11. You Really Dont Share?
Chapter 11
You Really Don't Share?
Whitney
I closed the door and put my hands on my hips as I faced Phil. “To be fair, legal fees add up fast, Phil. At this point, I’m not averse to someone else picking up that bill. I’ve asked you to leave, what? At least four times now. It’s time for you to go.”
“You lied. I asked if you’d texted someone – and now this bonehead shows up.”
I hated being called a liar. Between that and the fact Phil wouldn’t listen to me, I snapped. “I’ve had a rough twenty-four hours, Phil, and I’ve asked you to leave repeatedly . The only bonehead in this room is you. It’s time for you to go.”
He looked at me like I’d slapped him, then he blew out a sigh. “Right. I’m sorry, Whitney. I’ll go, but please think about what I said.”
I shook my head and shifted my gaze to Mensa. “I appreciate you coming over here, but it’d be a good idea for you to leave, too.”
I opened the door, but of course, Phil didn’t move until he’d given Mensa a long glower. He grabbed the knob and closed the door behind himself.
I turned to Mensa. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to ride all the way over here.”
“Fifteen minutes isn’t a big deal.”
Everything about this felt like a big deal, but I kept that to myself.
I shrugged. “He’s gone, you’ve done your good deed for the day.”
He turned and looked around my living room, then he sat down on the sofa and settled in like he’d stay a while. “I still want to know what they asked you.”
I folded a leg under my ass, sat on the opposite end of the sofa, and then I ran down all the questions they asked.
His lips twisted for a moment and he cocked a brow. “Did you know Dontrell’s been puttin’ off Corrupt Chrome for almost a year?”
My head reared back. “A year?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“That sucks,” I muttered.
“Don’t know why he didn’t say something sooner.”
We stared at each other for a moment. “Do you want something to drink? Or are you just here to compare notes?”
He ran a hand along his scruffy jaw. “You eat dinner yet?”
“No.”
“Then we’ll go get some food.”
I propped my elbow on the back of the sofa, and leaned my head against my upturned hand. “What are we doing here, Mensa? At the hotel, you said everything ended the moment we walked out of the room, but your ‘we’ll go get some food,’ almost sounds like you’re taking me out on a date.”
He slid his arm along the back of the couch and scooted next to me. “I don’t fuckin’ know, Blume. What I know is that I got this urge to protect you. I don’t trust you being here alone, even though logically you can take care of yourself. And I’d like to take you out to eat, get you back to my room at the clubhouse, and see what happens.”
I grinned. “So, you’re asking me on a date.”
“I don’t date.”
I narrowed my eyes a touch. “Is it because you’re jealous of Phil?”
He leaned closer. “You know better. It’s because you’re the most annoying woman I’ve ever met, and for some fucked-up reason you’re also the best lay I’ve had in years. I want more of that, all of it.”
“Even me annoying you?”
“Especially that, because if I can determine that you’re always going to annoy me, that ought to extract my head from my ass.”
My head tipped back and I burst with laughter. My hilarity was cut short when his lips landed on my neck. I drove my fingers into his hair and he pulled away. My eyes danced between his. “Every word you just said should piss me off, but I love how freaking honest you are.”
“Good. Now get your shoes on.”
I still had my hands in his hair. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”
“Not a fucking chance because I don’t want to fuck you on this couch.”
My head shook. “You can’t just give a girl a kiss?”
“You aren’t a girl, and it’s never just a kiss with you.”
That made my whole body tingle.
And it made me want to kiss him even more.
I pushed forward, took him by surprise, and climbed on his lap. The moment my lips touched his, he groaned and took control of the kiss. His hands grabbed my ass, and wanton as I was, my hips bucked.
Okay, he was right . It was never ‘just a kiss’ with us.
I pulled away and he glowered at me, but it was half-hearted. I smirked. “What can I say? I had to find out if you were right, big guy.”
He squeezed my ass. “Fuck. Now I gotta ride with a fuckin’ hard-on.”
“I think you’ll survive. But if it’s really a problem, I have food here.”
“I got allergies.”
I dipped my chin. “You think I don’t know that? It’s the very reason I hated that you came into Bayou Moon. Mick has enough dairy on hand, I figured you’d steer well clear.”
He laughed. “You thought I’d avoid a place where my brothers routinely hang out just because I got a fuckin’ allergy?”
His hands rubbed the cheeks of my ass, and I resisted leaning into his hands. “To be fair, you hardly ever showed up when I was there.”
He looked at me askance. “So you were investigating me.”
I shook my head. “Nope. Riley was my assignment, but I didn’t trust your squeaky clean reputation.”
His jaw shifted for a moment. “What about you? Why’d you resign? I got a feeling you didn’t give me the full scoop on that.”
My stomach growled. “Are we eating here? If so, I should start cooking.”
After a long moment, he shook his head, leaned forward, and set me on my feet before he stood. “No, we’re getting out of here. I expect your brother’s friend, Phil, will come back when he thinks the coast is clear. Pack a bag so you have fresh clothes for tomorrow.”
There was plenty there that I had questions about, but reflexively I asked, “How do you know he’s Wyatt’s friend?”
“Monica shared when I got done with questioning, but you also mentioned it on the phone earlier.”
“Oh, that’s right. Where are we going? Feels like you’re getting short-changed since I’m not even dressed up for a date.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not a date, and what you’re wearing is fine, but no flip-flops on my bike.”
“Are you serious right now? You really don’t share?” I asked, my voice loud enough to be heard over the breeze along the Gulf.
Mensa had taken me to one of his favorite places for Chinese food. After we loaded the take-out containers into his saddle bags, I expected to go to the clubhouse. Instead he guided his bike to the beach, pulled a blanket from the other saddle bag, and we had an impromptu picnic.
He aimed his plastic fork at me. “It’s force of habit, Whitney. I’m so goddamned sensitive to dairy, and the fuckin’ by-products like whey, that just dipping your fork or mine into something could make my throat close up. That shit never feels good.”
I pressed my hands out toward him. “All right. I stand corrected. I’m sorry. Really. I hadn’t even thought about that, though… didn’t you say this restaurant’s food never contained dairy?”
His head titled as though he regretted his words. “Yeah, but they say ‘never say never’, and I don’t feel like finding out I’m wrong today. Especially since I got plans with this blonde law-abiding citizen who annoys me as much as she turns me on.”
“She sounds like a winner. I like anyone who annoys you.”
He borderline snorted. “I bet you do.”
I bit my lower lip. “Why’d you bring me here?”
He turned to me, some of his hair whipping into his face from the breeze. “Why not? Best part of living in Biloxi is coming out to the Gulf and staring at that gorgeous water.”
I watched him for a moment. “You really believe that?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Seems to me that the best reason to live here is your motorcycle club.”
He swallowed some of his General Tso chicken and nodded. “Can see where you’d think that, but there are other chapters around the country. There’s nothing like being in Biloxi though.” He locked eyes with me. “Like you told me, the weather’s ‘nice.’ Even in December, I can come down here and rarely freeze my ass off. Lake Michigan has waves every so often, but you damn sure can’t have a picnic next to it in the middle of winter.”
I grabbed a fried biscuit and held it in front of my lips. “Fair enough.”
He stared at the gentle waves for a beat, then focused on me. “Why’d you get forced to resign?”
My lips twisted to the side as I mulled it over. “Can we talk about something else? Anything else? What drove you to join the Riot MC? Not to sound judgmental, but your parents seem pretty normal, so what happened to make club-life so appealing?”
He stared at me for a long moment, and I thought he’d avoid the question. Finally he said, “It’s a couple of things. Maybe it’s hindsight clouding my memories, but the first reason is that as a teenager, I knew something was wrong with Uncle Jack. When I was fifteen, I swore I’d never be like him.” He shook his head. “It’s been hard not to kick my own ass because I should have said something to somebody back then, even if I didn’t know exactly what was wrong with him. ”
I sipped my soda. “You can’t beat yourself up over that, Mensa.”
He twisted a hand up to concede the point. “That’s easier said than done.”
“True. What’s the second reason?”
“I didn’t have a car as a teenager. Dad wanted me to earn the money and pay for it myself. I had a friend named Jacob who lived in our neighborhood. He and I were really close, and we walked to school every day.”
A nervous feeling gathered in my stomach. “Okay.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Jacob wasn’t that athletic, but he was all about after school activities like clubs and shit. That meant we didn’t walk home from school together every day.”
The way he bit his lip when he paused, my stomach dropped and my heart ached. I tried to stay optimistic. “All right, that isn’t exactly surprising.”
He blinked three times and exhaled hard. “No, what’s surprising is that during our senior year, Jake was fuckin’ gunned down one afternoon as he walked home.” His chest expanded with his deep breath and his eyes blazed at me. “He wasn’t in a gang, wasn’t in gang colors, and that stretch of sidewalk wasn’t in any gang territory. I was pissed as hell.”
I nodded ever so slowly. Whether he realized it or not, he was still pissed as hell. Not that I blamed him.
“Were the shooters caught?” I asked in a soft voice.
He turned his head to the side, and I wasn’t sure he heard my question. “I wanted retribution so fuckin’ bad.”
I grabbed his hand. “Did you get it?”
His gaze met mine – his pain downright palpable. “No. The bastard was shot by a member of the Miscreants – which makes Jacob’s death even more senseless.”
I squeezed his hand. “You’re absolutely right, Mensa. Since you weren’t able to get retribution, what did you do? How did that encourage you to join an MC?”
He grinned, and it was so boyish it took my breath away. “Because by the time I graduated, Brute had spotted me. He was twenty-one or twenty-two at the time. He didn’t have his own business yet, but he was running a small crew for a contractor and he offered me a job. When I showed up on a bike, he asked why it wasn’t a Harley.”
“It mattered that much?”
His eyes went steely. “You know it does. I told him I didn’t have the money for a Harley.”
“Okay.”
His grin returned. “Har had a Harley he could sell me, next thing I knew they introduced me to Brink – the president at the time – I started prospecting, and the rest is history.”
I nodded. What he said made sense, but I couldn’t keep myself from asking, “And you didn’t have any second thoughts? Nothing?”
He tilted his head. “Mom had serious concerns, but that only pushed me closer to the Riot.”
“Right,” I drawled. “What about your Dad?”
He chuckled. “He thought it was a phase, which—”
“Also pushed you away?”
“Yeah. It was insulting to me at the time.”
“You were eighteen?” I asked.
“Barely. I turned eighteen the day before I met Brute.”
“Wow. You’ve been a member for at least seventeen years.”
He shook his head. “I prospected for two years… so it’s only been fifteen.”
I fought off a smirk. “You’re splitting hairs, but that’s damned impressive.”
Unlike me, he smirked outright. “I’ll take your word for it, but this almost brings us back to my original question: how long were you with the Bureau?”
“Just shy of five years.”
He nodded. “You resigned without another job lined up?”
“Essentially,” I muttered. Then, I added, “I need to decide if I’m really going to take over Hard Pressed. But I should have—”
“Stop,” he demanded.
“Stop what?”
He shook his head. “Your next words were going to be where you blame yourself.”
“You don’t know that.”
The pointed look he gave me could have pierced my skin. “Don’t I though? Between my mom and Riley, I don’t know who’s worse. They both blame themselves for my uncle’s behavior. They constantly say they ‘should have’ done something differently. Isn’t that what you were about to do? Say you should have done something differently?”
I opened my mouth and closed it.
He was right, dammit.
“You might be the most annoying man I’ve ever met.”
He raised his brows in question. “Anything else?”
I leaned forward and smirked. “Are you fishing for a compliment?”
He returned my lean and the smirk. “More like the truth, Blume.”
“I need more data.”
He laughed, but sobered fast. “So, you got screwed out of your job?”
“The signs were there for me—”
“Whitney—”
“No, Mensa. I’m serious. Ben said things to the review panel, raising questions about my judgment. Every six months, I had to go back to Virginia for a stress test and mental health eval. My results on the psych test weren’t favorable. Signs were there before. Undercover work is difficult.”
“So?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It’s difficult. So what? Lots of shit in life is difficult. I’m pretty sure there’s something else here. And can’t you take another test, or is there a program the government offers to help you get back on track?”
After a sip of my iced tea, I said, “There are programs, but it doesn’t change the fact that it seemed to be time to hang it up.”
“Seemed to be?” he pushed.
I twisted my hands up. “Aunt Nadia’s offer seems like a sign, too.”
He shoved a chunk of chicken into his mouth and stared at the Gulf.
“I’m surprised you’re so concerned.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, then he turned to me. “I hate the idea that your fellow agent said shit to superiors that led to you feeling compelled to resign.”
I shook my head. “I should have passed that test. It wasn’t just what Ben told our superiors.”
He stared at the water again while shaking his head.
Something struck me. “Are you angry?”
He shot me some side-eye, but he couldn’t deny it.
I laughed.
“What’s funny?” he asked.
“You’re angry for me,” I said.
“I’m more than angry. The way you talk about him, it sounds like that fucker had a real shot with you.”
My lips twisted. “I thought we were moving toward living together, but it quickly became clear that I was wrong.”
That earned me his side-eye again.
“Wait, are you jealous, too?”
He arched a brow. “Yeah. And it sounds as though you like that.”
I shrugged. “I can’t remember anyone being jealous before, so… yeah, I do.”
In a flash, he set his container aside and leaned toward me. “Nobody’s ever been jealous or possessive of you?”
“Not like that.”
The way he exhaled, I didn’t want him to shift back and I cupped his jaw. Our eyes locked. I leaned in to kiss him. My tongue darted out to his lips, I caught a hint of his spicy chicken but he didn’t open his mouth.
I pulled back with a questioning look.
“Thought you’d have learned back on your couch, woman. I let you kiss me like that, we’re going to jail for indecency.”
“You’re crazy.”
He stood and grabbed his food container. “Nope, but it’s time to go. You can finish your food in my room.”
I’d decimated my Cashew Chicken to nothing but a few baby corn cobs and a bunch of celery chunks. With a head shake, I grabbed my container and stood. “I’m done, big guy. You need help folding the blanket?”
I waited while Mensa stuffed the blanket back into the saddle bag on his bike. My cell rang and I saw the number for the Biloxi PD.
“Whitney Blume,” I answered.
“It’s Detective Fortner. We found your car.”
My eyes lit up. “That’s great news, but why do you sound disappointed?”
“Not disappointed. The vehicle’s been found at your apartment complex.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Yeah. If you want to come downstairs—”
I grimaced. “I’m not home right now. I can be back there in roughly ten minutes.”
Mensa’s brows arched and he mouthed the word ‘car.’
I nodded.
“I have to leave in a few minutes, but there’s a patrol officer here if you miss me.”
My lips pressed together for a moment, and I kept my tone neutral. “Understood. Thank you for your help, Detective Fortner.”
The way Mensa’s face drooped at the mention of the detective’s name, I almost laughed before Fortner ended the call.
Mensa crossed his arms. “Is he with your car?”
I gave a short nod. “Not for long though. He said a patrol officer will be there if Fortner leaves.”
“Patrol officer gonna take you to your car?”
With wide eyes, I shook my head. “No. It’s at my apartment complex.”
Mensa turned his head to the side and muttered, “Motherfuckers.”
He swung onto his bike, I scrambled up behind him, and we were off.
Mensa parked his Harley near the stairwell to my apartment, but I didn’t see any sign of a patrol officer. I dismounted, took off his helmet, and waited for Mensa to swing off.
My head was on a swivel looking for any sign of my car or the patrol officer. It hit me that maybe the car had been parked on the other side of the building. I strode in that direction, but Mensa caught my hand.
“Let’s check your apartment first.”
My eyes narrowed a touch. “My car could have been here all along, Mensa.”
His eyes went wide. “You don’t believe that.”
He had me there. I’d taken a walk around the complex after my questioning before going upstairs for a nap and hadn’t seen the first sign of my car.
Still… if I thought my place were compromised, better to have an officer there when I went inside. My eyes locked with Mensa’s. “You don’t like him, but if Fortner is still here, he should come with us to my unit.”
Mensa deliberated that. “No arguments here.”
I tipped my head toward the office. “Let’s see if we can find Fortner.”
We found the detective sitting in an unmarked sedan parked in front of the office. My car straddled two parking spaces, which set my teeth on edge. The hubcaps were gone, and I wondered what else would be missing inside the car.
Fortner unfolded from his car and sauntered toward us. “In addition to the lousy parking job, they left the car without your hubcaps, the spare tire, and your sound system’s gone.”
Great.
“I don’t want to take more of your time, but would you or the patrol officer mind walking to my door? If they were in my unit, I’d rather report that right away.”
Fortner pinned me with a look full of skepticism before he nodded. “I’ll send Officer Robinson up.”
My brows drew together. “Officer… there’s another Robinson in the Biloxi PD?”
Fortner gave a nod. “Detective Robinson’s nephew.”
Five minutes later with Officer Robinson at my side and Mensa at my back, I shoved the front door open and sighed. The scent of marijuana wafted out of my unit. “Those assholes,” I hissed.
Officer Robinson glanced at me. “I take it you don’t smoke marijuana.”
“No, officer. I don’t.”
Inside, the kitchen appeared untouched, but my end tables and bookshelves had been tossed.
Officer Robinson used his shoulder-mounted walkie-talkie to radio in the home invasion.
I turned to Mensa. “You can go. Probably—”
“Not a chance, Blume.”
“It’s going to be a while.”
“No shit,” he muttered.