Chapter Nineteen
What That D For
Roisin
I slung the bag over my arm and started at a brisk pace, toward the building with the double doors. The sidewalk took the longest route possible, arcing wide around some shrubbery that I could have easily cut behind. Instead, I walked along the tall mess, my mind wandering, my attention everywhere but on my surroundings, until fingers laced around my arm and locked.
I yelped as Saint jerked me back toward him and glared down at me.
“Where the fuck is my money, Ro?” he growled.
I shoved back at his chest, and he dug his nails into the fleshy part of my upper arm, intent to keep a hold of me.
“What fuckin’ money? What the fuck are you talking about?” I thumped at his shoulder, trying to create some space and convince him to knock it off.
“Bitch, stop playin’ with me. You and your boyfriend gobbled an ounce. I’m gettin’ paid for that ounce. Matter of fact, you ‘bout to pay me for both.” Saint's voice grew louder, and he throttled me a little.
People were coming and going, trying their best to steal subtle glimpses of the drama, without actually committing to getting involved.
Nosy, useless assholes, I inwardly judged every last one of the cowards.
I wasn’t sure if their willingness to look away was a kindness or a curse, all things considered.
“Saint, I don’t have any fuckin’ money on me. You’re gonna have to wait until after class. I’ll go to an ATM. or whatever, but you need to relax.” I tried to keep my voice down, hoping he’d follow my example.
“Yeah? You need to stop tellin’ me what I need to do. How about that? You think you’re big shit because you sling dime bags, little girl?” he hissed at me. “Your fuckin’ boyfriend sucker punched me. I damn near got caught fuckin’ with you. I’m done waiting.”
His hand loosened on my upper arm, but it was only because his other hand tangled around the strap at my shoulder. He jerked, shearing it against the skin of my shoulder and neck. It scraped crudely against the bandage over the bottom of the freshly laid tattoo, and I gave a long, agonized scream.
My laptop spilled out of the bag and banged on the concrete between us. His fist slammed into my mouth. My head rocked back, and I flew toward the sidewalk as radios echoed and footsteps sounded everywhere.
“Where did he go? Stay with him,” someone ordered.
I clutched my face and prayed nothing was broken while security swarmed me and the area.
“Ma’am, do you need medical attention?” someone asked.
My face was throbbing, and though I was terrified of the pain I might be greeted with, I slowly forced my jaw around on its hinges.
“I’m fine, I think,” I announced, wiping a spot of blood off my lip.
I saw the banged-up condition of my laptop and softly cursed. The only upside to the whole encounter was that he hadn’t been successful in robbing me, but I had no guarantee he’d leave well enough alone.
Security helped me into a cruiser and I was driven to the tiny building they operated out of. I refused to write a statement, denied knowing my assailant, and went through all the motions. When it was all said and done, I was fifty minutes late for class. I dragged in a breath that was heavier than any I’d ever taken and slid my phone from my pocket.
I didn’t mean to, but when Ziggy picked up, my voice gave out on me. It cracked and I sobbed into the phone.
“Please come get me.” I managed, my breath uneven and ragged as I fought for control. “I’m at the university police building.”
A female officer sat with me, after giving me a bottle of water, but I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t even know how shit had spiraled to this point. I’d never had issues with Saint, and it seemed every time I came to campus it was something else. They were going to kick me out at this rate.
The tears wouldn’t stop. I closed my eyes against them, but the hot proof of my misery leaked down my face despite my best efforts. I tried to control my breathing. In the end, focusing on my pattern of respiration only made me hyperventilate worse.
Then I heard it. A distant thunder that built into a rumble, making my heart smile. I didn’t just hear it; I could feel it once those motorcycles drew near enough. I let out a heavy breath and shot out of my seat.
“Mrs. Nash,” the lady officer called, as I hurried toward the door, and ultimately what I knew to be Ziggy.
The door swung open and suddenly the room had as many patches in it, as it did badges. Ziggy entered first, with Griz following close at heel. The man that walked in after Griz was the one who’d been holding Candy. I hadn’t cared for the sight of him when we first met, but now that I was seeing him in the daylight, I was grateful it hadn’t actually been his chick I drilled in the face. He had animal eyes. They were human alright, but there was a reptilian coldness about them that gave me shivers. His gaze pointedly flicked from officer to officer until they landed on the one with the most stripes on his sleeve. When Talon entered, he nudged him and nodded at the striped shirt, not having taken his eyes off the man.
I felt like I was watching a creature that had gotten free of its cage at the zoo and judging by the way everyone was staring at him, I could only surmise that I wasn’t the only one that picked up on his odd demeanor.
“Are you alright?” Ziggy asked, drawing my face toward him.
“I want to go home,” I whimpered, throwing myself into his arms. “Just get me out of here, okay?”
I didn’t want any trouble, and I didn’t want to be kicked out. I’d told him I was done with the drug scene, and yet, here I was.
“Talon. Cane,” Ziggy snapped, while steering me toward the door by my shoulders.
Griz threw it open for us and he ushered me outside.
“Saint?”
“Yeah. He said you sucker punched him and I owed him for what we gobbled.”
The laugh that lodged in Ziggy’s throat was anything but humored, “That right?”
“Just take me home,” I pleaded.
“You got it, love.” He kissed the side of my head and stopped beside a motorcycle.
“I thought– you didn’t have your bike?” I was sure someone had told me why, but at that moment, everything was a blur.
“Menace has my bike. So, Henny gave me Menace’s bike.”
I slowly nodded and climbed behind him.
“Wait on Talon and Cane and get back to the clubhouse,” Ziggy called to Griz.
Griz nodded, then looked toward someone in a prospect vest who ended up tailing us back to the house.
I sighed hard and dropped my bag on the floor inside the front door as soon as I arrived. Then I flopped down on the sofa, exhausted.
“Why is your bandage torn?” Ziggy asked, taking a seat on the coffee table.
I lifted my gaze to him, confused at first.
“Saint scratched it trying to steal my laptop bag.” I offhandedly gestured toward the area I’d left my bag. “God, it burned.”
He gently peeled the bandage off and looked it over. “Light scratching, hold still.”
He took a picture with my phone and sent it to a number I didn’t recognize.
“Sauce will tell you if it’s okay or not. He might take a second to respond.” Ziggy palmed my cheek, tilting my head and studying my mouth.
“Your lip is split,” That observation came much quieter than the one about the bandage, but damn if it didn’t rumble with distaste.
“Guess you ain’t the only one who sucker punches.” I tried to smile, but it made my lip burn like it was splitting further, and I hissed.
“Mhm,” Zig murmured, “Tell you what, get yourself a shower. You’ll feel better. Cook something nice, we’ll eat in and catch a movie, okay?”
He didn’t wait to hear my answer, he planted a kiss on my crown and marched back out the door. I blinked at the sound of the door latching. It was such a soft sound, really, but it was the first time I’d ever encountered it. I wasn’t used to hearing justice sought in my name. He fired up that bike, and I sucked in a hard breath. The first one I’d ever claimed as a woman who knew her own power.
I’d merely called my husband, and in doing so, I’d summoned the hounds on Saint.
I didn’t like the idea of anyone being hurt, but I had no idea what he intended to do to me. What was he even thinking coming at me in public like that? The longer I thought about it, the more righteous I felt about all of it. I hadn’t asked him to bring two ounces. I was on a routine drop off with him for a single ounce, his ass wanted to show off and now he thought I was fixing to pay for it.
No, Sir. Not today. After another ten minutes of stewing on shit and replaying it all in mind, I decided he’d left me no choice in all of it.
Whatever happened was on him. He was a D-boy, alright. Clearly, I was just late to the game in understanding that the D stood for dumbass.