It ain’t that I’m unfamiliar with violence. Yeah, I mostly work at the garage. I fill in at The White Van, rousting drunks. But on occasion, if you belong to a club like this, you pull a messy job. And I did do two tours in Iraq.
Still, I’m not one to spar by the bonfire or brawl at the bar. If it’s got to be done, I’ll do it, but I’d rather be in the garage.
Or I was. My blood’s coursing through my veins, and I have to flex my fingers to stop myself from balling them back into fists. If we were alone, I’d happily mash Jed’s head into the free weights until it’s pulp and bone shards.
“A word?” Heavy gestures to the alcove.
I ain’t leaving Fay-Lee here with that asshole.
“She’ll be cool, boss,” Mikey the prospect pipes up. He plops down on the bench next to Fay-Lee and grins at her. “’Sup?”
She tentatively lifts a shoulder, baffled and tense. “Not much?”
Mikey is a distant cousin on my mom’s side. I’ve known him since he was born. He’s almost as skinny as Fay-Lee, but I trust him.
Still. “He doesn’t touch her.” I point at Jed, and then I glare at the other brothers. “No one touches her.”
“Understood.” Heavy gestures toward the stairs. I lead the way, up and out into the yard. The cool air hits me, and I take a deep breath. Damn, it was stifling down there.
Heavy leans against the building, takes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and shakes one loose for me.
“Nah, man.” I quit after my discharge. Quit for good after we had Carson. Hardest thing I ever done.
Heavy’s a chipper. I don’t understand how a man can smoke one here and there and not get addicted, but he is a man of exceptional will. He flicks his lighter and inhales deep. I still love the smell.
I lean next to him, kick the heel of my boot up on the brick. We stand a while in silence, admiring the woods with the leaves all turned colors.
We’ve got ourselves a slice of heaven out here. The woods, the fields across the highway, the foothills rising in the distance. Room to spread out. Our grandfathers did well when they pooled their money and bought this acreage after the war.
After a minute or two, Heavy breaks the silence. “We have a problem.”
I exhale. “Yeah. I know.”
“If she was helping Chaos, she knows things. Even if she wasn’t, she can place him here. She’s a material witness. Either way, she can be used to bring down this club.”
“She’s what? Twenty?”
“She’s eighteen. We ran her information.”
Shit. That’s young. Still. “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Maybe. She’s still a liability.” I tense. Heavy claps a paw on my shoulder. “Relax. I’m stating facts. You’ve made yourself clear. She’s a risk I guess we’re gonna take.”
“I don’t think she’s in on it. Look at her. She’s down on her luck.”
“Maybe. But we need to ameliorate the risk.”
“You’re gonna need to speak plain English, my brother.”
Heavy went away to college. That’s where he came up with the plan that’s changing our way of life. He was always wicked smart, but when he came back from Massachusetts, he stopped bothering to hide it.
“We can keep going down this road,” he says. “Interrogate her. Put the fear of God in her. Dig up information on her family. Hold that over her head. Send her on her way. We can use the stick.”
I don’t care for that.
“Or we can use the carrot. No offense, but your woman’s stick thin, and she’s clearly been roughing it. The weather’s turning. She gets along with the other sweetbutts. Maybe we use the carrot. The clubhouse could use a house mouse.”
She’s not staying here with Jed and a bunch of horny prospects.
Heavy glances at me from the corner of his eye. “You could take her home with you. Place could use a woman’s touch.”
It could. And my cock definitely perks up at the thought of her bent over the sink, elbow-deep in suds.
But I been down that road. Domesticity. It’s all great—mince-meat pie coolin’ on the counter, pussy on tap—until your credit cards are maxed out and your woman’s talkin’ about self-actualization all the time like you did something wrong.
Besides, Fay-Lee’s too young. The boys would run roughshod over her. Especially if they’re gonna be around full time for a while.
I don’t need to invite conflict into my home. It’s peaceful now.
“If you don’t like that plan, we could find somewhere else. Grinder maybe. Or Harper probably wouldn’t mind some help around the house.”
Grinder would perv on her, and I’ve seen Harper Ruth with the sweetbutts. Fay-Lee’s got spunk, but Harper’s a maneater. People eater. Whatever.
“I can’t lock her in a room with the boys around. And I gotta work.” But maybe I could talk to her. Make her see it’s a win-win.
“If this plays out the way I intend, it won’t be that kind of thing.” Heavy’s asking me to trust him. Trust that wily brain of his.
“What’s the end game? She can’t stay forever.” My gut sours. I probably need to eat.
“We’ll make friends. She’s a friendly girl. We’ll find out if she knows anything. Who knows? Maybe we can hook her up with a job at The White Van. She fits in.”
Over my dead body. “She ain’t dancin’.”
“Okay. You call the shots.” Heavy’s lip twitches.
“What?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you this decisive about anything besides shovelheads.”
“Who gives a shit about reliability if it don’t sound good?” People got fucked up priorities these days. If you’re hung up on reliability, buy a fuckin’ station wagon. But yeah. I don’t usually show an interest in much besides mechanics.
Heavy chuckles. “Agreed. Let’s go back in. I’ll lay it out for her.” He knocks the cherry of his cigarette off against the brick and pinches the tip. There’s an ashtray-trashcan combo by the door. Wall will ream anyone who flicks a butt on the ground.
“What if she don’t bite?” Unease churns in my chest again.
“I’m a very persuasive man.”
I hope so. I have always backed my brothers one hundred percent. I was born and raised in this club. I’ve never gone against them. I never would.
But for this tiny slip of a girl with big brown eyes and a crooked smile?
My back molars grind, and a jolt of adrenaline shoots through my veins. I ain’t thinkin’ straight.
This better go like Heavy thinks it will.
5
FAY-LEE
I’m gonna die in a dank basement gym that smells like ball sweat. Jed is probably gonna brain me with a ten-pound weight. He’d enjoy it, too. He’s muttering in the corner with Nickel, shooting me nasty looks. He doesn’t like that Dizzy made him back off.
He was a lot nicer when I met him with Chaos when we first came to town. We went to some honkytonk bar, and Jed and I played horseshoes out back while Chaos met with some old dude.
Mikey’s on his phone next to me watching videos with the sound off, laughing to himself every so often.
Grinder’s inspecting the treadmill. He’s an older dude, grizzled and barrel-chested, belt holding up his beer belly. I’ll go out on a limb and venture a guess that he’s not familiar with the machine.
There are two other brothers whose names I don’t know, standing sentry at the exit, stone-faced and menacing.
I’m terrified, but I’m also bizarrely calm. My ass is sore. I shift from cheek to cheek, but that doesn’t make it better for long. My brain’s also foggy.
Dizzy wasn’t messing around. He walloped me good. I haven’t gotten a whuppin’ like that since I got big enough to outrun Mama. I should be livid.
I was hysterical, though. Those men surrounded me, and I got the suffocating feeling. I kept flashing back to the shed. I was out of my mind. Now I’m not. Kind of like I had the hiccups, and he scared them out of me.<
br />
Of course, I’m not okay with him doing it.
But okay feels really relative right now. I’m being held hostage, and from the expression on these guys’ faces, they aren’t just pissed that I’ve been sneaking in and stealing booze. Somehow, I’ve fucked up in a serious way.
I rest my hand on the bump the knife makes in my pocket. By the time I get it out and open, they’d have me disarmed, but the gesture was nice.
Dizzy’s nice.
Maybe that’s not the word for it. Nice guys don’t spank your bare ass and kidnap you and whatnot. All I know is I’ll feel better when he comes back. When Jed grabbed my face, Dizzy laid him out.
Boom. One hit. On the floor. After that, all the men in the room kind of shuffled back, gave me space.
Shit. What if Heavy took him out to get him out of the way? My heartbeat kicks up. My knee jiggles. Mikey glances over.
“Not much longer,” he says.
Dread creeps over me. I really don’t want to die. I’m not sure what I want to do with my life, but I want time to decide.
Boots stomp down the steps. My muscles bunch.
Heavy comes in first, ducking under the doorframe. Dizzy’s behind him. I exhale the breath I was holding, and my shoulders ease down.
Jed and Nickel move to come over, but Heavy waves them back. He picks up the folding chair and sits.
“Let’s start over, Fay-Lee. No questions. Instead, I’m going to tell you what I know.”
I look to Dizzy. He’s standing to the side, arms folded, face shuttered. He won’t meet my eyes. Okay. My jitters swoop to life.
Heavy smiles. It’s not the slightest bit reassuring. His canines are crazy sharp. Wolf-like.
“I know you’ve been squatting. You’ve been sneaking in with our guests. Helping yourself to food from the kitchen and booze from the bar.”
He smiles wider. “I know that despite that, you’re probably hungry. Tired. In need of a hot shower. You’re a long way from home.”
As if on cue, my stomach rumbles.
Where is he going with this?
“You came here with Chaos. Do you know where he went?”
It seems like a genuine question. I shake my head.
“He left you here?”
I shrug.
He waits, head cocked.
“Yes,” I croak. I clear my throat. “He ditched me.”
Heavy nods his shaggy head. He has the same wiry, black hair and beard as Dizzy, but where Dizzy looks badass, Heavy looks like an extra from a cable TV show about dragons. There’re only a few inches and a thirty or so pounds difference between them, but I guess that’s the difference between a large man and a giant.
“That’s messed up. I’m sorry you ended up in this situation.” He waits.
“Thanks?”
He smiles, encouragingly. “I have a proposition for you. Dizzy and I have been talking. We’ve figured out a solution that will work for everyone.”
Dizzy’s face doesn’t soften at all.
“The way I see it, you owe us for our hospitality. We can’t just let folks trespass and steal from us without consequence. Wouldn’t look good, would it?”
He waits again. I shake my head.
“It seems to me you owe us. And it turns out that Dizzy here is in need of a house mouse.”
Heavy leans back in the chair, clasping his hands over his broad stomach. The chair groans. He cocks his head.
Does this mean they’re not gonna kill me?
“What’s a house mouse?”
“A woman who cleans. Cooks. Like a maid.”
“Like a maid?”
“She’s free pussy, too, but mostly cleaning as I understand. I’ve never had one myself. Grinder, you have, right?”
Grinder grunts. “Yup. Danielle bunked with me for a spell. Took care of the dogs. Ate me out of fuckin’ house and home. I ate her out, too,” he cackles. “We ended up even.”
Danielle’s a sweetbutt. She’s a dancer. And at least thirty years younger than Grinder.
“You know Dizzy has kids. We’d need to be able to trust you around them. We’ll need a last name. ID. We’ll run a check. Make sure you’re solid. It’s an opportunity. Get you back on your feet.”
They’re going to let me out of this basement. I’ll be a house mouse. I’ll be whatever they want. And as soon as they turn their backs, I’ll be gone.
“I don’t have ID. Chaos left with all my shit.”
“We can work around that. What’s your last name, Fay-Lee?”
“Parsons.”
“You’re good people, aren’t you Fay-Lee Parsons? You just found yourself in a bad situation.”
I don’t know what’s happening here. Heavy’s black gaze is boring into me. I squirm. I can’t help it. I can’t tear my eyes from him, though. I’m snared. He’s hypnotizing me.
Huh. I thought I was too stubborn for that.
“Yeah.” I am a good person, and this situation does suck.
“It’d be good to have a soft bed. Warm food. Rest.”
My chin wobbles. I clench my jaw to make it stop. But he’s right.
A bed would be really nice. I’m tough, but my body feels a hundred years old. I could use a break.
“I’ll make a few calls. I’m sure you’ll check out. You can go home with Dizzy. Deal?”
A flood of relief busts loose in my chest. Yes, I want to go home with Dizzy. Which doesn’t make any sense. This whole scenario isn’t right. Ten minutes ago, I was in the hot seat. Now I’m a charity case? Something ain’t right.
But does it really matter? Heavy’s offering me a way out of this basement. I can go along with it long enough to fill my belly.
And a night in a soft bed before I hit the road again wouldn’t be the worst.
I don’t trust this man. I don’t trust any of them. They’re working really hard to convince me to go quietly to a second location. I watch missing person shows. You never go to a second location. That’s where they kill you.
But what choice do I have?
And they want me to go home with Dizzy. The guy who ten minutes ago was wailing on my ass. I shouldn’t agree. It hurts like hell to sit right now, and that’s due to him. Why aren’t I steaming mad?
I find myself looking up at him. His stone-face falls for a moment, and his eyes seem to want to tell me something. He nods almost imperceptibly.
There’s no real reason to trust him. Yeah, he seems to have a possessive streak when it comes to me, but possessive is how all manner of ugliness begins. My sisters love the jealous type. Until they’ve got to call in every hour, and they get in trouble for going to the male teller’s line at the bank.
What’s the option though?
“All right,” I say.
There’s no way these guys are on the up-and-up.
I pray I’m smart enough to bail before whatever trap this is springs shut.
Dizzy hustles me out of the basement right quick. He drags me to the kitchen and bellows for his boys. Takes him more than a few shouts to round ‘em up. Then he leads us to his truck and barks at us to get in. He opens the door for me, and he snaps at Carson when he shoves past me to climb over the passenger seat to the back row.
Some of the awful tension seeps from my body. He’s not taking me to a second location to kill me with his kids in the truck.
The adrenaline is fading, and now my ass is throbbing in earnest. The scratches on my legs hurt, too. I lift myself gingerly to the passenger seat, and I try to prop myself up by shoving my fists under my thighs. When Dizzy swings into the cab, he notices and frowns.
“When we get home, I’ll get you an ice pack. And we’ll clean up your legs.”
“You could say sorry.” I’m feeling a little sorry for myself, to be honest.
I probably shouldn’t bait him, but away from the others—and with the kids for protection—I’m getting my courage back.
“You shouldn’t have run.”
“And what about the other thing?”
He freezes, about to turn the key in the ignition. In the back, Parker and Carson are hollering, fussing at each other over a charging cord.
Dizzy runs his eyes down my body, head to foot. My tummy quivers.
“You hurt?”
I don’t know why I tell the truth. “A little. It’s not too bad.”
His brown eyes darken, and they’re glued to me. World War III is breaking out in the back seat, but he’s one hundred percent focused on me. Reading my face. Scowling at the cuts on my calves. I feel floaty. Good.
Like a first toke or shot, but my brain’s not hazy. It’s chill.
Carson kicks the back of my seat, and I lurch forward.
Faster than I can follow, Dizzy snatches the charging cable and holds it high in the air. The boys fall silent on a dime. He glares at them in the rearview.
“Carson?”
“Sorry, ma’am,” he mutters.
Both boys have their eyes trained on the cable like sharks circling, waiting for the chum.
“Fay-Lee is coming home with us. You two don’t give her no trouble.” He pauses. “Boys?”
“Yes, sir,” they say in unison.
“And if you kick that seat again, you ride in the bed.”
Carson’s eyes light up. Maybe that wasn’t quite the threat he intended.
“You boys understand?”
They mumble vague agreement and shoot me grudging looks as their dad shoves the cord in the glove box and shifts into first. Parker’s got his arms crossed and his chin high like a forty-year-old woman unhappy with her landscaping. Carson is very quietly—and very sneakily—kicking the back of my seat. Whenever Dizzy scans the rearview, he freezes. Comically, and very obviously.
He’d be busted if his dad didn’t have his eyes glued on me every second he’s not watching the road.
I glance in the rearview mirror to avoid his gaze. It makes me squirm. I don’t know what to make of it.
Parker’s busy shooting me a dirty look. He must blame me that he got his cord taken away.
Hah. No one in my house had a phone before they could pay for it themselves. The little ones were always grubbing mine, getting the screen all greasy and sticky. Aunt Fay, lemme play the candy game.
Dizzy: A Steel Bones Motorcycle Club Prequel Page 6