Chapter 3
Cruz
This is going badly. No, that’s wrong. It’s not going. It’s gone. It’s so far gone that we’re not even in the territory of bad anymore.
Ten minutes ago, I leaned forward in this chair, ready to catch Sloane if she fainted and pitched forward.
Liam is wrapping things up, but he hasn’t even given his mom the news yet.
She’s gone from pink cheeked to gray to ashen, but throughout it all, she’s never lost that proactive, motherly look that says she’ll do anything for Liam, even if it means taking on the whole world.
After Liam’s done, he falls silent. Sloane is a lovely woman.
She’s bright. Vibrant. Not just in her clothing choices with the funky sweater and her tight blue leggings that peek out where the knit sweater with a big cow on the front ends, but all over.
Her dark green eyes and naturally sandy hair are lovely.
She’s done her makeup subtly, but she’s stunning.
Her heart shaped face gives her a sweet, youthful appearance, even though I know from Liam that she’s in her late thirties.
She bites down on her lip so hard that it changes from soft pink to an angry red.
She’s gone through ten shades of terrified but not once have I seen true anger flash across her face.
She’s horrified, but as we sit in silence, our coffee forgotten, her expression hardens.
She stops gnawing at her lip. Her hands clench around the mug she’s rested on her knee.
I can already see her figuring out how to make this right.
Liam’s told her the bad parts—about the gang, about prospecting for the club, about telling Sloane the wrong name of the garage he works at because he didn’t want her to know it was club owned, but he hasn’t told her why I’m here yet.
“It’s okay.” Sloane leans forward, sets her mug on the vintage oval wood coffee table and pulls Liam into a hug. Her tone wavers, like she’s trying to convince herself. She wraps her arms tightly around Liam and holds him like he’s five years old.
It’s not surprising that he starts sniffling. If my mom ever tried to comfort me that way, whether I was a kid or a grown man, I’m pretty sure that I would probably sob too. Maybe not. It’s hard to speculate when my parents were drunk half the time, and the other half just naturally cold and nasty.
Sloane’s nothing like my mom. She’s warm. She clearly has a good heart. She rubs small circles on Liam’s shoulder and back before she pulls away and studies him.
“I hate that this happened. That you did all of this and didn’t tell me.
I wish that you never would have taken a job like that, and I hate that you lied to me about being involved with the biker club here, but we can fix all of this.
I’ll go with you. We’ll drive to that clubhouse right now, and we’ll talk to their leader.
You can tell him that you’re sorry for the situation and that you’re no longer thinking about joining them or working for them.
You’ve only been there for five months. It won’t take long.
We’ll go straight to the police after and file a report. ”
Liam groans and covers his face with his hands. “No, Mom. We’re not going to do any of that.”
Sloane blinks at him, clearly puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
“The last thing we need to do is get the cops involved with a crime syndicate. Normally they pay police off. That would be a sure way to get killed, if any. And I’m not going to go to Tyrant and tell him that I’m quitting.
I’m not quitting. Not my job, and not the club.
” Liam drops his hands and stares his mom down, though he looks half miserable because it’s hurting her to make his own decisions as a grown adult.
“I want to be a member of Satan’s Angels.
Since I’m prospecting, they’ve offered protection.
Just for… a few weeks, until we know for sure what’s happening and if anyone is going to come after me. ”
“It’s been five months since you got back to Hart. That doesn’t make any sense.” Sloane’s not done with the rest of that statement, but she addresses the immediate question.
“The guys at the club want to make absolutely sure that no one has been following me or watching me. Five months is a long time and that gang likely doesn’t even remember me, but if not…”
“We don’t need the club’s protection.” Sloane shakes her head vehemently. “Certainly not. We need the police and a lawyer.”
“Mom!” Liam barks. He startles himself and looks around the small café, at the empty tables and chairs, then at the rain-spattered windows.
“I know you have cameras here, inside and out, but that’s not enough.
Not until we’re sure. Tyrant and Raiden know people who can help us find out if that gang knows anything about me. ”
“People who can help how?”
“They have a good hacker or two at the club. They’d be able to look into most of the gang’s communications. Emails. Texts. It’ll take a while. At least a week, maybe more.”
“They can do this discreetly?”
“They can.”
“What if they know that you saw, but they’re not communicating by writing it down?”
Liam sobers. “We’re hoping that’s not the case. Wizard and Maverick—the security guys, need to make sure the entire club is safe too. I should have disclosed it when I started working for them.” Liam’s lips purse. “I should have told you too.”
“You’re right that you should have told me!”
“I didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t want to tell you because I thought it was all going to be fine, and I knew how worried and stressed you’d be.
You were already so disappointed that I moved back home.
I couldn’t tell you about the garage or the club.
You’ve never lost your shit before, but there’s a first time for everything, and if I’d told you the truth about all of this, I thought for sure that you’d spiral. ”
“Spiral?” Sloane clearly doesn’t like that word choice at all.
Her cheeks flush. Maybe she’s not angry, but she is annoyed.
“If you mean that I’m scared senseless about this, then you’d be right.
You know that you’re the most precious person in the world.
You could have… anything could have happened to you, Liam.
” She blinks rapidly, clearly trying not to cry.
“When you’re young, you feel invincible, but you’re not.
If anything happened to you, there wouldn’t be a world at all.
There’d be no life for me. That’s the reality of being a parent.
It’s not just worry. It’s the kind of love that you can’t comprehend until you have your own child.
So, don’t tell me that I’m going to spiral. If I am, I have every right.”
Liam grasps Sloane’s hand. She has long, dainty fingers. Real nails, not the fancy fake kind. I wonder if it’s because she works in the food service industry. They’re neat and tidy though, cut square and short.
“I’m sorry I said that. I’m sorry for everything. This isn’t your fault. You were a good mom. The best mom. You sacrificed so much for me, and you’ve worked so hard. I knew you’d be disappointed and you have a right to be. None of this is easy or simple.”
“You’re right about that,” Sloane groans. “I’m never going to be able to close my eyes again without hearing what you just told me, and without seeing you in some sort of danger.”
“I’m not going to let anything happen to either of you.” I surprise all three of us with my voice. It’s gruff and rusty. I’ve pushed out about five words today.
Sloane levels me with a look that’s nearly lethal. Great. This is why I choose to stay quiet. There’s no risk of saying the wrong shit. Her eyes drift between me and Liam, and when they settle on me, those green orbs are full of fire. “What are you talking about?”
Liam coughs to clear his throat. “The club’s Prez thinks that it would be best if Cruz keeps watch here for a while.
I know you won’t like it, but he wants to ensure that everyone stays safe.
I… I’m sorry, Mom, but this is the way it’s going to have to be, at least for this week while we try and figure things out. ”
“No. No way.”
Sloane shakes her head so hard that strands dislodge from the bun at the nape of her neck and go tumbling down her back. She stares daggers at me. It shouldn’t make my stomach tighten. Other things are on their way to getting tight too. And hard. That can’t happen.
“What kind of a dumb name is Cruz anyway?” Her expression goes from annoyed disbelief to straight up annoyed. “The fake shit is the worst part. The whole macho, big dick swinging biker persona with the name to match.”
“You did not just say big dick swinging. Mom!” Liam groans. “Cruz is his real name. Jesus Christ, kill me now,” he mutters under his breath.
Sloane whips around. “Don’t you talk like that!” She seethes. “Don’t you even say that.” She managed to hold back her tears before, but there’s no stemming them now. They run in tracks down her cheeks.
My stomach twists. I hate seeing women cry.
Or kids. Anyone, really, but especially them.
I didn’t get the luxury when I was younger, and then I got big fast. I hated seeing anyone getting picked on at school and I used my size to protect them.
Those kids became my friends real fast and soon I was popular.
Me. The big oaf who everyone assumed was stupid because I hardly ever said a word.
“Sloane,” I try, saying her name cautiously, as though I’m unsure of it.
The big empty pit inside of me, that hole that never gets filled, pulses like it’s reminding me that I’ll never have what Sloane and Liam have.
I’ve never known the golden glow of a mother’s soft love, the protection of a warm hug.
I’ve never been loved tenderly or softly. Nothing past awkward obligation.
She wags a finger across the coffee table at me. “Don’t Sloane me. We’re not a first name basis.”