5. Quake
QUAKE
Sister Emiliani is practically trembling under my scrutiny, and her reaction is feeding the bastard in me. She licks her lips, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the faint sheen left by her tongue.
“I…” She swallows nervously. “I don’t know much about motorcycle gangs.”
“Club,” I say. “We’re a club, not a gang.”
“Okay. And the other stuff?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know what to think,” she says. “That’s why I’m asking.”
Needing to put some distance between us, I turn and begin to pace. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” I admit.
“I’d like the truth.”
“Fine.” I stop when I’m standing in front of her again.
“Here’s the fucking truth. Yes, drugs and guns are part of what we do, at least as far as selling them.
I smoke weed on occasion, but I don’t touch the harder stuff.
Never saw the point.” Fear enters her eyes as I continue.
“Yes, we’ve killed people. I’ve killed people. But we’re not murderers.”
“I see.”
I chuckle darkly. “No, Sister, I don’t think you do.
But that’s your problem, not mine.” I stride toward the doorway.
“Call me when you’re ready to work with me without judgment.
” Pulling my wallet out of my pocket, I remove some cash and toss it on the floor.
“That should get you started on what the kids need.”
With that, I walk away, angry at myself for letting her get to me. I was thrown off- kilter when we shook hands, and nothing I did put me back on track. Sister Emiliani is a nun, and I’d do well to remember that goddamn fact.
Rather than head straight to the clubhouse, I ride through Tacoma. It isn’t until I’m pulling into the parking lot at the Department of Children, Youth, and Families that I realize I had a destination in mind.
When I step inside, I automatically scan the lobby. A well-dressed woman sits in the corner with a little girl playing at her feet. She eyes me suspiciously before leaning over and lifting the child onto her lap, and the action hammers at my already bruised ego.
A man sits in another corner, bouncing his knee and scowling at nothing in particular. I note the empty holster at his hip and dismiss him as a threat. If he’s smart enough to follow the concealed carry laws, he’s smart enough not to fuck around and find out while I’m here.
“Hey, Quake,” Susan, the receptionist, greets as soon as she hangs up the phone. “What can I do for you?”
“I need to talk to Carrie.”
Susan glances at the computer monitor in front of her before saying, “She’s not here. I can pass on a message for you, though.”
“Her car’s in the parking lot,” I counter before pointing to the whiteboard on the wall that lists all staff members and tracks their presence. “And that says she’s here.”
Susan sighs. “Fine, she’s here, but she doesn’t want to see you.”
I brace my hands on the counter. “Too fuckin’ bad, Susan. I need to talk to her, and you’re gonna tell her that.”
I might go out of my way to balance the scales of good and evil, but I’m not above using underhanded tactics and a threatening tone to force someone’s hand.
Susan lifts the phone receiver and taps the button for Carrie’s extension. “He’s here. Yeah, I tried, but he refuses to leave. Yeah, okay. Thanks.” She looks at me. “She’ll be out to get you in a minute.”
“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” I taunt and step aside to lean against the wall to wait.
I wait as the other parties in the lobby are met and taken back by their caseworkers. It’s a full thirty minutes before Carrie comes to get me.
“C’mon, Quake. Let’s get this over with.”
I push off the wall and follow her to her office. “Nice to see you, too, Carrie.”
“Don’t start,” she snaps once she closes the door behind us. “You showing up here is never a good thing.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“It’s not,” she insists as she sits at her desk. “Look, I appreciate everything you do, but your brand of help comes with a mountain of paperwork for me.”
“My brand of help also means that kids get to eat,” I snap. “Fuck your paperwork.”
“I’m not doing this with you, Quake. I’ve gotta be in court in an hour, and I’m still trying to pull together the case files. So…” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “If we can get to the reason you’re here, that’d be great.”
“I just made a cash donation to Sacred Haven.”
“Of course, you did.”
“You placed more kids with them, and they’re out of money and supplies,” I say. “You know as well as I do that they run on donations, and that means there’s never guaranteed funds.”
She snorts. “That’s not entirely true, though, is it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Carrie gestures absently in my direction. “You might project big and bad, but you’re a softy. The kids I place at Sacred Haven will always be provided for because you make sure they are.”
“So, what?” I bark. “You drop them off and forget about ‘em?”
“I have forty-three children I have to ensure the safety of,” she says. “Forgive me if I put my time and resources into those who aren’t fortunate enough to land at the home.”
“Fortunate? That’s what you fucking think?” I close the distance between me and her desk. “I just met a boy who seemed all too interested in drugs, guns, and killing. That’s not fortunate, Carrie. It’s horrific.”
“Says the gun-running, drug-dealing, killer biker,” she quips.
My arm shoots out so fast, and her eyes bulge as I wrap my hand around her throat.
So much for balance.
“I suggest you start doing your goddamn job,” I snarl. “Or you’ll find out just how killer I can be.”
Shoving her backward so she collapses onto her chair, I turn on my heel and stride out of the building. Carrie has always been a bitch, but I never took her for stupid.
By the time I reach the clubhouse, my rage has simmered. I’m almost to my suite when a voice has me halting.
“Quake,” Lyric says from behind me.
I face my president. “Yeah?”
“Care to tell me why I’m fielding calls about one of my brothers threatening to kill a caseworker?”
“Wasn’t a threat,” I say with a shrug.
“Dammit, brother,” he gripes. “When you left, it was to go to Sacred Haven. What the fuck happened?”
“Oh, I went to Sacred Haven,” I confirm. “Got more than I bargained for.”
“What’s that even mean?”
An image of Sister Emiliani rises to the surface, and I shake my head to clear it.
“Nothing,” I lie. “They’re struggling, and fucking Child Protective Services keeps putting more kids there because Carrie puts her, and I quote, time and resources into those who aren’t fortunate enough to land at the home.
” I take a deep breath. “All because she knows we won’t let kids go without when there’s something we can do about it. ”
Lyric tilts his head, staring at me as if trying to figure out a complicated puzzle. “You’re surprised?”
“I’m pissed,” I snap.
“Yeah, okay. Makes sense considering…”
He doesn’t have to finish his thought for me to know what he’s referring to.
Makes sense considering my past… My family’s history.
“It’s bullshit.”
“Well, unless you want to take on the state of Washington, there’s not much we can do about it other than what we’re already doing.”
“Making sure that Sacred Haven has everything they need,” I state unnecessarily.
“Exactly. Speaking of, how’d it go with Sister Beatrice?”
I avert my gaze. “It went. She pawned me off on another nun.”
“You don’t say.”
I snap my eyes to his and shake my head. “No. Jesus, Lyric, tell me you had nothing to do with me being forced to work with Sister Emiliani.”
“I thought she was just another nun,” he replies with a smirk.
“What the fuck?”
“Relax, Q. I had nothing to do with it.” He pauses. “But I’ve gotta say, it’s really fucking interesting how your entire demeanor changed when you mentioned her.”
“Are we done?”
Pres grins. “Sure.” He turns to walk down the hall but stops and snaps his fingers. “Almost forgot… Church tomorrow morning at ten.”
My entire body tenses. “Did something happen?”
“Nope. But I really wanna see you fill the brothers in on your meeting at Sacred Haven.”
With that parting shot, he disappears down the hall.
Asshole.