“Who?”
“Maury Povich. He used to do talk shows where he’d announce who the baby’s father was. He’d say really dramatic, ‘You are not the father.’ Then, the audience would go bonkers. Real trashy stuff.”
“I missed your point.”
Amity gives me a half-grin. “Real life isn’t like that. You’ll go take a test and then leave. Then, hours or days later, you’ll get the results. Probably in the mail. I think Bronco found out about his daughter, Carina, after a day. Didn’t take long, but it wasn’t like right away. So, get your blood drawn and then focus on the fun stuff.”
“How did you know about the Bronco thing?”
“He wasn’t celibate before Lana. I fucked him the night before he went to Kentucky. All the girls wanted to be with Bronco. He’s hot and good in bed. Some guys aren’t as much. I mean hot or good in bed, you know? Bronco is, so him having a surprise baby with a stranger was big news. Everyone was gossiping. Bambi and Barbie were convinced the kid wasn’t his, even though I guess Carina looks like his family. I don’t see it. They say Carina has the same nose as Barbie, but who the fuck can tell about a nose?”
Grinning, I think of the only time I saw Bronco’s family. The bunnies were at a carnival-themed party in the Woodlands. Mostly, we babysat the kids while their parents went on rides. Bronco sure makes some good-looking girls. The youngest—Carina—kept high-fiving me and wanting to drink my coffee.
Through the entire carnival event, my mind was focused on Lowell’s son, Dunning. Mostly, I kept trying to spot a resemblance to me as proof to feed my fantasy. My possible-brother looks like Lowell but with Topanga’s blue eyes and hair closer to her blonde than his dark brown. In all honesty, I never saw even the smallest amount of resemblance between us.
Yet, despite all the evidence to the contrary, I sit down to take my blood test while completely convinced about my mom’s story. Needy offered too many details about Lowell, and I know she kept a journal throughout her life. I do the same. She taught me to write down my feelings. I only stopped when I moved to Elko because I was afraid of spies.
I choose to believe my mom. How many times did Needy look me in the eyes when she spoke of my hotshot dad? I refuse to believe she lied. Until I get my own Maury Povich “he is not the father” moment, I won’t throw my mom under the bus.
“You’re in full-on pout mode,” Conor says as he strolls over to my blue sedan after I park at the sandwich shop. “Why not smile more? I heard women are big fans of being told that.”
Ignoring his teasing, I explain, “I’m preparing for the worst but believing in the best. Whatever that means.”
“Your face doesn’t know you’re aiming for happy,” he says and gestures for me to exit the car. “Fattening food and sudsy beer will put you in a better state of mind.”
“And the company can’t hurt,” I say, shutting the door and scanning the road for any familiar faces.
Conor follows my gaze. “One day, you’ll need to tell me who you’re hiding from. That’s the only way I’ll be able to keep an eye out for them, too.”
I study his handsome face, noticing a small scar along his hairline near his right ear. With nothing to lose, I reach up and run my index finger down the white mark. This simple touch lights a fire behind his eyes. I’m not surprised when his hand slides across my cheek. He waits to see if I lean into his embrace. I can’t deny myself. Trust isn’t easy. Hope is even more difficult. But Conor is irresistible when he opens up even the smallest bit. His cool James Dean vibe falls back into the shadows, allowing me to see the passionate man hiding underneath.
I flinch at the sound of someone calling out a name. Leaning so I can see around Conor, I realize the man is calling for “Roy,” not “Roe.”
“I don’t feel safe out here,” I tell him when his mood hardens.
“Tell me the story, and I can make sure these people don’t have free rein in Elko. It’s that easy.”
Studying his face, I struggle to say, “No.”
“Why?” he asks, losing his easygoing vibe.
“Because yesterday, I got slapped and embarrassed and rejected. Today or tomorrow, I might learn Mom was wrong, and I came to Elko based on a mistake. Let me deal with those things before I dig deeper into the pool of painful bullshit I’m carrying around, okay?”
Conor exhales hard, clearly irritated as he glances around. He’s easily over six feet and gets a solid view of the parking lot. Then, his green eyes focus back on my face.
“I kill people, Monroe. There are plenty of rich kids who get ahead because of their mommies and daddies. Those bitches don’t get their hands dirty. I’m not one of them. If someone is coming for you, I want to be ready. Not only to protect you but to keep my people safe, too.”
Conor’s a smooth operator, even when threatening me. I catch the underlying menace beneath his words. Yet, he never raises his voice or changes his body language. He could be casually talking about sandwiches, but my secrets are on borrowed time.
“I should warn you,” I say, patting his cheek before taking his hand. “I have a bit of a temper. You shouldn’t threaten me unless you’re willing to throw down.”
Conor snorts at my words, smiling now as he walks with me into the restaurant. I know he thinks I’m kidding, but he’d be wrong. I’ve long understood how violence is a natural part of life. When I go down, I always do it swinging.
PART 2: FANTASY BECOMES REALITY
CONOR
Even before my first date with Monroe, I’m bombarded with questions as if I’m her official representative. First, Topanga hits me with six texts, asking what Monroe said about her mother and any other pertinent information. I tell her we only talked about my sweet ass, and I didn’t think that was relevant to her fishing expedition.
Then, her husband uses his black SUV to block me in when I’m trying to pull my motorcycle down my driveway. I pretend I’m confused over what he wants, revving my engine rather than turning it off. He finally flips me off and walks over. Once I shut down the engine, he rubs at his bearded jaw and frowns hard.
“The younger generation is rude as fuck.”
“When you were my age, you made a daughter with a bunny. Every generation has different priorities.”
Lowell looks ready to punch me. He doesn’t, of course.
“What happened after we left last night? I know you drove her home.”
“I wiped her tears over getting rejected by her daddy.”
“Can you be serious?” he growls, looking tired and ragged.
“I am. What do you want?”
“I know you have a thing for this girl, but do you really think she’s on the up-and-up?”
“As compared to her criminal father?”
“Now, I know you’re fucking with me.”
“Monroe told me what she told you. Nothing more.”
“Bullshit.”
“You hurt her feelings last night.”
Lowell narrows his eyes, distrusting me more than usual. “What did she expect me to do when she announced that shit in front of everyone? And she only said it after Topanga attacked her. And it’s just weird.”
“What exactly is weird?”
“To have a woman I think of as a club girl turn out to be my possible daughter. I mean, fuck, what would have happened if you hadn’t claimed her? She would have gotten passed around.”
“Are your morals spinning in their graves?” I ask, enjoying his agitation.
Lowell isn’t accustomed to me giving him shit. Usually, Wyatt is the asshole, but I took Monroe’s broken heart personally.
“Why would Needy leave town rather than tell me?”
“I assume Bambi or my mom threatened her.”
Lowell’s expression softens before returning to his resting bitch face. “Sounds about right, but she still should have come to me.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Is Monroe trustworthy?” he asks, desperate for an out to his cur
rent situation.
“Why don’t you just take the test and see if she’s your daughter before you worry?”
“I’m wary of her plan.”
“If Monroe had a plan, she wouldn’t have ended up at the Overlook. The blood test would have taken place weeks ago. No one would have gotten slapped.”
“How pissed was she about that?” Lowell asks, glancing over at his house across the street, where I assume his slap-happy wife waits.
“Monroe was more upset about your reaction.”
“Well, if she wanted a heartwarming moment, she should have created one instead of what she did last night.”
Crossing my arms, I size up Lowell. He’s normally the calm voice behind Bronco’s louder one. Today, he looks scruffy and anxious. I wonder if Topanga kept him up with questions or plans. The woman is like the Energizer bunny—just wind her up and let her go. Then come back in a day when she’s worn herself out.
“What if she is your daughter?” I ask and climb back on my motorcycle. “If she isn’t, well, then that’s her problem. The other guys take tests, and she gets an answer, and you’re in the clear. But if she is yours, do you plan on acting like an asshole?”
“What do I owe a twenty-one-year-old woman I don’t know?”
“Nothing, maybe. But I think if she leaves Elko, you should realize finding her might be difficult. So, whatever you choose to do better be what you’re comfortable with for the rest of your life. Because Monroe has trouble following her, and she’s worried it’ll show up here. If Elko isn't a safe haven, she’ll go underground, or trouble might end her. Either way, she’ll be gone, and you need to be okay with that.”
“I thought she didn’t tell you anything last night.”
“She didn’t, but I pay attention. If you had more sense, you’d have figured out she was your possible kid within days of her working at Rooster’s. Basic logic said she wasn’t eyeballing you out of lust.”
Lowell shrugs. “They’re all young when they show up, and they all get their attachments.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t say two fucking words to her in that time. What was she getting so attached to, anyway?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, probably feeling like a moron.
“Take the test, figure out your shit, and leave me alone. I’m not your fucking therapist,” I say, turning on the engine and riding through the grass to get around his SUV.
Lowell spits a cuss word after me, but I can’t hear which one. I used to worry about his approval. All the older guys—mainly the Executioners’ founders—were these godlike figures whose approval I required to breathe. They ran with my dad and would one day decide if I was worthy of Bronco’s spot. If I failed them, my life held no meaning.
Except Wyatt acts like a huge dickhead every day of the week, and few people call him out on it. Bronco can’t stand him but doesn’t do shit. Lowell hates Wyatt even more, but, again, nothing happens. Which begs the question of why I’m kissing their asses?
I’m still wondering about that when Monroe warns me not to make threats unless I’m ready to throw down. She’s so hot when her dark eyes narrow and her nostrils flare—like a lion cub playing the predator role.
I also enjoy how she takes my hand and doesn’t play coy. We’ve been doing that shit for weeks, and I’m tired of pretending.
Yet, when Monroe asks me to order her a sandwich, she’s clearly testing me. I approve of her tactic. A weak woman can’t survive in my life. My mom alone will destroy someone with a tender heart. No, I need a tough woman. Monroe may or may not be that person, but she’s off to a good start today.
I order Monroe a French dip because everyone likes that sandwich. I suspect she wanted me to pick something weird. However, my intel on her didn’t involve whether she could handle spicy foods or liked salami.
“Weak,” she taunts as we sit across from each other with our sandwiches and pints of beer.
“We’ll go out for a few weeks, and then I’ll try again. By then, I bet I choose the one you really wanted.”
“What if we hate each other in a few weeks?”
“Then, I’ll buy my own sandwich,” I mutter, giving her a dirty look.
Monroe laughs at my attempt to seem hostile. “I can’t believe you made me pay.”
“You offered.”
Laughing again, Monroe isn’t hiding from me. She’s more like the girl I spotted with the bunnies—smiling and focused on the people around her. She isn’t shy, and I don’t sense she spends a lot of time analyzing everyone. She’s more instinct than strategy.
“Who’s after you?” I ask, feeling the direct route will work.
“A boyfriend.”
I make a buzzer sound while squeezing hot mustard on my sandwich. “Bullshit. Who is it, really? Did you steal money from someone?”
“Why would you assume I’m a thief?”
“You seem sneaky. I bet my wallet will disappear as soon as you get your hands near my ass.”
Monroe throws her head back and laughs loudly. Her expression, though, fires up, and I suspect she wants to punch me. The thief thing is a soft spot for her.
“What would you do if I stole from you?” she asks, challenging me to ruin our fun.
“Cry to my mommy, who’d beat you up.”
“Seems fair.”
“So, who did you steal from?”
“I didn’t steal shit,” she hisses, forgetting to control herself.
“Why is he chasing you, then?”
“I’m not telling you right now.”
“At least, tell me who this guy is if he isn’t a former flame. An obsessed stalker, maybe?”
“My uncle,” she says, giving up on lying.
“Uncle Hobbs?”
“No, he’s married to my aunt.”
“And did you steal from him?”
Monroe looks me right in the eyes, snarls, and lies, “No.”
“Wouldn’t care if you did,” I say, shrugging as I take a bite of my sandwich. “Is your uncle a violent man?”
“Yes.”
“Think I could take him in a fight?” I ask with my mouth full.
Monroe studies me, and I sense she might bolt. I’m pushing her too hard. Just like how I got too rude with Lowell. Usually, I finesse my filter better, but I woke up today wanting to start shit.
“Sure. He’s a middle-aged man, and you’re not.”
“I know some jiu-jitsu.”
“Nu-uh,” she says, smirking. “Where’d you learn that? There are no martial arts places around here.”
“How would you know that?”
“My spot-on investigative skills.”
“Sure,” I say, taking another bite.
“Well, my uncle wouldn’t fight you, anyway. He’d just shoot you. Or have one of his bruiser guys slice-and-dice your pretty face.”
I set my sandwich down and wipe my mouth. Watching her with a serious gaze, I softly ask, “Do you really think I’m pretty?”
Monroe licks the sauce from her lips. “Your eyes are magnetic, but your mouth keeps flapping with bullshit today.”
“You’re just pissed because I found out about your uncle.”
“You didn’t find out. I told you,” she mutters. “And you called me a thief.”
“Yeah, but we established you weren’t one,” I say while picking up my sandwich and taking a bite. “Right?”
“Yeah,” she lies again.
Gesturing toward her sandwich, I mumble, “Eat up.”
Monroe settles down enough to take a bite, but I doubt she even tastes the food.
“I thought you’d be more charming,” she says, narrowing her dark eyes.
“You want charm?” I ask and then soften my gaze. “Hey, sexy baby, how about we go back to my place? I’ll shove my mom off the couch, so you and I can get acquainted through spit transfer and chest infiltration. You in?”
Monroe both laughs and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I was expecting. Do more of that.”
; Giving her a half-smile, I gesture toward her food again. “Finish half of your sandwich, and we’ll go fool around some. But no dessert until you eat your lunch, sexy baby.”
“I don’t like that ‘sexy baby’ thing.”
“Then, what?”
“I don’t know. What did you call your ex-girlfriends?”
“Sexy baby. I’m not very creative.”
“Well, change ‘sexy’ to another similar word. Then, do the same with ‘baby.’ Bam, you’ve got a new thing to call me. I’m not looking to get sloppy leftovers from your former harem.”
“Did the bunnies tell you about my sexual prowess?”
Monroe giggles with her mouth full. “Prowess. No one talks like that.”
“I do,” I say, acting offended. “I just did. And I have bucketloads of prowess, too.”
“Stop showing off your access to a thesaurus.”
“Never, pretty woman.”
“Like the hooker from that movie.”
“She had a heart of gold, Monroe. Of fucking gold.”
“But she was a prostitute.”
Shrugging, I admit, “I guess. I never watched it.”
“Neither did I, but she was a hooker. I know that much.”
“Well, I’ll keep working on what to call you.”
“Is my name just not going to work for you?”
“Anyone can call you by your name, silly girl. I don’t want you thinking of anyone else while I’m using my prowess on you.”
Monroe giggles again, fully chill after her earlier temper tantrum. I can tell by the way she’s sizing me up that she will most definitely follow me over to my place to fool around. Of course, with the Woodlands’ women on gossip patrol, I might have more luck heading with Monroe to the Overlook. Amity can shuffle her cute ass elsewhere and allow me the access to Monroe that my dick’s been wanting for weeks.
MONROE
Conor isn’t what I expect. He’s more human, less untouchable hotshot. Or maybe, I’m just desperate for a connection now that I’m worried Lowell isn’t my father. I was especially affectionate toward Amity this morning. What difference does it make, though? If I’m not Lowell’s daughter, then what? Do these people throw me out? Or do they wait until Conor gets bored? Yeah, probably that second one.
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