by Tia Lewis
“Him and Richie,” I said, laughing. Jack laughed, too, but the laugh didn’t reach his eyes. He had something on his mind.
“You think he knows anything?” he asked, serious again.
“I do. I think he knows a lot of shit, and he thinks he knows even more. But none of it makes a difference because he can’t make a damn thing stick.”
“You would think after all this time, the guy would have something. God, he’s been on us since before you joined the club,” Jack mused.
“Or right around that time, anyway. I remember you guys talking a lot about him back then. That was, what, over ten years ago now.”
“Yeah, and he’s still a pain in my ass. But you’re right. He doesn’t have shit on us. I wonder how much sleep he loses over that.”
“Or how much time he spends thinking about us,” I added. “God, he probably says your name when he’s fucking his wife.”
“Oh, shut up.” Jack shook his head, grimacing.
“He’s obsessed. He needs to retire. I’m sick of seeing him sneaking around. He should just give up already.”
“He’s not such a bad guy,” Jack reminded me. “I think he sorta respects us.” He saw my expression and grinned. “No, I really do. One of those ‘I don’t like you, but I have to respect what you do’ sorta things.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I said, standing. I looked down at him. “Speaking of sleep, you need to get more of it. I mean that.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. When did you lose your balls?”
“Around the time you started looking like a deflated balloon. You’ve lost weight, you know.”
“I think you’re the one who screams my name when you’re fucking one of your girls, son.”
“Maybe ... Maybe.” I winked, then left the room to the sound of him chuckling behind me. I couldn’t tell him how worried I was about him, about us. I had a bunch of loose cannons in my lounge, getting looser and looser the more they drank. I got the girls together—Darcy, Violet, Tamara and a few others who had come in while I was talking with Jack. They met with me in one corner of the room, beside the pinball machines.
“I want you girls to get sneaky tonight,” I said. “You know what I mean. Exercise those pickpocketing skills.”
“You think it’ll be that bad?” Tamara asked, chewing her lip.
Darcy twirled a strand of long black hair around her finger. I was used to seeing her do that when she was nervous. “You wanna keep them locked in tonight, you mean?”
“Yeah, that’s what I mean. I want all of them grounded. No keys. I don’t even wanna think about what would happen if any of them got on their bikes tonight.” I looked around a little. They were all drunk and getting more intoxicated by the minute, the emotion inside them letting itself out in too loud laughter, too rowdy roughhousing. They wanted a fight. If I knew them, I knew more than one of them would end up with a black eye before the night was over. Maybe worse, when the good times turned bad after a few too many drinks.
“You got it,” Tamara nodded, rounding the girls up. “We know what to do.” She was just about to walk away when I took her by the arm.
“You sure you’re okay, Tam?” I knew she and Austin had a thing at one time. I remembered how crazy he was about her—he used to talk to me about her sometimes when he was drunk, and he thought I was drunk and wouldn’t remember. They slept together pretty exclusively for at least a year, maybe more.
She smiled, looking brave the way she always did. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“You sure? If you need anything—”
“This wouldn’t be an invitation into your bed, would it?” She grinned knowingly. We’d known each other for too long to get away with playing games, but for once I was serious.
“No, and I’m insulted.” I gave her a pat on the ass to show there weren’t any hard feelings. “Now get out there and steal some keys.”
“Aye, aye.” She saluted, then went on with her work. I didn’t want to tell the girls that I thought some of their men, the ones they loved in their own way, might go off and get themselves killed out in the Bronx, where the Cobras operated. That was all we’d need.
I leaned against one of the machines, watching the girls picking the guys’ pockets. They were old pros—it was hardly the first time I’d asked them to do it. They would slide up against the men, lean in with a compliment or a kiss on the cheek. Their hands would slide over the ass of the guy in question, searching around. Sometimes they would dance up against them, grinding like it was all in fun. If the keys were in a front pocket, they’d pretend like they were rubbing the guy’s cock a little—again, all in fun. The guys were all so drunk and turned on they never knew what was happening. Poor suckers.
With that job done, I went to my room. I had a headache, and it had been a long day. I didn’t have to worry about my crew so I could relax a little until the next piece of drama kicked up.
Stripping down to my shorts, I stretched across the bed. The ceiling wasn’t pressed tin in there, but the room was comfortable enough. I didn’t need much. What did it say about me, that I lived out of the MC’s clubhouse? Maybe that it was the only thing I had that came close to a family or a home in my entire life? Maybe that the club was too big a part of me? I didn’t know.
What would it be like to have an old lady to go home to on a night like this one? When I had just buried the third of three friends in four days? Three close friends, brothers, men who would have laid down their lives for me? In all honesty, they had laid down their lives. Tough, strong men. And now they were dead.
If I had an old lady to go home to, I could have laid some of that pain and heartache down. She would have picked it up for me, the way an old lady did and helped me through it. She would have told me it was okay to hurt, to be sad, to want to hurt the people who took my brothers away. She might have made dinner for me, fixed me a drink, turned down the covers when I was too drunk to do it myself. She would have been there when I woke up in the morning with a hell of a hangover, and she would have made my coffee and waited until I felt strong enough to talk about it.
Most of the time, it didn’t bother me that I didn’t have a home or a woman to go to. On nights like tonight, it was another matter. I felt strongly about everything I’d missed out on, up to and including a good woman. I just hadn’t found one who mattered enough to me. And I was too busy having fun in the meantime. Why throw away a good thing? I could get pussy at the snap of my fingers—hell, I could have gone out to the lounge at that very minute and pulled a girl into my room, and she wouldn’t have fought me on it. I was that sure of myself because I’d done it before. The only one of the girls out there I’d hadn’t already fucked was Violet, and that was because she seemed a little immature … and maybe a little too desperate. I wasn’t into desperate.
It wasn’t just pussy I wanted that night. I wanted a little comfort. I knew it wouldn’t come out of a bottle, the way my crew thought it would. It would come from understanding. But who would understand me? Somebody in my world, of course. None of the women who hung around the club were the kind of woman I could get serious about—they were all hot since only hot chicks were allowed to spend time with us. They were all cool, they all understood the rules. But they weren’t the types a man could count on and settle down with. Maybe Tamara. The rest were just groupies, and all of them wanted one of us to choose them as their old lady. The fact that they weren’t particular about it and probably would have opted for any of us—including Richie, and he wasn’t even a member yet—wasn’t a compliment.
A knock at the door pulled me out of my dark thoughts. I switched on the light by the bed and called out that the door was open. It was Darcy, holding a bowl.
“Keys,” she said, shaking it with a smile on her face. “All of ‘em.”
“Damn, you girls are good. I’m gonna have to remember to chain my wallet to my belt loops around you,” I joked. “Thanks for doing that. You probably saved a lot of lives tonight.”
<
br /> She waved a hand the way Jack had. “Oh, we just wanna keep you guys safe. It’s our job, you know? That’s what we do.”
“You do a great job at it. You’re the best.” I noticed the way she lingered in the doorway, the way she kept looking at me. I was aware of the fact that I was almost naked except for a pair of underwear, but I acted like it was no big deal.
“So, um, are you gonna stay in here all night?” she asked.
“Probably. I’m not in the mood for a wake or whatever that is out there.”
She nodded, biting her bottom lip. She was a cute girl—hot, really. The long black hair paired with green eyes and a curvy body. We’d gotten together before, a few times. She was good in bed.
“You want some company?” she asked. “Nobody should be alone on a night like this.”
It didn’t take me long to decide that she was right. I waved her in, and she shut the door behind her with a smile.
1
Nicole
When I opened my eyes the morning after my father’s funeral, the words my aunt spoke after the luncheon rang in my head.
“The worst part is over, Nikki.” She’d patted my hand, trying to console me. I’d looked at her, wide-eyed, wondering how the hell she would know. Had a gang of outlaws murdered her father just because he did his job? Had she been left an orphan at the age of twenty-one, fresh out of college without a guiding figure in her life? Had she ever lost the most important person in her life, the one who taught her everything valuable and meaningful?
The worst part was most definitely not over. It had just started. I had to move on without the slightest idea what that meant.
The noise was coming from the kitchen. Aunt Karen was still around, and would be for a few days. She’d insisted on staying with me, sleeping in the guest bedroom. No way would I let her sleep in my father’s room. Not that she would—the woman was clumsy and often put her foot in her mouth, but she wasn’t clueless. She had a little tact.
I guessed if she was willing to go through the motions of getting breakfast together, I should able to meet her halfway by getting out of bed. My eyes were itchy, sensitive. Too much crying, too many tissues. I rubbed my hands over them, wondering how many times they had leaked saltwater that day. With the funeral arrangements over and no more friends or family to play hostess to except for Karen, the thought of being left with nothing to do but cry was a sobering one. I’d kept it together only for the sake of the constant flow of visitors, waiting until bedtime to sob. I had no reason to put on a happy face. Karen and I knew each other too well for me to feel obligated on her behalf.
I flipped on the light in my bathroom, wincing as the fluorescent bulb assaulted me. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I wondered who stared back. Same brown hair, so dark it was almost black. She had the same heart-shaped face. Her eyes the same shade of hazel, more green than brown. Even had the same high cheekbones, along with my freshly tanned complexion.
But the woman in the mirror was so much older. There were bags under her eyes, a haunted and dreadful look there. Her mouth curved down in a frown. Her skin looked sallow, completely lifeless. The hair might have been the same color, but it looked tangled and dull after a night spent tossing and turning. If I had seen me on the street and didn’t know anything about me, I’d made up a backstory involving a hard life spent partying which eventually caught up to me. I looked at least ten years older.
“Nikki? I hear you moving around up there. I have breakfast waiting for you. Come down before it gets cold!”
“Okay, Aunt Karen! I’ll be right down.” Just raising my voice so she could hear me was exhausting enough to make me consider going back to bed. It was all too much. And too soon. I shouldn’t have buried my father so soon. I should have walked down the aisle on his arm. I should have handed off his first grandchild and watched the look of joy on his face. I shouldn’t have stood by his graveside only months after he took me out for my first legal drink, months after he watched me graduate college. At least he was there for that milestone.
I pulled a bulky, red, button-down cardigan over my white old college t-shirt and black polka-dot pajama pants, wrapping it around a thin frame which had only gotten thinner. The thought of eating was almost repulsive to me—ironic, seeing as how when I’d gone to bed the night before the kitchen was still overflowing with food brought over by friends and father’s coworkers.
I saw Karen had done what she could to organize things, using up some of the leftover food in putting together a makeshift breakfast. We’d hosted Dad’s luncheon there, the food catered and entirely paid for by the rest of my father’s squad. The police department had covered the funeral expenses—the least they could do, in my opinion. They took care of their own.
“Good morning, sweetie.” My aunt poured a cup of decaf coffee for me, which I accepted with a grateful smile. “Did you sleep well?”
I only looked at her, frowning, and she understood. “Me, too,” she sighed, sitting down to the strangest mixture of leftover food I’d ever seen at breakfast: roasted vegetables and grilled chicken on a dinner roll, roasted potatoes, and salad.
I begged off eating, unable to handle the thought. “Honey, you need to eat. You’ve already lost weight, and it’s been less than a week. Please, eat something.”
“I know how long it’s been,” I murmured, drinking my coffee. Hoping it would wake me up; add a little life to my cold body.
“You didn’t have much weight to spare in the first place,” she added, frowning. When she frowned, and a little furrow appeared between her eyebrows, she reminded me so much of my father it almost crushed my heart.
“I’ll be okay. It just makes me sick. It won’t be forever.” I picked at a butter croissant just to keep her happy, putting little bits of it in my mouth. I’d have to send her home with the casseroles, I guessed, or else keep them in the freezer forever. No sense in heating up an entire dish just for myself. At least my uncle and cousins could eat it.
“So, what are you going to do about the house?” she asked. It was all I could do to keep from rolling my eyes. Why did I have to think about such things? And all at once, too. It seemed unfair that a family should have to face major life questions at a time like that. There should have been a week where nobody could ask questions, and nobody would be expected to make decisions in such a fragile state.
“I don’t know. Live here, I guess.” I shrugged.
“All alone? Just you, in this big house?” Her blue eyes peered questioningly at me over the rims of her thick black glasses. I knew which side of the argument she sat on, at least.
“It’s not that big. A three-bedroom rowhome in Queens. You talk about it like it’s a mansion.”
“It’s more than you need, though.”
“Well, what did you have in mind?”
“I thought you would sell the place and use the money for an apartment in the city. You know. Get you a nice little apartment that you can decorate all nice. Perhaps get a pet. A puppy sounds good. You’ve always liked dogs.”
“Aunt Karen.” I massaged my forehead preparing myself for an incoming headache.
“What? You want a cat instead?”
I shook my head at the thought. “This is my home. I’ve never been the sort of person who wants to live in Manhattan. Can you imagine how fast the money would disappear? I have girlfriends who rent apartments with three, four other people just to make ends meet. It’s too expensive.”
“You’re practical. Just like your father.” She smiled a little.
“Yes, well, a detective doesn’t make enough money to be impractical.” I’d learned the value of a dollar at an early age, raised by a single parent … a widower. My father always managed to get by, though, even if it meant working crazy amounts of overtime. “Besides, this is my home. I’m not ready to leave yet, and I’m sure as hell not ready to pack up my father’s things and do anything with them. I just need some more time to think everything through.”
She n
odded. “I understand, sweetie. You’re right. I just want you to be able to live your life now. You’re a beautiful, smart young woman with a lot of years ahead of you. Don’t bury yourself here.”
Bury. What an attractive choice of words after what we’d done less than twenty-four hours earlier. I could still see the wooden casket with a mountain of flowers behind it. All the arrangements sent by friends, coworkers, adoring family members.
“So, I was talking to Tommy after the services,” Aunt Karen said. My ears perked up at the mention of my father’s boss’s name.
“Yeah? What did he say?”
“He didn’t want you to know, of course, but I thought you would want to.” She paused.
“Okay. What did he say, Aunt Karen?” I repeated, waiting for her to spill the news. “Aunt Karen!”
“Quiet down, quiet down,” she replied before clearing her throat. “Tommy told me—he thinks—”
“He thinks what?”
“He thinks it was the Blood Riders, sweetie.” Her hand covered mine, keeping me from throwing the coffee cup against the kitchen wall.
“The Blood Riders! Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Nikki, calm down.”
“I knew it was them!” I shouted, clenching my teeth as I stared into the blackness of what remained of my coffee. How fitting, because it matched the way I felt every time I thought about that bunch of outlaw degenerates. My father had built his career on bringing them to justice. I used to joke that we should send them a Christmas card every year—I was so familiar with them, their names, their habits, that it seemed they were part of my family.
“I’m so sorry, but I had to tell you.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“I’m just as shocked as you. I mean, you think they would do something so evil after all this time?” My aunt looked as skeptical as she sounded. She had a point. Why, after all, the years of playing cat-and-mouse with the motorcycle club, would they finally break down and kill my father? Killing a cop was an incredibly risky move, even when the people involved were hardened and vicious criminals.