Chapter 41 Kitty
FORTY-ONE
KITTY
The amount of money Stan had spent on a kid’s necklace blew my mind.
I didn’t say anything. It wasn’t my place to argue fiscal logic when the man’s house gave hotel resorts a complex about their size. But the look he gave me as he sent over the payment had the power to make my core quiver.
That’s for our daughter, he’d said wordlessly. Our little girl will wear this one day.
And as mind-boggling as it was that a small child would be given this as a gift, it stole my breath and had me trembling with longing.
I’d bypassed fear and worry a while back.
Now, I craved the future he promised me.
I wanted it as much as I wanted him.
“We’re having a family BBQ,” Storm stated as Stan turned his cell around to show proof of the transfer. “You’re welcome to stay.”
I tugged on Stan’s hand at the extended olive branch. Not that they were at war, the opposite in fact, but to impart such an offer was a kindness I knew we couldn’t refuse.
Even if Stan had planned to fly into Poughkeepsie later.
“That would be lovely, Storm. Thank you so much,” I answered for us both when Stan looked set to argue.
He shot me a kind smile. That kindness was a complete contrast to what I figured it took to be the Prez of an MC.
Belle, Cade’s wife, had come from that world, and when she came to sleepover parties on the occasions that Cade worked crazy hours and we all wanted to hang out, she often shared stories of her past…
No, brothers in MCs were many things, a lot good, but kindness didn’t head up their list of descriptors, I didn’t think.
When Storm showed us to the back of the clubhouse, I realized the BBQ was in the setup phase. Storm led us deeper into the yard, where a woman with a toddler on her hip coordinated a potluck table that had a line of other women with dishes in their hands gathered in front.
“That’s my Old Lady,” Storm informed us. “Her name’s Keira. If you need anything, talk to her.” He approached her, whispered something in her ear that had her blushing, then offered, “I’ll be around. Enjoy yourselves.”
Keira stepped over to us, hand outstretched. I shook it, but Stan raised her hand to his mouth in a move that was pure Regency romance.
“Honestly, I’d say you get used to it but you really don’t.”
Amusement flashed in her eyes. “It’s very courtly of him.”
“You’ve been watching Bridgerton,” I teased, surprisingly at ease with the stranger.
Keira laughed. “Who hasn’t? Kitty, right? And Stan?”
“Yes. I think you know which is which.” When she hooted, I smiled. “Who’s this charmer?” I asked as the toddler grabbed a lock of my hair.
“He’s trouble. That’s what. Thankfully, I’m just babysitting. Maddox’s my friend’s headache, aren’t you, cutie pie? Now, would you like something to eat?”
Unsurprisingly, Stan ambled over to the table and peered at the dishes on display. Because how much he could put away intrigued me, I watched as he managed to pile enough food on the dinner plate to feed ten.
“It’s fascinating how much they can eat, isn’t it?” Keira murmured at my side, seeming to understand why I studied him rather than pick out my own food.
“Oh, yeah, it sure is,” I said around a hum.
“What would you like to drink?”
I peered at the many coolers beside the picnic table. “What do you have?”
“Keira, sorry I’m late. I brought— Kitty?”
The words dropped off with a sharp gasp, which preceded a shattering sound as a glass oven dish fell to the ground. Jolting at the abrupt clamor, I twisted on my heel, only to gape at the woman standing in front of me.
My head reared back in rejection of what I was seeing.
“What is it, Trixie?” Keira demanded, gaze flickering between us.
I swallowed, but her name was hoarse as it spilled from my lips. “Beatriz?!”
Her mouth worked but she bit back a sob and took off, racing toward the clubhouse. Before I could follow, Keira’s hand around my wrist locked down tight. Stan was there like a shot.
“Unhand her,” he snapped.
“Not before I know who the hell she is and why Trixie was so scared of her!”
“I-I knew her. A long time ago. Beatriz.” To Stan, I clarified, “You remember? I brought her up when we were south of the border.”
“But… you said she was dead!”
“I thought she was.” Miserably, I turned to the Prez’s Old Lady. “She was my best friend.”
“What made you believe she died?” Keira insisted, her brow furrowed.
I shoved at her hold on me. “She was in a car crash!”
“You don’t know where she’s gone, duci,” Stan cautioned, but he remained watchful. “Keira, could you tell her where Beatriz went?”
“Her name isn’t Beatriz.”
“It used to be.” I only realized that I was crying because a swipe of my hand over my stinging eyes did nothing to stem the tear tracks coursing down my cheeks. “Please, Keira. I … I need to understand.”
“If she ran away, she must have done so for a reason.”
“Please, Keira,” I repeated. “If she asks me to leave, I won’t push the issue. We were really close in nursing school.”
“She was a nurse?”
I shook my head. “She passed before graduation.”
The tidbit of information had her sighing. “She lives on the compound for the time being. Her Old Man… he died and she couldn’t keep up with the mortgage payments on their place. We only found out about it when the bank foreclosed.”
“Which room?” Stan pestered.
“Second floor.” Her jaw worked. “If she asks you to go, Kitty, you go.”
“I will. I swear.”
“Room 28.” As I headed back to the building, I heard her call out, “Jessie, go and make sure everything’s copacetic.”
I didn’t care that I had two shadows, didn’t care that the yard was part gravel, part soil and these shoes had been made for being worn around Stan’s ears. I just rushed into the clubhouse as fast as these fuck-me heels would permit and shot up the stairs.
When I reached room 28, Stan snagged a hold of my hand. “You’re faster than you look. Especially in those damn shoes.”
I ignored him to stare at the door. “Why would she pretend to be dead, Stan?”
“Jen’s father did that back in the late nineties, early two thousands. He had an issue with the…” His eyes widened. “Albanians. Fuckers have been a problem for longer than I’ve really thought about.”
God, he was right. Padraig O’Donnelly had disappeared. Everyone knew he’d only ‘reincarnated’ to get money from the Five Points to pay the ransom demands for his hockey star son—the now New York Stars’ captain. That kidnapping had been a complete clusterfuck!
“Beatriz—”
“—was related to Martinez,” he interrupted. “After her death, he discovered someone had blackmailed her. The piece of shit had a nonconsensually recorded sex tape.” His hand cupped my shoulder. “She had a lot to run from.”
“How do you know any of that?”
“Martinez told me.”
More misery filled me. “S-She never said!”
“Why would she?”
“We were friends!”
“You’re Irish, and she was, technically, a Lobo Rojo. Didn’t you know?”
“N-No. But I never outright told her my family’s Irish Mob either. It’s not something you share when memorizing the 6 Ls of hypokalemia together.”
He tugged me into a half-hug. “She clearly wasn’t in her right mind when she took off—”
The door clicked open.
Beatriz stood there.
Arms folded against her chest.
Face pale, eyes as wet as mine.
The lack of welcome made sense considering everything that was going on, but it still hurt.
Seeing her in the flesh was like a slap to the face—I’d missed her so damn much.
My mouth trembled. “You could have let me in. I’d have done anything to help.”
Her chin jerked up but I could see, deep in her eyes, she knew I spoke the truth. “How could I have told you?”
“We were friends!”
She squeezed herself tighter. “I know.”
“W-Why would you do this? Why would you let me mourn you?”
“How did you do this?” Stan inserted. “It takes a lot of bribes to disappear like that.”
Beatriz ignored him, but his words registered and I thought out loud: “Paul Desen.” When dismay flickered over her expression, I knew I was on the right track.
To Stan, I continued, “He worked in the hospital where we were nursing residents. In the morgue. Tell me you didn’t, Beatriz.
” She didn’t say anything. “He had a massive crush on you. God, what a mess.” I slumped against Stan, knowing he’d hold me up. “A-Are you okay?”
It was all I could think to ask.
She’d run away from me, New York, her family, her everything...
I couldn’t imagine how alone she must have been.
Beatriz firmed her lips but dipped her chin again.
And that was the sum total of what I got out of her.
The woman Keira had sent along sidled closer, slipped in front of us, and pressed her hand to Beatriz’s, Trixie’s shoulder.
Because that was who she was now. Not my Beatriz. Hell, not George’s, Millie’s, or Lara’s Beatriz, either. But Trixie.
For the first time, with the sharp light from overhead, I noticed the scars on her face. I wanted to know how she’d gotten them. From the car crash? Or something else? I wanted to understand what had happened… desperately.
But she didn’t want to share.
And I… Well, I had no choice but to accept that.
I retreated a pace, appreciating how in sync Stan was with me because he shifted like we were back on Russu’s dance floor. “Take care of yourself, Beatriz. For me, if not even for yourself. I-I love you.”
With that, I turned away.
It was hard. Damn hard. I shoved aside my incessant need for answers, for the desperate desire to understand, traits that made me a good nurse, and I let her go.
Because that was what she needed of me.
When we headed downstairs, Storm waited for us.
As much as it made sense to be formally escorted off the compound, he lessened the pain with the orchid in his arms.
I gaped at that then at him, and he graced me with a gentle smile. “For your ma.”
“I couldn’t—”
“Sure you can. Please.”
“That’s so kind of you,” I rasped, those damnable tears making another appearance.
Stan accepted the plant pot on my behalf with a soft murmur of thanks, but he held out a hand for Storm. They parted on friendly terms, meaning I hadn’t caused any problems between the two—the last thing I wanted.
Pressing a kiss to Storm’s cheek, I locked my eyes on his. “Is she safe here?”
“I don’t see why not.” That wasn’t the most reassuring of answers. “We take care of our own.”
I swallowed. “Thank you.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Kitty.”
“Likewise.”
Luigi hovered by the back-seat door, but he accepted the plant that Stan passed over.
Unable to help myself, I asked, “Do you have a notepad, Luigi?”
His brow arched as he turned to look at me from where he leaned over the passenger seat to buckle the pot into place.
It’d have been funny if anything about this felt amusing.
He tucked his fingers into his coat pocket and a moment later, I had a pen and notepad.
Jotting down my number, I tore off the sheet, returned the items to Luigi, then passed the note to Storm, who was clearly going nowhere until we’d left his turf.
“I-If she wants it, here’s my number.”
“She might not,” he warned. “She’s been tight-lipped since she came here.”
“She can’t reach out if she doesn’t have it.”
As he accepted the number by folding the note and slipping it into his jeans pocket, Stan inquired, “She moved here recently?”
“She and her Old Man transferred from our Montana chapter two years or so ago.”
Then he waited. I took the hint and let Stan hustle me into the car.
After a couple minutes, we were out on the open road, heading back to the private airfield where we’d landed.
But my mind was on that grody room Beatriz had called home and those scars on her face…