honest. Tell Trick about what had happened. Make the next choice together.
“You should come in. We need to talk.”
Now his face did that thing where it became utterly expressionless. In just their few days together, she’d learned that that stony visage didn’t mean he wasn’t feeling anything. It meant the very opposite. But he nodded and stepped over the threshold.
“Can I get you a drink? There’s still some vodka.” She’d been thinking that she’d pick up whiskey and beer when she went to the market next, so that she’d have something for him to drink. Now she wasn’t so sure she’d need it.
“No. Thanks. What do you need to say?” He stood, rigid, near the door, looking like he was expecting to take enemy fire, and her heart hurt.
She rose up on her tiptoes and looped her arms around his neck, holding him close, her forehead against his twitching jaw. “Nothing is changed about how I feel.”
At that, she felt him relax, and he put his arms around her. After a moment of close quiet, he asked, “What’s up?”
She stepped back and took his hand, leading him to the sofa she’d been sitting on. As he sat, he picked up her sketchbook. He studied it for a few seconds and then looked back up at her.
Blushing, she took the pad from him and closed the cover. “I’m good at bodies, but I suck at faces. Sorry.” She’d been sketching him, focusing on his chest and arms, trying to get his ink right. Her rendering of his head was all hair and beard—and smudges where she’d tried and failed to get his eyes right.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m…humbled is the word, I guess.” He took her hand. “What’s up, Jules?”
“Mark came to my office today.”
Juliana hadn’t been sure how Trick would react to that. She’d been prepared for shock or anger, some kind of blow up. But no. He didn’t blow up. That was what he’d told her. He didn’t explode.
What he did was take a long, slow, deep breath. “Tell me everything. Exactly. Don’t leave anything out.”
She told him everything, exactly, leaving nothing out. As she spoke, he didn’t focus on her face. He seemed to stare at her knees, his attention there perfectly still and perfectly complete.
When she had recounted the scene, she said, “He was saying that he can find out about you, and that if you’re in Lucie’s life, he will find out everything he can.”
Trick nodded but didn’t speak or otherwise move.
“I told you that he’s an investigator for a law firm. You said you carry other men’s secrets, and they carry yours. He can hurt you. He will hurt you. And your club.”
Again, he only nodded.
Deciding that she needed to know—to know, not suspect, not wonder—Juliana asked, “Trick, are you a criminal?”
Finally, he moved. He turned and met her eyes. And then, for long seconds, he was still again.
“Trick?”
“I’m an outlaw.”
She laughed—not with amusement but with irony. “Which is the same thing. You sound like a politician, spinning the truth.”
“No. I don’t spin the truth. I say what I can, and I keep what I can’t to myself, but I don’t play games with the truth. Criminal and outlaw are not the same thing. A criminal knocks over a gas station and kills the poor clerk who was just trying to feed his family. A criminal shoots up a school because he’s pissed off he didn’t get to sit at the cool table at lunch. A criminal twists the stock market into some kind of Gordian knot and fucks poor people into loans they can’t afford and then fucks off to the Caribbean while Congress cleans up after him and the people he fucked go homeless. A criminal does hurt to people who don’t deserve it. Innocents. I’m an outlaw. I don’t recognize laws when the people who made them aren’t subject to them, when only the powerless are subjected. I live outside that law. I live in a world with its own code. And when I break the laws I don’t recognize, I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.” He sat back. “For what it’s worth, I don’t have a record. My time in the stockade is my only time inside anywhere, and I was never formally charged. All of that was erased with my discharge.”
They sat quietly. Juliana tried to figure out what she thought. She knew she should tell him to go. What she wanted for herself and her daughter was a stable, secure, quiet life. Trick’s life didn’t offer that.
She’d known that from the first, though. He was confirming her suspicions, not telling her anything new. In fact, from that perspective, persuading her of the difference between criminal and outlaw might reasonably ease her mind a bit.
“You work with the law, Jules. You know I’m right. The law is nothing but a few people with power shaping the world in their own image. And the powerful shape it at will, twisting the laws they made to suit their whim in the moment, crushing the powerless under their Gucci loafers. I know you know that’s true. I know you felt it, with what happened with your parents, and with your custody case. ‘Laws are spider webs through which the big flies pass and the little ones get caught.’”
Hearing in that last sentence the inflection of a quote, Juliana found a small smile. “Who said that one?”
Knife & Flesh (The Night Horde SoCal Book 4) Page 14