Chapter 2
2
Robyn
C affeine isn’t even necessary with my blood still buzzing from last night. I barely slept, and as I walk out of the house, careful to lock the door behind me before I walk to Ellie’s place, I realize I don’t feel tired. I’m too scared to be tired.
Yes, the Rogue Riders’ devastatingly handsome and downright dashing leadership promised protection, safety, and all that. Yes, I believe them. I trust them. I know they’ll come through for Kyra and me like they did four years ago and every day since. But when they’re not around, doubt rears its ugly head and tricks me.
“Are you okay?” Ellie asks as she opens the front door.
“I look horrible, huh?”
“Not horrible, but not that great either,” Ellie sighs. “Kyra’s almost ready. She’s just putting her shoes on.”
“Thank you so much for last night,” I say and hand her an envelope with cash in it.
“You’re kicking back into that fight-or-flight instinct, aren’t you?”
I give her a troubled look. “How can you read me like an open book?”
“I’ve known you long enough,” she giggles, showing her dimples.
In the two years that Ellie’s been our neighbor, we’ve grown extremely close, and she knows me like few others do. “What’s going on?” she asks me. “It’s serious. You can’t lie about that.”
I nod once. “It is serious.” I briefly glance over her shoulder and into her house to make sure Kyra isn’t too close. “Calvin got out early on good behavior.”
“Oh, shit,” she whispers, eyes wide with genuine surprise. “That can’t be good.”
“It’s not. I don’t want him anywhere near Kyra or me. He’s out to hurt us, Ellie. And he will if I give him the opportunity.”
“Is that why you had the Riders over?”
“Calvin used to be one of them,” I say and shrug. “Knox is the club president. Jagger is his VP. Diesel is the head of their security. I mean, they’ve been around, looking after us, making sure we were never without. In some ways, those three have been better dads to Kyra than Calvin ever was.”
Ellie crosses her arms and frowns. “I never understood why they stayed close to you, though. You quit the life, didn’t you? You quit your job at the clubhouse, you sold the bike as soon as you got pregnant. From what you’ve told me, Calvin pretty much got you out of that circle altogether.”
“Yeah, but then the abuse started. The guys helped. I reached out to them because I had nobody else to talk to about Calvin,” I reply. “They took action straight away. Kicked his ass and banned him from the club.”
“And he put a guy in the ground the same night,” she says, shaking her head. “Manslaughter, my ass. Ten years wasn’t even enough for what he did.”
“It was part of a deal he signed with the DA. He cooperated with them on another investigation. Whether it was related to the Riders or not, I don’t know. They’d turned legit by then anyway. The state didn’t have anything on them to begin with.” I end the conversation here as Kyra comes out with her backpack on one shoulder and her overnight bag on the other. “Good morning, sunshine!”
“Morning, Mommy.” She winks at me, and I could melt.
Ellie takes the overnight bag away. “Don’t worry about this one, kitty-cat. Your mom’s gonna pick it up in the afternoon when she finishes work. No need to carry it around all day. What have you got in that backpack, anyway?”
“My coloring books, my snacks, and my favorite blankie,” Kyra replies.
“And you’re looking awfully pretty today,” I declare.
“Thank you, Mommy,” Kyra replies, her brow slightly furrowed as she looks up at me. “You didn’t sleep good, did you?” Ellie chuckles.
“Okay, I’ll put some concealer on before I go into the nail salon,” I mutter, only half-joking.
Kyra follows me to our Prius, while Ellie watches us go. “You be safe out there, okay?”
“I will, I promise,” I shout back. “I’ll call you if there’s anything. You’d better do the same!”
“You bet!”
Once Kyra is settled in her booster seat, I get behind the wheel and check the mirrors. A Harley is parked a couple of houses down from ours, but it’s not Knox’s. I can’t see who the rider is, but I recognize the Riders’ vest and patches, even from this distance. It gives me a slight sense of safety if only for a moment or two as I turn the key in the ignition.
“Mommy, are you okay?” Kyra asks.
“Of course, baby. Why do you ask?” I’m trying so hard to sound happy and upbeat, even though my daughter has repeatedly proven she’s way more perceptive and hard to fool.
“You just look really tired.”
“Oh, I’m okay, Kyra, I promise. It was just a bad dream, but I’ll get a good night’s sleep tonight. You’ll make sure of that, won’t you?”
We lock eyes through the rearview mirror, and she smiles. “We’ll read a bedtime story,” Kyra says. “The one with the octopus and the puffer fish. You like that one.”
“Not as much as you, though.”
With Kyra dropped off at kindergarten and a warning left with their staff to remind them that her father isn’t allowed to approach her in any way as per the restraining order I got shortly before Calvin was arrested, I head into the nail salon with a glimmer of hope in my tired eyes. It’s been quiet, so far.
Outside, I bump into Paulie sitting on his Harley, patiently waiting for me.
“Hey,” he says, giving me a weak smile. “Knox told me about Calvin.”
“Hey, Paulie,” I reply. “Yeah. Crazy, huh?”
“I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later. We were all just hoping it would be later.” He scoffs, tucking a lock of his wavy brown hair behind one pierced ear. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Robyn.”
“What are you sorry for?” I ask, somewhat confused.
Paulie gives me a weak shrug, barely able to look me in the eye. “I had a clue about what was going on with you and Calvin, and—”
“You know what, Paulie, I’m just going to go ahead and stop you right there,” I reply. “We’ve already had this conversation. And like I told you and the others before, you have nothing to be sorry about. It was a toxic relationship and a horrible marriage, yes, but it didn’t start out like that, okay? The abuse came in sequences. It was calculated. He knew what he was doing to keep me under his thumb until I had enough. Everything else, well, it doesn’t even matter anymore.”
“So, we’re cool, you and me?”
“We’ve been cool for almost four years, dude.”
Paulie chuckles lightly. “That’s good to hear, Robyn. Have a good day at work. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
“Thank you.”
Paulie and Calvin used to be best friends. They came up together. They joined the Rogue Riders together. They were inseparable, though they didn’t always share the same moral code. The rift between them grew wider after Knox and the guys found out about the violence directed at me and about how dangerous he had become.
I shudder as I walk into the salon, which is like a different world altogether.
“Morning, sunshine!” Rita, my colleague, calls, greeting me with a broad, veneered smile. “It’s just the two of us today. We’ve got the place to ourselves and maybe five clients between us.”
“And why does that make you happy?” I say and almost laugh. “It means less money.”
“Yeah, but we’ve got Thursday and Friday packed and then some,” she quips. “We’re getting the big fish too. There’s a fancy wedding on Sunday at the Roxbury, and all the Redwood royals will be coming in for a mani-pedi before that affair.”
I groan as I settle behind my workstation, first checking that all my tools and colors are handy. “I don’t know whether to rejoice or gag. Who’s going to deal with Mrs. Steiner?” I ask, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Because we both know she’s going to be there. She’s at every wedding.”
“Oh, crap, I didn’t check the booking log for her,” Rita gasps, suddenly horrified.
I laugh as she rushes over to the reception desk to look through the booking software. I can almost see the beads of sweat blooming on her tanned forehead, followed by a tremendous exhale.
“Craaaaaaap,” she says.
“You’ve got Mrs. Steiner.” I’d laugh some more, but the bell above our front door chimes, and I turn to see who’s come in.
A woman in her late thirties walks in. She’s skinny but pretty, with her wavy brown hair combed into an elegant bun at the back of her head. She sashays across the reception area, giving me a full view of her peach-colored cashmere pencil skirt and jacket.
“Good morning,” I say, greeting the woman. When she takes her sunglasses off, I recognize her.
“Morning,” she says with a flat smile.
“Miss Hughes,” I mumble. “What a surprise.”
“Why is it a surprise?” She laughs lightly and takes a seat at my station.
I give Rita a questioning look. She’s still behind the reception computer, but she nods slightly and goes through my bookings for the day, then replies with a silent nod. Marlo Hughes is, indeed, my first client this morning. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’ve never been fond of her or her family—for good reason.
“I’m guessing you made the booking through our online portal?” I ask politely.
“My assistant handles these things,” she says, showing me her hands.
“Well, I’m glad to be of service.” I put on my work smile and my latex gloves. “What are we doing today?”
She carefully looks at me. I can feel her icy gaze scanning my face, searching for something. We’ve rarely crossed paths outside the nail salon, but I know enough about her. I hear the Riders talking about the Hugheses and their so-called family business, and I’ve known for years about their influence in and around Redwood. Marlo seems nice, but there’s a sharp edge to her voice that chills me to the bone.
“I think I want gel manicure in a different color,” Marlo says. “Do you still have those tiny diamonds?”
“Cubic zirconia, yes,” I reply.
“I want one on each ring finger. There’s a wedding I mean to dazzle with these nails.”
“Say no more.” I chuckle softly and get to work.
Rita gets a client of her own just a few minutes later, and I briefly lose my train of thought with their conversation running in the background. The buzzing of my electric file is enough to keep me focused on the task at hand, though, as I remove the polish and gel from each of Marlo’s nails. She watches as I work in silence, and while I find her staring quite unnerving, I’m used to it. Most of my clients do that, albeit unintentionally.
“Shall I shorten them as well?” I ask once the gel is off.
“Sure, but just a bit. Keep the shape, though.”
“Of course.”
“I heard Calvin got out,” Marlo says, and I catch my breath.
“What?” I blurt out, giving her a troubled glare.
“I’m sorry,” she says and offers a polite smirk. “The people in this town talk. Word travels fast, and frankly, all of Redwood was shaken to the core when Calvin was arrested. I’m sure I said this to you once or twice over the years since he’s been away, but I am deeply sorry for what he put you through. I hope you’ve healed.”
I don’t really know what to say. What is this, exactly? Why is she bringing him up?
“Thank you, Miss Hughes—”
“Marlo, please. We’ve known each other long enough.”
“Marlo. Thank you. It’s been four years. I haven’t really given him much thought,” I say, trying to focus on the nail filing so she doesn’t walk out of here with a shoddy manicure.
“But you did hear about his early release, right?”
I pause and give her another glance. “I did, yes. Where did you hear about it?”
“Like I said, people talk around here. I think it was my driver who mentioned something the other day. Then a few other folks over at the farmers’ market. Maybe they’ve seen him around, I’m not sure,” she says, then leans forward while I finish filing the middle fingernails. “How do you feel about this whole thing? Wasn’t he supposed to go away for a long time?”
“I understand he got a chance at parole. It’s not my business, though. We were done a long time ago.”
“What about your daughter? How does she feel about seeing her father again?”
Now, I’m getting irritated, but Marlo is big shot in this town and probably a good tipper. For my sake, I need to keep my cool and my wits about me. Whatever her endgame may be, I cannot crack at the first sign of discomfort.
“Kyra doesn’t know, nor will she. We have a valid restraining order against Calvin. He has no place in his daughter’s life, and he knows it.”
“Hasn’t she asked about him?”
“She’s five years old. She asks about a lot of things. I do my duty as her mother and tell her what she needs to know and shield her from people who might hurt her—even if one of those people is her father,” I reply bluntly, then smile brightly. “What color would you like for your nails?”
I hand her the color palette and wait for her decision while I prepare the base and the gel bottles for the next stage. My gaze wanders around the salon, and I briefly remember my first days here. I’d just met Calvin. Wide-eyed and eager to build a relationship, I was head over heels for that man. I thought he was a demigod, that he could do no wrong.
The first time he raised his voice at me, I blamed it on the stress. He was a Rider prospect, anxious to get into the MC and make his own mark.
“Let’s go with this color pink,” Marlo says, picking out a frosted shade. “It’ll go great with the tiny zirconia.”
“I agree,” I reply with a pleasant smile and get the color off the shelf behind me.
As I apply the adhesive and the base to each of her nails, making sure she keeps each hand under the UV lamp while I move on to the other, Marlo never takes her eyes off me—not my hands or my craftsmanship, but my face. She’s watching me. It’s getting annoying.
I steal a glance outside, content to see Paulie still on his bike, casually soaking up some of the early August sunshine while sipping on an iced latte.
“We grew up together, you know,” Marlo says at one point.
“Who?”
“Me, Calvin, and Paulie.”
“Oh?”
I don’t think I knew that. Then again, they’re around the same age in a town big enough to pass for a small city but small enough for everyone to know one another. That’s Redwood in a nutshell, and its drug-running links to the surrounding districts have kept it on the police’s radar for decades. It used to be a lot worse when Marlo’s grandfather was the kingpin of the operation.
“Yeah, we were thick as thieves,” Marlo says, half-smiling. “Calvin always had a crush on me. I think, in a way, I liked him too, but I knew we could never be together, not while my daddy was still alive.”
“Hmm…” I try to think of something else to say. An image of Knox kissing me last night and sweeping me off my feet comes to mind. But I almost mess up Marlo’s pinkie nail, so I push the thought away and resign myself to listen to whatever trip down memory lane this is supposed to be. “Mr. Hughes didn’t approve?”
“He called Calvin a gutter rat,” Marlo replies. “I never agreed, of course. And I always wanted the best for him, though even then, I could see that dark side of his, the shadow hanging over him. I’m just sorry I didn’t realize where it would lead.”
We’re both waiting for the final drying seconds under the lamp.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“With you. When I saw the two of you together, I figured he’d grown up,” Marlo says. “And when I heard you were pregnant, I thought to myself… ‘Hey, there he goes. A family man. The worst part is over.’ Little did I know that the worst part was just beginning. I was in court, Robyn. I watched you during your testimony. You showed true backbone.”
“Thank you. All I did was tell the truth.”
“And you shook Redwood to its core. We’ve never been the same since.”
“Calvin brought it on himself.”
A grin slits across Marlo’s face as I add the color over the base. “You did ask those Rider fellas for help, didn’t you?”
I give Marlo a short but expressive glare. “They helped me. I had no one else to ask. You might not remember, Marlo, but I did try to tell folks around town. His own parents wouldn’t believe me. And I took quite the beating for that attempt.”
“Yes, well, Calvin does have a tendency to pay people back in kind for perceived betrayals.”
“Betrayals?”
“I’m not saying you betrayed him, Robyn. I’m saying that’s how he saw it.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah, well, I have no regrets for what came afterward. I brought the issue up with Knox, Jagger, and Diesel because I knew they were the only ones whose authority Calvin actually respected.”
“Until they almost knocked his teeth out.” Marlo says and chuckles dryly. “Did you ever regret telling them?”
“No, ma’am. Like I said, they saved me.”
The conversation dies there. Maybe it’s because of my tone or maybe it’s because I’m too focused on applying the zirconia gems on the right nails, I don’t know. But I am grateful for the silence. Only the buzzing of Rita’s file lingers somewhere to my left along with the humming of the neon lights overhead.
“These came out beautifully,” Marlo declares once we’re done. “You truly are an artist, Robyn. I’m always impressed with your attention to detail.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
“Have you ever considered branching out on your own?”
“Not really. I mean, I’m not sure I could, not in Redwood anyway. This place dominates the market.”
Marlo smiles broadly. “Redwood is constantly expanding. And with the kind of projects I’m about to invest in, I can tell you one thing for certain: It’s only going to get bigger. So, if you do decide to open your own salon,” she says as she fishes out a business card from her insanely expensive purse, “give me a call. This is my private number. I’d love to invest in your potential, Robyn.”
She gives me the card, and I stare at it for a few seconds while she goes over to the reception desk, where Rita swoops in to process her payment. “I appreciate it,” I tell Marlo once she’s back. “I do. Thank you.”
“Just think about it. You could go places with me, kiddo,” Marlo says, then winks and walks out.
As soon as she’s gone, oddly enough, I feel as though I can fully breathe again, as if I’d been holding in the air the whole time she sat in front of me.
“Are you okay?” Rita asks me. “She’s a piece of work, huh?”
“Marlo Hughes? Yeah, a piece of work,” I mutter.
The end of my shift brings a bright pink and deep red sunset stretching over the sky as I walk out of the salon and look both ways. There’s my Prius, patiently waiting in its parking spot across the street. A couple of cars farther down, there’s Paulie, typing away on his phone and chuckling at the replies. At least he’s not bored.
And he’s close enough to intervene if Calvin comes around.
But I haven’t seen him. My phone has been quiet too—with the exception of a couple of text messages from Jagger to check up on me. Even his words read softer after the kiss from last night.
After-school daycare at Kyra’s school is open for another hour, so I’ve got enough time left to grab a latte from my favorite café and maybe a couple of scones if there are any left. Kyra loves the blueberry ones, and Morris usually puts one or two aside for us.
“There she is!” Morris says and gives me a bright smile as soon as I walk into the café.
“Here I am,” I laugh, glad to see the place is almost empty at this hour.
They’ll be closing soon, and the pastry display looks pretty empty, with the exception of a small takeaway box with a transparent lid. I move closer and recognize the puff pastry with its blooming baked blueberry filling.
“You know I saved you both a piece,” Morris quips, following my curious gaze. “How are you doing these days, Robbie? I haven’t seen you since Monday.”
“Oh, I’m okay,” I reply, walking over to the counter. “Just busy, as usual.”
“I hear the nail salon’s going to be packed before the weekend.”
“Yeah, the Roxbury wedding.”
“Caramel latte?” he asks.
“Yes, please. And a babyccino for Kyra, of course.”
Morris nods and gets to work behind the espresso machine while I watch him perform his barista magic. His hands are steady, his movements smooth—almost like poetry in motion; it soothes my heart.
“The whole town is already talking about it, you know,” he says.
I laugh. “The wedding? Yeah, I heard. It’s like the royals are getting married.”
He gives me a long, worried look. “No, about Calvin. The word is out.”
“Oh, yeah. Marlo Hughes said the same thing earlier when she came in to get her nails done.”
“Marlo? Damn. All the snakes are crawling out of their holes now, huh?” He shakes his head in dismay. “I’m telling you, Robyn, there are some dark times ahead.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on. You know what Marlo’s deal is.”
I roll my eyes as I say, “She claims she’s a legitimate businesswoman, unlike her daddy and grandaddy.”
“Right, and I’m RuPaul,” Morris scoffs and brings the takeaway drinks in their own cardboard box, complete with rings to keep them in place while I carry them. “But listen, Robyn… I’m only telling you this because I care about you.”
“What?” I ask, pushing a twenty-dollar bill across the counter for the coffee and pastries.
“He was in here earlier.”
“Calvin?” The sound of his name fills me with dread.
Morris gets the scones out of the display box. “Yeah, he was asking about you. I told him I haven’t seen you, but that… you know, you’re doing alright, that the Riders are looking after you.”
“You told him that?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because he needs to know he can’t just walk back into town and come bother you like he owns you,” Morris says with a furrowed brow. “That man is a fucking monster, Robyn.”
“Don’t I know it,” I say, sighing deeply.
“It’s a shame I can’t set the cops on him or something. The prick got out on good behavior; I can’t believe it…”
I nod again, my blood running cold as flashbacks of our marriage flood my nervous system and make me tremble despite the warm weather.
“Did he say anything else?” I ask Morris.
“Nope. He ordered coffee and the cherry-filled donuts, your favorites. I think it was a dig meant for you.”
“He probably knew you’d tell me,” I mumble. “Thank you, Morris. Keep the change.”
“You’re a sweetheart.”
I grab my drinks and pastries and head straight for the door with a sense of urgency. Morris’s voice stops me in my tracks.
“Hey, Robyn.”
“Yeah?” I ask, glancing over one shoulder.
“You should carry a taser, honey.”
That’s not the worst idea I’ve heard since last night, to be perfectly candid. I’ve thought about it too. But once the jig was up, once Knox and the guys confronted Calvin about his abusive behavior, he turned into a mild little lamb—at least in my presence. It was as if the monster inside him had disappeared.
But it was there; it was always there. I should never forget that and maybe I should get a taser.