by Jackson Kane
Don’t get involved. This isn’t my town. I don’t know these people. I won’t be here long. Dozens of rational excuses flooded my thoughts. Every single one of them was reason enough to do nothing.
If I intervened now, I’d be spitting in the face of any attempt at a normal life. My resolve to try going straight for Star would’ve been just sanctimonious bullshit.
If you don’t, you’ll have to watch a mother and her kid be gunned down by a scared, naive teenager poisoned by the Lobos.
Sobbing, frightened people lay on the floor, too afraid to move. I thought of my town, Leslie, where our chapter of the Steel Veins was from. Was this what it would look like if the Lobos won and the Veins were pushed out?
The woman had the door open. The toddler’s big, wet, brown eyes stared at me.
“Stop!” the teen yelled again. He hadn’t planned on killing anyone, but the real Lobos, the men he wanted to be like, were just outside, and they were watching. They’d never let him become a prospect if he fucked this up.
When he winced then closed his eyes, I knew what he was bracing himself for.
I thought of Star. Would she be able to look me in the eye if I did nothing?
Would I?
Fuck. I kicked in the back of his knee hard enough to pitch his body back and to the side as he squeezed off a few rounds. The shots went high, and the woman and her son escaped. I swung around, palmed the hang-around’s face, and drove the back of his head into the glass drink cooler next to me. The glass cracked but didn’t shatter.
The teenager crumpled to the floor, knocked out cold.
“Shit.” I exhaled, sighing as I looked down at the stupid kid.
Bike engines roared to life in the distance as the Lobos predictably abandoned the now ex-hang-around.
The store erupted in screams as the customers rushed from the building. I looked down and stepped back to escape the small red pool that spread from the cuts on the back of the kid’s head.
In a town that probably didn’t talk to the police, if I got blood on my boots, forensics would be able to determine a lot about me by my footprints. That way of thinking was second nature to me. It was like breathing.
More of my MC skills that weren’t marketable in the civilian world.
The kid convulsed wildly on the floor. His eyelids fluttered, pupils rolled around disjointedly, and blood spurted from his mouth. He’d severely lacerated his tongue during the impact with the glass. I pushed him onto his side with my foot to keep him from choking to death on the blood or his near-severed tongue.
Sirens screamed through town. It was time to leave. I stepped over Julia on my way to the back to drop off my apron. She was physically fine, just traumatized. I couldn’t blame her for not being able to get up.
Not everyone was as tough as Star.
“This is all your fault! Grab your shit and get the fuck outta here!” Moretti appeared with wild eyes that now matched his bushy unkempt eyebrows.
“That’s the plan,” I said, grabbing my hoodie.
“You’re fired. Don’t ever come back!” Moretti’s drove a finger into my chest. His face was beet red from screaming.
“I did you a fucking favor.” I slapped his finger away from me. “You rather have a double murder happen in your place?”
“I see everything, you fuck!” His hands gestured wildly like only the Italians could. “If you’d just lay down like everyone else, he’d have left. Now I gotta explain alla this to the cops.”
“Tell the cops the kid slipped and took himself out. End of story.” I brushed past my former boss.
“Yeah? Just like that, no problem? Cops start asking who was here today? Then they ask for paperwork. Then they look through my books. Then what, huh? Maybe I get a visit from the Lobos now too. I knew I shoulda never took you in! You mess everything up!”
Moretti was pissed, but I started to realize it was because he was nervous. I’d brought down a big spotlight on him
If he was willing to hire me, no questions asked, then what other laws was he skirting? By paying me under the table, he was at very least looking at some sort of tax evasion. He’d made his bed. He could choke on the sheets for all I cared. Thinking about the boy and his mother not lying in red puddles on the floor made it difficult to muster up any guilt for once.
It was a good feeling.
Confident I’d be gone before they saw me, I ducked out the back as the cops pulled in. All I had to worry about was how to break the news to Star.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Star
“Rachel, hun,” Molly mispronounced my adopted name as “Rash-el” which drove me up the fucking wall. Absently thumbing through her phone disdainfully, inconsiderate to the chaos all around her, Molly pushed through the kitchen doors with no regard to anyone in front of or behind her. “There’s a spill in the walk-in. Be a doll and take care of that for me?”
The spill you caused.
“Molly, I have three tables wait—” I replied. Both of my arms were full with trays. I was covering almost half the entire restaurant all by myself.
“Thaaaaanks, Rash-el.” She sashayed by, not listening at all.
Remy asked if I picked the name Rachel because of the Harper Lee character in the book To Kill a Mockingbird. Never having read that book or seen the movie, I waved his well-read notions away and told him I’d taken it from my favorite character in the TV show Friends.
The blank stare he gave me filled me with such unbridled glee. I went out immediately and picked up the whole show on DVD from the Walmart bargain bin. Over the weeks that he was forced to recover, we binged every episode. Surprisingly, despite hating Ross, Remy really liked Friends.
Hearing Molly throw around my new name like a dishrag left a bitter taste in my mouth. I felt offended for Rachels everywhere, especially Miss Rachel Green.
Molly callously tossed around commands and threats more than she made small talk. Every waitress, busboy, dishwasher, and cook was here to serve Molly Rodriguez first, and then the customers. No one called her out on it because she was owner Santiago Rodriguez’s little angel.
Frustrated, I glanced at Janet and Tonya, but they could only shrug. They shared my annoyance, but what could they really do? It was the lunch rush, and everyone was busy—everyone except the hostess, Molly, who sat behind a “Please seat yourself” sign at the reservations desk and played on her phone.
I could strangle that bitch. I knew I had it in me.
Instead, I had to physically shake my head to dislodge the cathartic thoughts. I quickly made the rounds, delivered the food, and headed into the back to clean up what was no doubt Molly’s mess. Spoiled Latina princes. She was paid the highest and never had to do a damn thing around here.
“Ugh, that lazy bitch!” There was an open bag of chips on a shelf and guacamole all over the fucking walk-in floor. She’d obviously stopped in for a snack and knocked the tub on the floor, then just left. This was a ten-minute job when I had maybe thirty seconds in between tables.
“Fucking wonderful.” I was going to get yelled at either from the customers for being late or from my boss for not doing what Molly asked.
The walk-in door was spring loaded, and the interior handle was busted, so to prevent myself from being locked in, I had to use something to wedge the door open slightly. I grabbed a thin block of hard cheddar cheese because I was feeling particularly petty and placed it in the gap at the bottom of the door.
I sighed with resignation, grabbed some paper towels, and went to work cleaning up someone else’s mess in what was essentially a giant refrigerator. Silly me for not bringing my winter clothes.
Over the hum of the walk-in’s refrigerator motor, I heard someone whistle. I peered through the crack in the door and notice the dishwashers clearing out. Then I saw the owner, Santiago, lean against the sink and start chatting with someone across from him.
I wanted to gasp, but I knew it was essential to be extremely quiet when I realized who that person
was.
While he was recovering, Remy told me all the Lobos cabinet members’ names and rank. Directly across from Santiago was that one they called Spyder, the sergeant at arms. The Lobos MC’s enforcer. The Lobo was thoughtfully groomed with his long, slicked, tight ponytail.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been over to visit sooner, Santiago.” He clasped the man on the shoulder. “Club business, you know.”
“Bones keeps you busy, I get it,” Santiago shrugged. He seemed unconcerned.
“You’ve done a good job here, homie. In such a short time too! I knew it was a good idea to bring you in.”
I was surprised to hear them talking about club business in English until I realized that all the dishwashers they hired only spoke Spanish. This was a good way for them to not worry about who might overhear them talking.
They obviously never thought they’d have to deal with an eavesdropper like me who only spoke English.
“I was ready, Spyder. I told you, you can always count on family. So what’s up? I love you, mi hermano, but I know this isn’t just a social call. What can I do for you?”
“Yeah, not so much time for social anymore. The club is expanding, Santiago. Fast. We’re taking on more territory in the next few weeks, so we’re gonna need to clean a lot more money.”
“How much more? I’m pretty full here.” Santiago regarded the man with a little worry.
Spyder held up three fingers.
“Mio Dios….” Santiago exhaled and slid a hand over his head. The lines in his face deepened as he contemplated the enormity of the request. He paced for a few seconds, wondering how the hell he was going to accommodate that kind of demand. “Okay. Okay, but I’ll need another location. Fuck. I might even need two. Mierda. That means I gotta start looking at real estate. Nothing around here is built-to-suit. I mean, between permits, new liquor licenses, inspections—”
“Don’t get your panties all bunched, little brother. We got you.” Spyder interrupted the man by patting the air. “We’re already closing on a spot for you. Twice as big.” Spyder pulled out his phone and showed Santiago a few pics.
“I’ll have to get the specs, but it looks good.” Santiago nodded, then asked, “Where is this?”
Spyder’s voice lowered. “Leslie, Oklahoma.” He crossed his arms, his face growing severe. He knew what was going to be asked next.
“Leslie?” Santiago leaned in and quieted his tone to nearly a whisper. “What about the Steel Veins?”
I really had to focus hard to read their lips, but they were talking about Remy's hometown! A chill gripped me that had nothing to do with the walk-in’s temperature. A rival MC moving that aggressively on Steel Veins’ turf was a big deal. That was going to be a bloodbath….
“I said we got this.” Spyder smiled, looking confident. He resumed speaking at a normal volume.
“Okay. I’ll need some time to train managers. How soon should I be ready?”
“A month. Two, tops. We gotta wait till this thing next week shakes out to know for sure, but I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be ready.” Santiago swallowed hard but was looking more confident. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. Fix your fucking burritos, bro. They taste like dog shit.”
“Fuck you,” Santiago snapped. “I got that recipe from mi mamá!”
“Mi mamá was a terrible cook!” Spyder shoved his brother, and they both laughed.
“I have to get back. This is a busy time for us.” Santiago cocked his head toward the front of the house. “And Molly is shit with the customers.”
“She takes after her old man.” Spyder hugged Santiago. “Send my love to Frida and los niños.”
“I will.” Santiago slapped Spyder on the back, and they both walked out. “Luis! Gino!”
Whoa, that was heavy. Nachomama’s being a front for the Lobos’ money laundering and them setting up shop in Leslie. I had to tell Remy!
Then the doubt set in.
Should I tell Remy?
We agreed to put all that behind us, and he’d been working his ass off to fit in to a normal life. What would he do if he found out? It wasn’t like we had any plans to return to Leslie, especially with the Veins thinking he was dead.
I was torn.
I hated having secrets between us, and this was a really big one. A few more weeks and we’d be heading west out of Lobos territory. This whole thing would be just a violent memory.
When Remy was recovering, I spent most of my time watching over him and dreaming of the day that we’d be far away from all the blood and danger. I was so thankful we had survived at all, and with each passing day, Remy was getting better. Stronger.
It made me think about an actual future with him, but I had a lot of trouble visualizing what I wanted that future to look like. Would we eventually get married? Have children? It was what I always wanted before Remy Daniels, but now…
I didn’t know. Those white picket fence dreams belonged to another girl. The Star who was left behind and buried with her aunt and uncle.
We were always so caught up in the now that we hadn’t given any real thought to what came afterward. We had a little more breathing room, but it still felt like we were only living for the moment. Was going west our way of pushing normal off for a few more weeks? Would we ever truly be normal? And would we even like it once we were?
Remy hated his job, and I wasn’t doing all that much better here either. I could tolerate it better because I guess I had more experience putting up with shit than he did, but I, too, noticed that it was getting more and more difficult. I had a much harder edge than I used to. I used to be such a pushover.
I was in a daze after the two men left. Looking down at what I was doing, just spreading the guacamole around, I stopped. I wasn’t cleaning anything. This wasn’t even my job to do!
Fuck this.
I stood up, feeling a calm wash over me as I left the mess and walked out of the kitchen. I took off the gaudy vest with the bullshit buttons they made me wear and dropped it all on the floor as I passed Molly. She didn’t notice. She was still sitting where I last saw her, still doing nothing when everyone around her was busting their asses.
“Rash-el, hun, I need you to pull a double tonight. FYI, we have a catering job for the law firm later,” Molly said in her typical, condescending fashion, not bothering to lift her gaze from her phone.
Of course, she would wait until I had grabbed all my things and was already on my way out to tell me this. Something she’d known for hours. That was the kind of person Molly was, incapable of consideration of any kind. To her, it was the Molly Show all day, every day. I was so tired of all the Mollys in the world.
“No.” I was fed up. I realized that whatever this was, it wasn’t working for me. My time with Remy had changed all that.
“Thanks, hun.” Molly hadn’t heard my reply at all.
When I reached the door, I turned around and narrowed my eyes at her. The old me would have taken it or sulked off. That didn’t really feel like an option any more.
“Hey, Molly,” I said, walking back over to her. When she, of course, didn’t look up, I snatched the phone out of her hands and dropped it in her soda. “Get fucked.”
“What!” She gazed at the cup in horror. I left with the widest smile I’d worn all week before she could pull herself together enough to say anything else.
Molly came running out of the restaurant and caught up to me as I was unlocking the car door.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, bitch? You just lost your fucking job, cunt! You’re nothing, you four-eyed twat. Do you have any idea who my father—” Molly was throwing her arms around, making a scene in the parking lot.
Like the click of a gun’s safety switch, all my mental safeguards—the ones drilled into me since childhood on behave in public, on how to tolerate shit from others—snapped off. I turned abruptly, my face a hairsbreadth from Molly’s. Her threats cut off midsentence, and her face turned pale w
hen she heard the click of my switchblade followed immediately by the cold, metal kiss of the blade’s tip lightly pushing into her stomach.
We stayed there motionless in the parking lot for a few seconds as customers walked in and out, regarding us first curiously then with concern. I didn’t care about them, and I sure as hell didn’t care about Molly. To be honest, I was quickly running out of reasons not to stab her in the gut.
Molly felt that too.
“That’s the thing about threats,” I said evenly, repeating something Remy once told me. “Words backed with inaction are nothing compared to action wrapped in silence and dripping with intent.”
It struck me in that moment just how much of a petty bully Molly was. When push came to shove, she was just a little, spoiled bitch. I wondered how I had ever put up with such small people. Not just her, but every shitty boss and every soul-sucking job. Over the past several weeks, I had developed this stern hardness, like steel tempered in fire and cooled in oil. I wasn’t scared or intimidated by what I’d become. I was just prepared to do whatever was necessary. Courtesy of Remy, I guess. Those princess dreams, that normal future, fell flat in the face of who I really was. It took a woman like Molly to finally show me that.
“One more word comes out of that ugly cock sock, and I’ll tear your heart out through the new cunt that I carve in your stomach.” My eyes narrowed as much as hers opened.
Molly’s entitled anger became vapor. It went up like flash paper when she saw the black fire in my cold eyes. Her confidence and superiority were replaced by abject terror at the severity of her mistake. She knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that I wasn’t bluffing.
And she was right.
I wasn’t bluffing.
“Wh-wh-who are you?” she stammered, shaking and on the verge of pissing herself.
“Fuck you, that’s who I am,” I growled. “Now, run along, little meat puppet, before Daddy has to clean you off the pavement with a fucking shovel.”
Chapter Forty
Star