After the mess with Cody that morning, finding out about Trisha and the kids, the fight with Grease, Cameron showing up at my apartment, and now my father on his way, I was at my breaking point. I sat down heavily on my quilt, rubbing my fingers along the stitching. I could call Gram, but I knew she had her hands full with Callie and Will, and we sure as shit didn’t need all of them traipsing into my apartment.
Were they going to tell him here? Shit! I hadn’t even thought of having to deal with the fallout of that scenario. I felt like the walls were closing in around me, and I seriously considered hopping out the window in my room.
I needed to get it together, and I could only think of one way to calm myself down. I lay down on my bed, pulled the quilt up and over my head, and called Cody.
He didn’t answer.
Of course he didn’t. He was on some super-secret mission for the club; he didn’t have time for my emotional inadequacies. I spent a few more minutes breathing deeply inside my little cocoon before tossing the blankets back. I could do it. I could walk out into the living room and deal with the drama that I knew was coming. I’d handled far worse, hadn’t I? I just needed to make sure I was presentable, flawless, and then I’d deal with it.
After giving myself a pep talk in the bathroom as I made sure my hair was in place and my makeup was okay, I headed to the living room. Slider hadn’t arrived yet, and I was relieved to hear Grease and Cameron speaking quietly from the couch. There hadn’t been any yelling or sobbing. I was in the clear, at least for a while.
The relief left me in an instant when I saw how the two were sitting. Grease’s back was against the couch cushions, his shoulders tight and his feet flat on the floor, and Cameron was sitting almost in his lap. The poor kid’s chin was tucked into his chest and his arms were crossed in front of him, a pose that would have looked petulant if it wasn’t for the way he was huddled under Grease’s massive arm, tears rolling down his face. When I walked toward them, both heads snapped up, and the agony in their expressions was overwhelming.
“I stayed the night at my friend’s house last night and my house burned down. My mom and my sisters and brother are dead,” Cameron told me, lifting his chin. He looked at me in defiance, too proud to admit that he was upset. For anyone else, he might have been hard to read. The scowl on his face was as bratty as I’d ever seen, impressive really, but with a closer look, there was no way to hide the complete lack of hope in his eyes.
I knew that face.
I’d worn it for years.
He expected me to baby him and was warning me off. He didn’t want my pity. I respected that in a way he’d never understand.
“Yeah, dude, I heard,” I answered calmly. “I’m really sorry.”
His shoulders slumped and he leaned back into Grease. Just then, there was a knock on the door, and I opened it up to Slider and Poet—my father and his vice president. I watched them as they took in Grease and Cameron, their faces moving from disbelief to joy within seconds as they stood frozen just inside the door. Poet moved first.
“Cameron, it’s damn good to see you,” he announced roughly, stepping over to the couch to pull the kid up from the couch and into a bear hug. “So good to see you, boyo.”
“Where’s my dad?”
“He’s at the clubhouse,” Slider answered, finally making his way into the room. I took a couple of steps away from him, the apartment already feeling too small. “Didn’t want to get his hopes up.”
“Nice.” I scoffed, shaking my head. He hadn’t believed me. My gut burned, and I knew I had to get out of there before I said something and made the situation infinitely worse for everyone. I turned to Grease and met his eyes. “I’m going to head over to Gram’s. You guys stay as long as you need to. Lock up behind you.”
At his nod, I spun toward the door.
“Thanks for helping me, Farrah,” Cameron called out quietly, his manners still intact even after having a life-changing bomb dropped in his lap.
“No problem, Cameron.”
I turned my head to see him standing under Poet’s arm, the entire group watching me leave. Seeing him there looking so small and broken reminded me too much of things I was trying to forget, and I had the unwelcome urge to hug him. I wanted to take him away from all of it, I wanted to go back twenty-four hours and warn his mother, and I wanted to do anything to ease the ache in my gut at his obvious misery. Instead, I said something that would change both of our lives.
“You’re welcome here anytime, little dude.”
Chapter 17
Casper
I spent four days in southeast Portland before I got a hit. The night I’d gotten in, I realized that my clothes weren’t going to work unless I wanted to call attention to myself. These people weren’t polos and skinny jeans, they were worn-in work boots and baggy jeans falling off their asses. I’d stopped at Wal-Mart and bought some clothes, running over them with my car in the gravel parking lot next door to give them some wear. That seemed to have worked.
I finally found the boys we were looking for in a shady strip club. Shit was all spread out in the side of town I knew I’d find them, and it was hard as hell to hit as many places as I could in a day without looking suspicious. I’d had to make my way around, asking guys on the street about jobs and spare cigarettes, striking up conversations that led to where I could get a beer. I knew they’d be holed up in some piece-of-shit bar, somewhere they knew they’d get the respect they wanted.
Small-time assholes always went to the shadier parts of town, the ones that were down on their luck, with wannabe gangsters on the corner who thought they were hard but weren’t. That was where they’d find their power, in a place that had a hell of a lot of followers but no leader.
The women dancing looked barely old enough to be legal, and the entire club reeked of stale smoke and feet. It was fucking disgusting, but I clocked the two men I was looking for right away. Two men, midforties, one with a mole next to his nose and the other with a patchy chinstrap beard. Their backs were to the wall, placing them right next to each other, and they were the only two smoking in a club with No Smoking signs on every wall.
Bingo.
They were ruling their shitty little kingdom from the back corner of a strip club covered in ratty red shag carpeting left over from the seventies. Fucking tools.
I’d been sitting near them, watching the dancers for almost an hour before I heard the word I’d been both hoping and dreading.
Aces.
I spent another hour listening, regulating my breathing and keeping my body relaxed and seemingly focused on the dancers, before I dropped a couple of bills on the stage and left. I had what I needed.
I didn’t even stop at my hole-in-the-wall hotel before heading south on I-5 toward Eugene. I’d never wear any of the clothes again anyway, and I’d kept all of my stuff from Farrah’s in the trunk of the small Honda that Slider had given me for the trip. I was practically vibrating with the need to turn around and kill the motherfuckers sitting in the strip club. If I didn’t get out of there soon, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold back.
It only took me a couple of hours to get back home, and when I pulled into town I had to force myself to go to the club first. I wanted to pack up Farrah and Gram and get them the fuck out of there, then make my way to Callie’s, but knew I had to speak with Slider and Poet first. They were going to be livid, and we needed to plan. My family wasn’t the only one that needed protection.
I walked into the club and made my way over to the couch where Slider and Vera were groping each other like a couple of teenagers.
“Boss?”
“Fuck,” he hissed into Vera’s mouth, pulling his hand out of the back of her jeans. When he finally looked up and met my eyes, recognition dawned and he jumped up from the couch. “Club business, baby. Be back in a while,” he said to Vera, who only nodded with a small smile at being interrupted.
“Poet! Call Dragon and Grease and have them get their asses here. Doc! Smokey! Yo
u’re with me.”
We followed him into the back room and once again sat down at our places at the table. The other brothers had watched me with a mix of hostility and confusion as I’d followed them in, and I almost groaned at the fucking pecking order that assured I’d be cleaning bathrooms for the next month. They didn’t understand why I’d been allowed in, and they weren’t happy about it.
Fuck me.
I started to talk as soon as we sat down, but Slider put one hand up to silence me before I could say much. “We’ll wait for the boys,” he said, “so we’re all hearing it at the same time. Makes shit easier.”
I nodded and sat back to wait, fidgety and uncomfortable with the eyes in the main room I could feel on me through the open door. By the time Dragon showed up, I was clenching my jaw and had moved to popping my knuckles. Grease walked through the door, shutting it firmly behind him.
“You got what you needed in four days? Any problems?” Poet asked.
“No problems. Found the brothers in a titty bar in Southeast playing kings of the fucking castle. Took me a while to find them, working my way through the guys out of work or homeless on the street.” I cleared my throat, feeling a little uncomfortable with all of the eyes on me. “Found out what they’re planning and headed out straight from there.”
“Is it something we can handle?” Slider asked quietly.
“They’re small. Nobodies. No competition if they were doing shit on the up-and-up,” I answered, meeting his eyes. “They won’t be. Their next hit is another family. Not sure which one, they weren’t specific, but it was clear they wouldn’t be hitting us directly.”
“Motherfuckers.”
“Goddamn it.”
“Son of a bitch!”
“Fuck!”
The faces around the table had gone from questioning to livid, and I was glad that I was on their side. They were scary as all hell. As Dragon stood up, looking like he was going to kill someone with his bare hands, Slider started barking orders.
“Poet, you get the men with families in here. We’ll let them know what’s going on. Find anyone that’s sober and supply them with some cars, the drunk fuckers aren’t going to be able to go home to get their women alone. Who the fuck knows if they’d get there in one piece or what they’d be walking into.” Poet stood up from the table, clapping Slider on the shoulder as he walked out of the room.
“Dragon,” Slider continued, “you and Brenna should be good. We’re going to lock down the gates and you’re already inside them. See if your woman has some extra shit she can spare or any room, the clubhouse is gonna be over-fucking-flowing. You take one of the cars if Poet needs a hand.”
Dragon left next, veins popping in his neck as he slammed the door closed behind him.
“Doc, make sure you’ve got enough shit on hand in case things go downhill. Order anything you need and get it out here tonight. Once the gates are closed, we aren’t opening them. Smokey, make sure the bitches are out of my clubhouse before the wives get here. Tell April and Jenny to stay, they’ve both been around a long fucking time and have enough of a reputation that they could be targets. Those picky whores have only been fucking a couple of the boys anyway, no one with wives. Everyone else, out.” With a nod, he dismissed the old-timers.
“Grease, go get your woman and her grandmother. Make sure she’s got everything she needs for your boy. Stop at the store if you need to. Know this is her first time, so make sure you got enough diapers and all that other shit that you could need. Nothin’ goes in or out until we get this shit taken care of.”
After Grease left, Slider and I were the last ones left sitting at the scarred table. It sounded like chaos out in the club, with bikes roaring out of the lot and girls bitching that they had to leave early, but it all faded out as Slider watched me.
I didn’t know if I’d done something wrong, if I should have stayed in Portland to get more intel, or just called Slider to relay what I’d heard. The seconds ticked quietly between us until suddenly he spoke up.
“You did good, kid. Now go get my daughter.”
I was up and out the door before he’d finished his last sentence.
Chapter 18
Farrah
I was on the couch watching Pulp Fiction with Cameron—who I thought was too young for it before he told me he’d already seen it—when I heard the lock of my front door turning noisily.
Our eyes met, wide and nervous. Shit. His eyes weren’t just nervous; they had a look I’d seen before. He was going into that protective mode that I’d seen on both Cody and Grease’s faces throughout the years. God, how early did it start with these guys? The little shit was only eleven!
I laid a hand on his shoulder and shook my head at him sternly to keep him seated as I stood up. He could scowl at me all he wanted, but he’d better keep his ass on the couch.
It was late and I wasn’t expecting anyone. I’d realized as a child that nothing good ever came from late-night visits, and at an early age had learned how to protect myself. I hadn’t been prepared when I’d needed it—those particular attacks had come in the middle of the day—but I’d learned my lesson. I was never unprepared again, and no one was getting into my apartment unless I let them, especially with Cameron there.
I walked to the side table and opened the drawer, quietly pulling my revolver out. By the time the door opened, I’d checked to make sure it was loaded and was standing in the entryway, the gun hanging loosely at my side. I really hoped the little shit would stay where he was, partially hidden by the couch.
As Cody stepped inside, I felt my entire body relax.
“Hey, Ladybug.” He looked at me curiously. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Shit.” I sighed, emptying bullets into my palm. “You fucking scared me.”
“I’m sorry, baby. I missed you,” he replied, stepping forward. “Some shit’s going on at th—”
Just then Cameron stood up from the couch, interrupting whatever he’d been about to say. It was like a scene from a movie as Cody’s eyes widened and he stumbled to the wall, barely catching himself with one arm. He looked like he was going to pass out.
“Cameron?”
“Hey, Casper.” The little dude was nervous, though I didn’t know why.
Cody gasped. “Holy fuck. What? How?”
“I’m guessing no one told you,” I remarked quietly as Cody got his shit together and literally jumped over the couch to reach Cameron.
They both laughed as Cody lifted him off his feet in a hug, and I swallowed hard at the sound. It was the first time I’d heard it in the two days Cameron had been hanging out at my house. I wasn’t sure what was going on with Tommy, but Grease had dropped Cameron off both times, so the club knew where he was. I wanted to ask what the hell was going on, but kept my mouth shut. The kid wanted a safe place to hang out? I wasn’t doing anything after work, and I kind of liked the company anyway.
“You’ve been hanging out with my woman?” Cody teased, pulling my attention back to him as he ruffled Cameron’s hair. “How the hell did that happen?”
His gaze came to me and I shook my head slightly. I didn’t think it was something the kid would want to go over again. It had been hard enough to live it.
“So, you’re back now?” I asked, wrapping my arms around my chest. I was fighting tears at their reunion and it pissed me off. I didn’t cry at happy things. That was ridiculous.
“Shit, yeah, and we need to talk. You okay out here? We’ll be right back.” He looked at Cameron, slapping him on the shoulder and giving it a squeeze in one of those weird male rituals. Then he ushered me into my room.
“I really hope you don’t think we’re having sex with an eleven-year-old in the living room,” I said, coming to a stop at the end of my bed.
“Seriously?” He rubbed his hand over his head. “I can’t believe that shit. How the hell is Cam—what—? Fuck, I’ll figure it all out later. We’ve got some shit happening at the club and we’re locking it down. You need to pa
ck a bag.”
I looked at him incredulously. He must be out of his mind.
“Um, no.”
“Farrah, I didn’t ask you. I told you,” he replied, looking for a bag in the closet.
I wanted to stomp my foot like Will did when he didn’t get his way.
“You took my only bag, remember? When you took off and didn’t tell me that Trish was dead or what you were doing or where you were going or what the hell was the matter with you.” With each word my anger mounted, but he was too distracted to notice.
“Fuck. I’ll grab a garbage bag. Start grabbing the things you’ll need. Enough for a while, we aren’t sure how long this shit is going to take.” He paused to take a deep breath and I wanted to scream as he ignored my comments about the last time I’d seen him.
“I’m not going to your club,” I told him again. “No, thank you.”
He was wound tight as hell, I’d noticed it when he’d walked in, but once he’d seen Cameron it had seemed to evaporate. Unfortunately, the minute we hit the bedroom, the tightness of his muscles and the stress in his eyes had shown back up.
“I am not fucking playing with you, Farrah,” he enunciated clearly. “Get your shit or I’m taking you without it. I don’t give a fuck if you spend the entire time wrapped in your fucking quilt because you don’t have any makeup.”
I inhaled sharply at the low blow. Using my odd need for things to look just right against me wasn’t even a little bit okay. I wanted to argue with him, be a bitch and make him pack my things himself, but I caught myself just before I did something stupid. I’d known there was something going on, but it took me a moment to catch the inflections in Cody’s voice instead of just the words.
He wasn’t being a dick.
He was scared, and that scared me, so I sucked up my attitude.
“I have a suitcase under the bed,” I told him quietly, walking forward to wrap my arms around his waist. I hadn’t seen him for days, and before we left the house and our lives became a complete clusterfuck, I needed to feel him. Just for a second.