He pulled away laughing, ruddy-faced and clearly high out of his mind from the dilatation of his pupils.
“Let go,” I seethed, baring my teeth at him.
“Or what?” He chuckled, rubbing his bearded cheek against me.
“Or Hazard’ll have your eyes plucked from your skull,” I warned, hoping that Hazard’s legendary temper hadn’t cooled in the eight years of our separation.
The biker, I thought his name was Piston, winced a little and then almost threw me off his lap. I crashed into the coffee table behind me, whacking my hip so hard I had to swallow a cry. Piston and his buddy next to him laughed at me, but I didn’t stick around to make an issue of it.
The kitchen was a relief after that, only Aunt Rita sitting at the table in her house coat with a biker slut who was crying softly, holding a frozen bag of corn to one cheek. Sympathy moved through me for a moment looking at her smeared makeup and bad extensions.
I wondered what kind of path she’d wandered down to end up in this place voluntarily.
But I couldn’t afford to help her, not when I couldn’t even help myself.
So I just paused after grabbing a six-pack of cold ones and offered, “You can sleep in my room if you need space. The last one on the second floor on the right.”
She’d blinked at me, checking me out in one sharp look before sneering. “I don’t need your help, bitch.”
I shared a look with Aunt Rita, who only shrugged, long ago inured to all kinds of biker behaviour as Rooster’s spinster sister, and left the room.
I dropped the beers while Rooster was busy coming down that girl’s throat and then diligently handed over my first paycheck and the scant information I felt comfortable telling him about gossip at Eugene’s. Mostly that The Fallen realized they were under attack from someone, but they had no clue who. That got a wild, smug laugh from my father before he dismissed me to take a celebratory shot with his brothers.
I disappeared up the stairs, grabbed my pillow, and locked myself in the bathroom. I thought about taking my secret phone with me, but it was too risky in case someone broke down the door (it had happened before) or I couldn’t get back to my room before everyone woke up in the morning.
Instead, I used the phone Rooster had given me and called the only number I had memorized.
“Faithy?” a sleepy voice answered, growing alert with every word. “Faithy, is that you?”
Tears pooled at the backs of my eyes, but I didn’t stop them from running down my cheeks as I whispered to the only man who’d ever treated me like a daughter, “Hey, Grouch.”
“Honey.” The one word throbbed with heartache. “God, I hate that you are back with them.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“I wish…I wish you’d let me help you. I can give you some money. You can catch a bus or a train out of here.”
“I told you,” I said, so tired each bone in my body felt like an anchor. I imagined filling the tub with water and sinking beneath the current. At that moment, it seemed like the only way to find peace. “Rooster would kill you. Look at what he did to you already because of me.”
“I don’t want you worrying about what happened to me. I only wish I could do more. I could take Ruth and Jensen, and we could go with you,” he offered.
A sob fell from my mouth before I could catch it. I knew how much Grouch loved it here. He’d immigrated to Canada with Ruth to Toronto and crossed the country until settling here because it reminded them of the mountains back home.
“Even if I could let you do that, he’d find a way,” I said through the clutch of tears at my throat. “He’s like…the devil, Grouch. And I sold my soul to him at birth. I don’t think I can ever get away.”
“You can and you will,” he declared imperiously. “We’ll find a way.”
I focused on breathing so I wouldn’t fall to absolute pieces.
“What about that boy who gave me the parcel to deliver for you?” he asked into the silence, a little hopeful, a little afraid. “He seemed…capable. He told me he was the one who helped you the night of the break-in.”
“Yeah,” I said, my breath lost to the memory of Aaron swaggering into the gas station and the recognition that he was trouble. It was ironic really because I was the one bringing trouble to him. “He’s…”
“You like him.”
“You saw him, right?” I tried to joke. “He’s my type to a T.”
“No,” Grouch said slowly. “He’s got kind eyes. Otto never had none of that, and from what you’ve told me, neither did Hazard.”
