Own the Wind: A Chaos Novel

by Kristen Ashley

“I’m not sure how I feel about that, Shy. This affects me, my work—”

  Shy interrupted me, “He apologize?”

  I was losing it, therefore my voice rose when I answered, “Yes, but that’s not the point.”

  Shy crossed his arms on his chest and his voice went low when he replied, “Oh yeah, it is.”

  “Shy—”

  “This is not a surprise to you, Tabby,” he stated low. “It’s not a surprise but it’s a shock, and I know on the face of it that doesn’t make sense, but I also know you get me.”

  I stared at him and kept my distance.

  Shy didn’t miss much and he didn’t miss this. We were the kind of couple that got close. Even shuffling around the kitchen, we touched, brushed mouths, stood near when we were both doing something at the counter.

  So he didn’t miss the unusual distance I was putting between us. He also didn’t approach.

  What he did was order, “You take time to come to terms with this. You need me to help you, I’m there. Now, I’m gonna give you time alone to sort your head out. Not much, we’re sleepin’ together, we’re wakin’ up together, so now you got a sense of how much time you got. Use it wisely, honey. This is me, you knew that was what you were gonna get, you can’t expect me not to be me and I’m not gonna lose you over somethin’ as meaningless as that douchebag.”

  On that, he gave me a long look and sauntered with his tall, loose-limbed biker grace to and through the door.

  I sucked in breath.

  Then I moved to the phone with only one person on my mind.

  My dad’s rough voice came at me after one ring. “How’s my girl?”

  “Dad, I need to talk to you.”

  He didn’t answer immediately and when he did, his tone was quiet.

  “You had dinner?”

  “No.”

  “Buyin’ my girl dinner. See you at Lincoln’s in twenty.”

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  Twenty minutes later, I walked into Lincoln’s Road House, a biker bar off a slip road on I-25 that doubled as a neighborhood watering hole. I didn’t know how they managed to mix bikers, booze, and often live music with the staunchly middle-class ’hood that surrounded the joint, but they did it. Likely because the food was good, the waitresses were friendly, and the music, when they had it, was great. Not to mention, Denver was eclectic and folks were used to rubbing shoulders with just about anyone. It was one of the reasons I loved my town.

  I saw Dad sitting at the bar with a beer, and his eyes were on me the moment I came through the door. I moved through the bar, slid my bottom up on the stool beside him, and plopped my purse in front of me.

  His eyes moved over my face then they moved to the bartender. He jerked up his chin and waved a hand toward the beer in front of him.

  Nonverbal badass speak for, Get my daughter a beer.

  The bartender clearly spoke badass because he got me a beer. I took a pull, put the bottle on the bar, and looked at Dad.

  “Talk to me,” he demanded.

  “Shy beat up a doctor at work who was giving me a hard time.”

  Yep, that was what came straight out.

  “No, he didn’t,” Dad stated, and I stared.

  After staring awhile, I asked, “He didn’t?”

  Dad shook his head. “Nope.” He lifted his beer, took a pull, put it back on the bar, and looked at me. “Shy, Roscoe, and Hop fucked him up. Not just Shy.”

  Oh my God!

  Three of them?

  I leaned in and hissed, “Are you serious?”

  “Yep.”

  I sat back and threw up my hands. “Already, it was bad. That’s totally overkill. No wonder he was totally messed up.”

  “Not overkill, Tabby,” Dad told me and I glared at him.

  “Dad, he’s a doctor. They do that shit. It wasn’t that big of a deal, and by the way, I was dealing.”

  “No, they don’t do that shit. Not to my girl and, obviously, not to Shy’s old lady. An old lady doesn’t deal, darlin’, she breathes easy.”

  I hated it when these bikers had good, albeit lunatic, answers for statements that had no good answers.

  I didn’t give up. “Okay then, Dad, he’s a doctor, not a heavyweight fighter. Three guys? That’s insane!”

  “Not insane either, Tabby.”

  “Dad!” I snapped and he leaned in, his voice going low.

  “Lesson,” he started and I drew in a sharp, annoyed breath but at his tone, a tone I’d heard often in my life, I knew to shut my mouth. “You do somethin’, you do it right and you do it so there’s no blowback.”

  There it was again. Blowback. A word which I was beginning to think they didn’t really know the meaning of, but since it was a brand-new word coined by, my guess, Hollywood, perhaps it hadn’t made it to the dictionary.

  My eyes narrowed.

  Dad kept talking.

  “To make his point Shy needed firepower and he needed presence to make certain that weasel didn’t hightail his ass to the cops. Shy needed to make certain all his messages were clear. Those messages being, one, he does not fuck with you. Two, he does not fuck with the other nurses. Three, he does, Shy’s got the backing to fuck him up worse than he did during his first lesson. Four, he does not go to the cops and report the assault or he buys Chaos displeasure. Shy’s lean but he’s tall, fast, smart, and he’s got one fuckuva power punch. He could have taken care of that asshole on his own but if he did, he wouldn’t get his point across.” Dad dipped his head to me. “He did it smart, doin’ what he had to do to get his point across, and he got his point across.”

  I ignored Dad knowing Shy had “one fuckuva power punch” and, more to the point, how he might come about that knowledge and instead, snapped, “I’ll repeat, that’s insane!”

  Dad’s brows went up. “He apologize?”

  Oh. My. God!

  Ty-Ty was totally right. Shy was Dad, just younger.

  “Yeah, he did, but that isn’t the point,” I answered. “Shy didn’t talk to me about it and, I’ll add, he didn’t tell me about it after the fact either.”

  Dad’s face registered surprise and he asked, “Jesus, why would he do somethin’ stupid like that?”

  I stared at my father.

  Then I replied sarcastically, “I don’t know, maybe because it’s me”—I jerked my thumb at my chest—“who has to work with this guy.”

  “Bet that’ll go better,” he muttered.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Thinkin’,” Dad continued, “we’re gettin’ in the zone where you should be talkin’ to Red.”

  “Well, Tyra isn’t here, so you’re going to have to guide me through this one, Dad,” I pointed out, and Dad’s gaze locked to mine.

  “He loves you.”

  I sucked in breath as that hit me in the gut.

  Dad was far from done.

  “He loves you, Tabby. Boy’s totally gone for you. He don’t like you eatin’ shit, he can do somethin’ about it, so he did. He let you have your time to sort it, let you have your time to stew about it, but you didn’t make a move, so he did.”

  “But—” I started, but Dad shook his head.

  “This is the life. It’s the only thing you know. It’s different, when you’re a kid, you’re shielded from a lot of shit but that don’t mean, darlin’, that you don’t feel the umbrella of protection that Club provides to family. I know my girl’s not dumb, she’s not gonna sit there and tell me she doesn’t know every brother in that Club was willin’ to have her back every breath she took on this earth. Now, you got a different position in the Club, one you chose, one you fought for. You’re still shielded but you are no longer a kid. You’re an adult and you’re puttin’ things together and you now are seein’ how they can directly affect you. Do not fall down at this first hurdle with your man. As his woman, you got a job, that’s to let him be who he is and do what he feels he’s gotta do. You find common ground in your home with the life you live together day to day. But what it tak
es to make him the man he is, you give him.”

  I pulled in another breath.

  Dad still wasn’t done.

  “That other guy, your Jason, I liked him.”

  Another hit to the gut, and I pressed my lips together.

  Dad kept talking, his tone gentle, his eyes on me the same.

  “He loved you. I liked the way he treated you, liked the way he looked at you, liked the way he handled you. I hated you losin’ him. But I’ll say this, what Shy did to that asshole who was makin’ work an unhealthy place for you to be, I like more. You asked me five years ago what I’d want in my daughter’s life, I’d pick a man like Shy. I told him that after we had our fallin’ out. And, as far’s I’m concerned, him steppin’ in and sortin’ your problem, Tabby, darlin’, proves I was right.”

  One could not say I didn’t like his words (as lunatic as they were).

  Still, I turned my head away and took a drag of my beer.

  I was contemplating it in my hand when I heard Dad order, “Cajun popcorn and two meatloaf cheeseburgers. We’re eatin’ at the bar.”

  Well, at least dinner was going to be awesome.

  I sucked back more beer.

  “Tab,” Dad said, and I looked to him just as his hand came up, curled around the back of my neck, and his face got close. “You made the conscious choice to step back into our world. You live here again with all of us. And you made that commitment when you took on the Club and Red and me to have Shy. You knew what you were gettin’. You can’t pick the parts you want and force out the parts that make you uncomfortable. He is the man he is. With men like us, you accept him as that or you don’t take him at all. You gotta decide, what’s it gonna be?”

  “I love him,” I whispered, and his eyes lit immediately as he smiled.

  “Then that’s what it’s gonna be.”

  I sighed.

  Dad pulled my head to his, tipping it down and he kissed the top of my hair. Then he let me go, turned to the bartender and ordered us another round of beers.

  I guessed that was that, that was how it was going to be, and I knew my guess was right.

  Dad was not dumb.

  I made my choice and that was how it was going to be, and sitting next to Dad I realized, really, after the shock wore off, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

  * * *

  Two hours later, I walked into my apartment to see Shy on his back on the couch, one leg bent, bare foot in the seat, the other leg to the side of the couch so his foot was resting on the floor.

  His head was turned, eyes on me.

  I walked to the back of the armchair and threw my purse on the seat.

  “Come here, Tabby,” he ordered gently.

  I went there.

  When I got close, he grabbed my hand, pulled me closer, so I put a knee on the couch between his legs, moved in and settled on him, hips between his legs, chest to chest, cheek to shoulder.

  His arms curled around me.

  “Where you been?” he asked, still quiet.

  “Dinner with Dad,” I answered, and got an arm squeeze.

  Then I got a murmured “Good choice.”

  I sighed.

  It was. Then again, Dad was always a good choice.

  “Get your head straight?” Shy asked.

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  He was silent a beat, then he wrapped his arms tighter around me and stated, “You got that, let’s get it all.”

  Uh-oh.

  Shy continued, “You fuck up food more than you don’t. You talk a lot. Coupla days before your period, sugar, you can get bitchy. It is not lost on me the way you slam the toilet seat down when I leave it up. That statement you intend to make without usin’ the words is clear. And no one should get as ticked as you do that I don’t rinse out my beer bottles before puttin’ them in the recycle bin.”

  I didn’t really like where this was going.

  And, seriously, you didn’t rinse stuff out before throwing it in the bin, that made the bin stink. Who’d want that?

  When he stopped talking, I prompted with a slow “Okay.”

  Shy went on, “I get all that’s you. I love you, so I’ve decided, instead of findin’ it annoying, to find it cute. ’Cause it’s you. So that’s what it is. Cute. Except the part when you’re bitchy ’cause you’re goin’ on the rag, but that has more to do with the fact I’m gonna lose your pussy for a few days and that is not my favorite time of the month.”

  Okay, well, I liked all that and I was with him.

  Still, I said to his throat, “Beating someone up isn’t cute, Shy.”

  “No, but it’s me.”

  He was not wrong about that.

  I pulled in breath in order to help that thought settle. When it settled, I shifted and kissed his throat.

  His arms got tighter around me, and I figured that statement was clear too.

  “He was fuckin’ with you, Tabby. Anyone fucks with you, I’m steppin’ in and I’m gonna do it how I feel it needs to be done. This time, I gave you time. I’ll warn you now, I might not give you time if it happens again. All I need is for you to understand where I’m at and roll with me.”

  “I’ll roll with you,” I agreed and got another squeeze.

  “I’ll also say that I gave you the option of goin’ quiet about it this time ’cause we’re still gettin’ used to each other. But, sugar, in future, I’ll have a lot less patience with you goin’ into your head and keepin’ shit from me. And the only way I can think to get that across is to ask you to think about how you’d feel if I did the same to you. Somethin’ important was goin’ down, I didn’t let you in, give you a chance to help me deal even if I eventually decide not to deal the way you advise me to deal, how would you feel?”

  I wouldn’t feel good, that was for sure. I’d want the chance to help him deal, but more, I’d want him to trust me to do that.

  When I said nothing, he asked, “Did I get that across to you?”

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  Shy went quiet.

  I did too.

  Then I told him, “You were there but, just sayin’, I saw the aftermath and he was totally fucked up.”

  “Had a point to make, didn’t fuck around. I made it,” Shy muttered.

  He certainly did that.

  “Peggy thought it was a hoot,” I shared. “I didn’t know she was so bloodthirsty. She told everyone about it. She’s dying to know what happened.”

  Shy was speaking with humor now when he said, “Least somebody got off on it.”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled.

  Shy again went quiet and I did too, tipping my chin to stare at the TV.

  My body was settling deeper into his, relaxing when Shy asked softly, “We good?”

  I slid my arm around him, tucking it tight and I replied just as softly, “Yeah, we’re good.”

  “Good,” he murmured.

  Again, I sighed.

  There it was. No going back. I just went through the unofficial ceremony.

  I was an old lady.

  Just like with anything in life, there was good and bad. To get the former, you put up with the latter. So I decided, bottom line, Dr. Dickhead was clearly not going to mess with me anymore, and although the path to that eventuality was not paved with stuff that made me want to do cartwheels, that journey, at least, was over.

  Minutes slid by as this settled deep before Shy called, “Sugar?”

  “Yeah,” I answered, now sounding drowsy, and this wasn’t a surprise. Two beers, Lincoln’s for dinner, Dad’s wisdom, and a life epiphany were a great recipe for a good night’s sleep.

  “Got a lock on a house.”

  I blinked, suddenly not even close to drowsy. I lifted my head and looked at him. “Pardon?”

  His chin was dipped down so his eyes were on me. “Got a lock on a house. In Englewood. Little bungalow. Big yard. Three bedrooms. Great deck. Two-car garage, big enough to fit both our vehicles and my bike. I wanna take you to have a look at it.” />
  “Like… to buy?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he answered.

  “Um… I don’t have—”

  “I do.”

  “A down payment?”

  “Yeah, and enough left over to get some shit, make one bedroom an office, another a guest room for when Lan comes up, deck furniture, a grill. The fridge isn’t all that great, so we’ll get a new one.”

  “Shy, I—”

  “This place is too small,” he told me.

  He wasn’t wrong about that. I liked our togetherness though, in my apartment, it was kind of a forced togetherness. It must be said, it was also time for both of us to move up accommodation-wise. I was a nurse. He was essentially a partner in a highly successful business venture. There was no reason we weren’t looking to be on the property ladder and no excuse for us not to be in something that was nicer. Furthermore, he was never at his apartment and essentially kept it so Lan could sleep there when he came to visit, which was a total waste of money.

  “Okay,” I said softly, and he grinned.

  “Okay.”

  Then he lifted his head and touched his mouth to mine.

  When he settled his head back against the toss pillow, I settled my cheek back to his shoulder and aimed my eyes at the TV.

  More minutes slid by and he stated offhandedly, “Haven’t had a home in sixteen years.”

  I closed my eyes tight.

  I saw the boxes in his apartment. The bed in the living room. The old TV at the end of his bed. I heard his voice saying he mostly crashed at the Compound and I knew that to be true.

  I opened my eyes and replied, going for offhanded but my voice was husky, “Then let’s get you a home.”

  “Sounds good to me, baby,” he muttered back on another arm squeeze.

  Yeah, he was right.

  A home with Shy.

  The opportunity to make it a good one for him.

  That sounded good to me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Blowback

  Two and a half weeks later…

  It was after work and I was walking to my car.

  I had my mind on a bunch of things. Christmas shopping. Furniture shopping. Dinner. The fact I needed to get to the Laundromat. What Shy and I were going to do with Rider and Cut that weekend, since we were watching them because Tyra and Dad were heading off to someplace in the mountains for a weekend away. The conversation I’d had with my brother three days before, when he told me Dad had called a meeting and Rush was now the newest recruit for Chaos. I was elated about this, but Rush still seemed conflicted, though he didn’t share. What he did do (surprisingly) was go off for a beer with Shy.