Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
Cam pulled a glowing red spike from the furnace with long, thick tongs and laid it on the anvil.
The bandana across his forehead had already soaked up as much as it would, and sweat dripped down his face from the heat.
He’d knocked off early from the machine shop so he could make a few blades.
Knife-making was a hobby he loved that helped him de-stress and also earn some extra money.
He reached for the heaviest cross-peen hammer and started pounding and shaping the hot metal.
The crack of the hammer hitting the spike filled the empty forge, sparks flying freely in the air as he drew out the shape, making it long and flat.
He picked up the half-formed blade and placed it back in the roaring furnace.
He would repeat this process several times before he was ready for the grinder.
Cam stretched the stiff, sore muscles of his shoulders. He’d spent the day turning some custom fixed axles on the shop lathes for several classic cars, which included forcing on the bearings. His back protested that job already. Coupled with swinging a hammer for an hour, he was hurting.
The tendons in his lower back complained as he put the metal into the furnace to reheat once again.
The forge had a pneumatic power hammer, but the compressor had to be replaced.
Those suckers were expensive, so better to maintain it than to buy a new machine.
Someday, he wanted to own and operate his own forge, but that was a long way off.
For now, he had to work any metal manually until Quillon fixed the hammer.
Suddenly, his back seized up, and he cursed the cramping muscle. The last time he went to a doctor, he got a prescription for muscle relaxers and anti-inflammatories, but they didn’t help with the chronic issue. He was out of the medication anyway.
Melter will have something, he thought as he hobbled over to sit on one of the shop stools and relieve the pressure.
The man always seemed to have a supply of pot and pills, although he wasn’t a dealer.
At least he said he wasn’t. No one knew for sure, but if someone in the club wanted fennies or oxys, Melter usually had them.
Cam’s thoughts reverted to the events of last night, and he wondered what had happened to the woman who’d barged into the club and announced she was Scrap’s long-lost daughter.
The old man had actually been speechless for a moment before exploding in the biggest fit of anger anyone in the club had ever seen.
That was impressive, given Scrap’s reputation for a permanent bad temper.
The woman hadn’t backed down an inch, though, and both of them proceeded to yell and curse at each other.
“I don’t have a gawddamn daughter!”
“Ya damn well might. Raquel told me she wasn’t sure. My dad told me about you and said he wasn’t sure either.”
“That fucking jagoff can go piss up a rope!”
“He’s dead, asshole.”
“Good!”
Cam had listened to a few stories about Scrap’s old lady.
No one talked about it much, as any mention of Raquel’s name would send Scrap into a cursing frenzy.
From what Cam understood, the woman cheated on him with regularity and finally ran off with some man she met on the internet.
Rumor had it that she ended up in Florida, but no one knew for sure.
Shortly after Raquel took off, Scrap had the accident at the steel plant that left him with half a hand, one eye, and a myriad of scars all over his body.
He used the settlement from that accident to buy the titty bar and invest in the machine shop.
Raquel’s name became forbidden, and Scrap had soured on women in general.
It didn’t make a lot of sense to Cam. Scrap spent every day in a club looking at topless women he had no interest in and didn’t like.
Perhaps it was proximity to the strippers that eventually numbed whoever worked there.
Cam himself thought it was really cool when he was a prospect that he got to see naked women all the time, but now, after so many years of working security at Attic, he was kind of over it too.
Cam slowly leaned over to snag a bottle of cold water from the mini fridge under a workbench.
He drained half of it as his back spasm finally started to let go, still thinking about last night.
The woman was definitely a surprise, and he could see the family resemblance.
Cute, feisty, and built like a brick house.
She wasn’t a little woman, but not a big one either.
Lots of rounded curves and a nice-sized rear end with the perfect shape to fill a man’s hands. He wondered what her name was.
“Listen, jackass. Do me a favor and take a DNA test. If it’s false, I’ll take my happy ass and leave. If it’s true, I’ll still take my happy ass and leave, but I’ll have the answers I need.”
“Fuck off and get lost!”
Cam frowned as he drained the rest of the water from the bottle, letting his cheeks bulge out.
He wasn’t above confronting a woman about bad behavior; it happened at Attic more than once when a dancer got mouthy or broke the house rules.
But cursing at your daughter—or potential daughter—wasn’t something he agreed with, especially when one simple test would put the question to bed.
A cheek swab that took less than three seconds and a week to get lab results. Quick and easy.
The problem? Scrap’s legendary stubbornness. The man could drive a saint to murder.
Cam bent over slowly, his back painfully protesting. I oughta ask Melter for some painkillers later tonight. Fridays were generally more exciting than Thursdays, but hopefully, it would be a peaceful night and he could relax a bit.
Sabrina lowered the weight stack with an easy movement, catching her breath before rising from the machine and wiping it down.
Planet Fitness was her go-to place for several reasons: the membership fee was reasonable, she could go to any facility in the country, and it had 24/7 access to showers.
That was a big deal to her now, since she was essentially homeless.
She picked up her sweat towel and made her way to the locker room. It was early Friday afternoon, and she was no closer to her goal than she had been when she arrived in Pittsburgh.
Answers. Not that hard of an ask, was it?
She just wanted some answers, and then she could walk away to live her life.
Walter or Scrap or whatever he called himself could live his, and neither of them would have to speak to or see the other again.
She wasn’t looking for a father figure or long-lost daddy to hug her and tell her how much he loved her.
She didn’t need that shit. What she needed was closure.
Yeah, that’s it. Closure, she thought as the water beat down on her head from the shower.
Her plastic caddy of toiletries sat next to her flip-flop-clad feet.
This was nothing new to her. When she was little, her father drove a truck, and very often they spent the night in the sleeper cab at a Love’s, Pilot, or Flying J stop.
The facilities at those chains were usually pretty nice, but Ernie insisted on her wearing the cheap footwear anyway, as toe fungus was still a thing in public showers, no matter how clean they seemed.
Ernie. Dad.
Sabrina’s eyes teared up as she shut off the water and pulled her towel from the hook outside the stall.
She bent over and vigorously dried her hair before flinging it behind her and wrapping her body in the thick cloth.
The man who raised her after her mom split had been an anchor throughout her life.
Raquel was a vague figure who showed up once or twice a year to ask for money and make remarks about how big her daughter had grown.
Sometimes she stayed for a few weeks, long enough to get Sabrina’s hopes up, but inevitably Raquel simply picked up and left.
No notice, no calls. Just an empty closet and taking whatever money she could find or stuff she could pawn in the house.
It surprised Sabrina that Ernie put up with it, but for some reason, he did.
But she remembered the anger every time she saw her dad’s disappointed, hurt face after Raquel left again.
Sabrina had no fucks to give about her mother.
She supposed that some women just didn’t have any maternal instincts even though they could still birth children.
No, it was her dad who she’d depended on until the day he died.
It didn’t have to happen, which made it worse.
A road-raging asshole lost his temper and cut off the big rig Ernie was driving on a long haul.
The dashcam showed the dumbass brake-checking the semi on a highway full of fast-moving traffic.
Such a stupid move! At that speed, the sporty Camaro was toast when Ernie plowed into the back as they crossed an overpass.
Then that car hit another one and started a massive pileup of vehicles that had no time to stop and no room to swerve out of the way.
Ernie’s hard-right veer to minimize the crash caused the accident footage to appear twisted.
The rig skidded and flipped onto its side, breaking through the safety rails and plunging over to the road below.
Ernie survived the accident itself, but his injuries were too severe.
He died three days later, only regaining consciousness once to say goodbye and tell her to find Walter Arborough.
The asshole who caused the accident? Manslaughter and a slew of other charges landed him in jail for the foreseeable future. The sentence was ten years before parole would be on the table.
She hoped he rotted.
Sabrina swiped at the foggy mirror and shook herself from the memories of those final days.
If her dad were still alive, she’d be happy and content back in Sarasota, taking care of the house and working for her friend Amelia.
Instead, her life had taken an entirely different direction, and she had no idea what her future looked like now.
Hell, she didn’t even know who she was anymore.
“That’s why you’re here, dummy,” she whispered to the watery image.
She combed through the wet strands, then used the provided blow-dryer to dry her thick honey-gold mane.
Ernie’s Latino heritage showed in his dark brown eyes and brown hair when he was young.
Later in life, he was bald as a cue ball with a faint ring of gray over his ears.
His family all looked alike, except for her.
Everyone just assumed Sabrina favored her estranged mother, as Raquel had light brown hair and blue eyes.
Even so, at an early age, Sabrina learned to say “recessive genes” when people looked at her odd coloring.
“Enough,” she admonished herself. Thankfully, no one was in the locker room with her.
Last night, she’d confronted the man who might be her bio-father, and he’d thrown a shit fit before turning her away. Tonight, she would try again. Today, she needed to find work.
Her van and trailer were parked in two spots at the back of the lot.
Someone had converted the Ford Transit into a cool little home space before she tapped into her savings and bought it.
It had a small living area across from a kitchenette, solar panels on top for electricity, and a double bed in back with storage underneath, but there was no bathroom, thus she needed her gym membership.
The small box trailer held her motorcycle and a few other items.
This was all she had in the world. No obligations. No tangibles. No relations.
It was cool, but at the same time, it kinda sucked.
The fall weather was way cooler here than in Sarasota, and she shivered as she climbed into the back of the van and shut the door. The small space heater kicked on, toasting up the air.
“Hey, guys,” Sabrina greeted her pets as she pulled out the mini single-cup Keurig and set it on the counter.
A large vertical cage sat just behind the driver’s seat. The two bearded dragons pushed at each other, trying to climb the dried tree branch in the center of the multilevel home. One was heading for the heating rock, the other pushing at the door.
“Settle down, Rugrat. I’ll let you out in a minute.”
Coffee in hand and the reptile securely hanging on her shoulder, Sabrina pulled out her phone and stuck a Bluetooth bud in her ear to call her friend.
“Yo, whassup!” Amelia answered. “Gettin’ sick of the north country?”
Sabrina leaned back on the built-in couch cushions. “I ain’t worn out my welcome yet, if that’s what you want to know.”
“Didja find him?”
Sabrina sighed and reached out a finger to pet Rugrat’s rough head. “Yeah, I did. Bastard won’t take the DNA test, though.”
“You’ll just have to turn on that Southern charm of yours. Battin’ your eyes and shit like that.”
Sabrina laughed. “Since when have I ever been sugar-sweet?”
“You oughta try it sometime. Might get you some better results.”
“Whatever. Hey, do you have a work connection up here?”
Amelia paused, and Sabrina imagined her friend was scrolling through her contacts. “Possibly. My girl Joelle used to be up there. I’ll check with her to see if she has any connections. She owes me a favor anyway. You need money?”
“The well ain’t dry yet, but I can see the bottom.”
Amelia giggled. “No problem, darlin’. I’ll shoot you a message with whatever I find out and get Joelle to make the intros. She’ll hook you up.”
“Thanks, babe. You’re a real peach.”
Amelia’s laughter tinkled in her ear. “That’s what they all say until they get to the pit. Take care, precious.”
Sabrina ended the call, then sniffled and put a hand to her forehead. If she stopped to think about all that had happened to her in recent months, she would lose it completely and never make it out of the van that was her one and only safe haven.
Nope, I ain’t got time to waste. Gotta keep moving and get stuff done.
She tapped Rugrat under his chin. “Mama’s got a lot to do today. Wish me luck.”