Six
FANG
We need to talk.
I hit Send and then pocket my phone. Fuck this shit. I don’t expect Reno to answer; it’s almost three in the fucking morning. But at least it’ll be the first thing she sees when she does eventually wake up. Maybe after lunch, depending on how hard she went last night.
Fuck. I regret a lot, but giving that bitch a tiny life to ruin makes the rest of my shitty decisions pale in comparison. The guys warned me. More than once. But I was high on the attention she gave me and blind to her long game.
I had no intention of making her my old lady.
She had no intention of giving me a choice.
And now she paints me as the villain because she birthed my child and I made sure she had no place in the club anymore.
Taking Molly for two weeks is the least I can do to make up for the shit that kid’s stuck in the middle of.
But I fucking meant it when I said it: this is no place for a little girl; it’s far too dangerous.
What if the Breed show up? What if I’m called away? Injured? I can’t guarantee I can keep myself safe; it’s unfair to assume I can do that for her.
Head buried between my hands, I lean on the porch rail and draw a deep breath.
Am I any different to the misogynistic assholes at the Devil’s Breed?
Maybe I’m no fucker who tricked women into slavery, but I sure know how to wreck lives.
Logic tells me, yes, I am different to those soulless fucks.
But the guilt I carry for ruining Reno and Molly’s lives with my selfish, shitty choices says there’s a chance the answer could also be no.
I’d never fucking admit it to her, but Reno was right. I did choose to wet my dick without protection. It takes two to tango, and I was down to dance no matter the consequence.
I could have prevented this as easily as she could. But would I, given a second chance?
You fucking know the answer to that. I didn’t think I wanted kids, but the minute Molly was born I knew I’d never want it any other way. She reminds me there’s a chance to get things right, to change the generational pattern.
I want her to thrive. I want her to be better than I’ll ever be.
I shift a hand to my chest and sigh when I pat an empty pocket.
Fuck. Just another shitty choice to add to my self-loathing.
Seven years, I’d been smoke-free. And then I blew it all to hell when this mess with Reno started.
Told myself I’d have one to take the edge off the stress that’d stolen my sleep.
Promised myself it wouldn’t be a permanent habit when that cigarette became two, and then three.
Before long I was counting packs, not cigarettes.
Yet another failure I don’t want Molly to witness.
“Fucked up that they had a kid there.” Darko steps out onto the porch with me and braces his hands on the rail to my right, oblivious to the turmoil twisting me up inside. “Don’t know what I expected to find, but I also don’t know why that surprised me.”
“Anyone find out how the blood on the floor came about?”
“All the girls will say is someone had a head injury.”
I huff and stare into the distant field, painted with the kind of blue hues that promise snow isn’t far away. A kid. I can’t stop thinking that she could have been Molly. That one day Reno will leave her with someone she doesn’t really know, and we’ll never see her again.
“Loki’s in the kitchen helping one of the women make them all something to eat.”
“Hero,” I sass.
Darko smirks. “Chaos also asked Kyra to invite her old man here; see if Marty can find out where they all came from.”
I glance at the guy. “Can’t the women tell us that themselves?” Save us dealing with a sheriff who’d rather use this situation against us than help us.
Darko shrugs. “The girl won’t talk. The redhead’s fucking catatonic—apparently Flinch is arranging someone to check them all over—and the brunette wants to stay until she knows the rest of them are taken care of.”
“What about the one with the concussion?” Although her injury didn’t appear bad enough to be the source of the blood.
“Which one?” He twists to face me, elbow on the rail. “The angry White girl with Loki, or the Black lady?”
“The latter.” I scrub through my memory for signs I missed that Freckles was injured too. “Didn’t realize the emo chick was hurt.”
“Not as bad.” He faces the yard again. “But the other one said she’s okay. Had an Advil and got comfy on the floor with her eyes closed.”
“She needs watching.”
“I know.” Darko sighs. “Fucking annoyed I didn’t know there were two keepers.”
“Not your fault. You can only work with the information you had.”
“Maybe. But I don’t like being wrong.” He studies me in my periphery. “Why you out here, anyway?”
“Couldn’t be fucked listening to everyone bickering about what to do in there.” Not when the noise in my head is loud enough. “Anyone asked the women for their fucking names yet?”
Darko shrugs. “All I know is the brunette is Darla. You’d have to ask Loki what the angry one’s called. Kid won’t talk, nor will the redhead, and nobody wants to bother the injured one.”
“Her name’s Nandi,” I fill in.
He makes a small, “Huh.”
“What about the skinny girl?”
Darko shakes his head. “She’s fucking tweaking, man. Pretty sure she’s the reason they want to call the doc in.” He turns to face me again. “Why don’t you come back inside if you’re so curious?”
Good question. Why don’t I? “Not sure.” Maybe because staying out here in the fading night provides me a kind of ignorance to the reality of the situation.
That this is only the start.
Six women—or should I say, five women and a child—is a fucking drop in the ocean that is the skin trade run by the Devil’s Breed.
We’ve known about this for years, in some capacity or another.
But until they crossed into our territory with it, there wasn’t a lot we could do.
What happens on Breed turf is their business.
Crossing the boundary to interfere in that would invite them to come into our backyard, and as much as we don’t agree with the things they do, we’ve got our people to put first.
Picking a fight with a bigger dog seemed like the wrong way to go about doing that.
Now? Fuck. I don’t know. This issue is bigger than us.
It’s bigger than Minnesota, the Kings of Anarchy, and definitely bigger than a town like Temperance.
We tugged on the loose thread. Only time will tell how long it takes to unravel the mess.
Fallen Aces have been trying for years, and last I heard the Red River Reapers were mixed up in the same fight.
You don’t get rid of parasites like the Breed easy or quick.
“You got any cigarettes on you?” I tip my chin at Darko.
He lifts an eyebrow, yet pulls out a slightly crumpled pack. “You know it’s bad for you, right?”
“So are bikes and women.” I take a stick and pop it between my lips, leaning in to the flame Darko offers. “They weren’t what I expected. The girls.”
“No?” He lights a smoke for himself. “How so?”
“Thought the Breed would’ve had them controlled with drugs or some shit, same as the cartels do.”
“Makes the costs expensive if you do that.” He takes a drag, seemingly detached from the subject at hand. “Easier to create a type of psychological dependence.”
I stare back into the yard and do the same, trying to detach myself, emotionally, as well. There was a time when I easily could have.
But then I had Molly.
And all I can think is that all those women in there are somebody’s daughter. That the missing dead one is someone’s child.
And I feel sick.
“Definitely some fight left in a couple of them,” I muse.
“A good sign,” Darko remarks. “Means they didn’t break their spirit.”
“Unlike the redhead.”
He tips his head. “I’d say she was fucked before they got her. Looks like complex trauma to me.”
Makes sense, I guess. That’s how these operations work—find the desperate and needy and befriend them, promise them the answer to all their problems if they’ll do this one favor, which becomes two.
And then, all of a sudden, you’re in debt to your new friends, and the only way to settle it is to work it off.
My phone vibrates against my hip, snapping me out of my thoughts. I tug it free from my pocket with a frown. Why the fuck is she awake at this hour? “Yeah?”
“What do you want to talk about, Fang?”
“Molly ain’t going to that camp. Don’t ask me what I’ll do with her, but I’ll figure it out. She’s coming here.”
She snorts. “And the reason for your change of heart? You’ve never once wanted Molly at the club, and now you’re okay with keeping her there for two weeks when it’s ‘dangerous’. What’s the catch?”
“No catch, Reno. Just want what’s best for my daughter.”
“Our daughter. And up until a few minutes ago, what’s best always included keeping her away from you and your fucking friends. I don’t buy it.”
“You ain’t got to buy it. You’ve only got to stomach it.”
Darko flicks what’s left of his cigarette into the yard and then turns for the house with a raised brow.
“You’re not having her,” Reno spits down the line. “You didn’t just drop me as a responsibility, Fang; you dropped both of us. You don’t get to play daddy with her when it suits you.”
Doesn’t stop her taking my money.
“Where is she? Still at Rhonda’s? Gotta assume you’re busy with your legs open if you’re awake to call me at this hour.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, fuck you!” Tonight is not the night for this bullshit.
“You love telling me I’m a shit father, but I’m not the one who fucking decided to create a goddamn life I didn’t want the responsibility for.
You got pregnant. And yet you’re the fucking one playing mommy when it suits you.
She’s your daughter, too, Reno, and if you fucking want sole say on what happens with her and where she goes, then you’re gonna have to prove you’re capable of taking care of her. ”
“You don’t have shit over me, Fang! Try and take her without my permission, and I’ll have your ass in court. One look at the patch on your back and they’ll make sure you’re never allowed to see her again.”
“Baby, I got twenty men here who’re happy to testify that her momma solicits for sex at the house. You sure you wanna play that game with me?”
“You used to have no problem playing it.”
My blood pressure rises, and I white-knuckle the porch rail to save myself from lashing out. “Molly comes here. End of story. It ain’t up for negotiation.”
“Just give me the money for the program, Fang.” Her words are sinister. Taunting. “You know you’d rather not have the hassle.”
“She ain’t going to bible camp,” I reply, slow and evenly paced.
“Then I’ll find friends who can have her.”
“And what? She sofa surfs until you get back from wherever the fuck you’re going? I don’t think so.”
“Give me. The money,” Reno snaps, losing patience.
“Why so angry, momma?” I taunt. “You need to buy another dress? Drugs? Got plans for another tattoo?” I huff a derisive laugh. “No money. Molly stays with me. It ain’t up for discussion.”
“Why? Because you say so? Everything’s always on your terms, isn’t it?” She snorts in contempt. “I’m fucking done with appeasing your changing moods, Fang. Pay for the bible camp or stay the fuck out of where I decide to put her.”
“No can do. I made you take her away from this place so that the life didn’t influence her, Reno.
But you fucking teach her that tits and a cunt are all she needs to get by in the world anyway.
She’s coming back here where at least I can control what she’s goddamn exposed to.
I’m not having that transient shit for her. ”
“You’re not having her at all!” The bitch disconnects, and I crush the fucking phone in my fist, sides biting into my fingers and palm.
“Fucking woman.” I toss the spent cigarette—wasted—into the yard and spin around to head indoors.
Wild, wavy black hair tucked behind one ear, her freckles are almost invisible in the low light.
“You weren’t supposed to hear all that,” I say.
She lifts her eyebrows, rolls her lips together, and then sets the plate with a grilled cheese down on the side table beside the porch chairs.
“I figured. Just thought you might like something to eat.” Without another word, she leaves, disappearing back into the belly of my home and leaving me to feel as though I’m right where I should be.
On the outside.