Chapter 9
Marissa
I’m fuming after being dismissed, and I make sure to stomp my feet on my way upstairs as Dylan follows behind me.
Muscle memory leads me into his old room at the clubhouse, and the tension between us reminds me of the day I told him I was pregnant with DJ. I was standing in this exact spot, and Dylan was sitting on the bed across from me.
I turn away from it and shut my eyes against both the memory of his apprehensive joy at my news and the thought of what he might have done on that same bed with her recently.
“Can you get Junior for me?”
He hesitates. “Don’t you want to rest for a bit?”
“Not right now.” I shrug.
The longer I’m left alone, the more I’ll start to talk myself out of leaving. Not out of love, out of fear. The thought of starting over is daunting.
I have no family or friends to stay with until I get back on my feet. Finding a decent apartment, paying the security deposit and first month’s rent with my meager savings, and continuing to pay for DJ’s daycare while having enough food to survive seems like science fiction.
DJ and I are all alone in the world, without anyone to have our back. I guess I should’ve believed Mom when she told me. I want to laugh bitterly, remembering all the times I swore to myself that I’d prove her wrong, or defiantly believed the world was kinder than she claimed.
I mean, Susan’s always been nice, but she’s Dylan’s mom. She sure as hell isn’t gonna take my side in this.
Rachel loves us, but she has three kids and a full-time job. Besides, Truck is Dylan’s VP. He might think the club princess’s feelings come first.
As I watch Dylan hover by the door with his hand on the knob, I briefly imagine that I can do it. He doesn’t know that I know what he’s been doing, and I can continue pretending not to know. I don’t even have to do it well.
I can use his obvious guilt to go on like we have been, barely seeing each other while living under the same roof. I would do anything for my boy, including suffer lovelessness so that he doesn’t have to.
Dylan nods and leaves, apparently having decided not to say or ask whatever it was he’d wanted to. I go to sit on the bed, then change my mind mid-squat, and start pacing the room instead.
I can’t be alone in here, I can’t. I make my way towards where I think my boy is, but low whimpers at the bottom of the stairs make me stop.
“I…” a woman says between small sobs. “You don’t understand.”
“Well, help me understand,” Dylan says in a gentle, patient voice that not even his son gets to hear from him.
I hear them shuffle up the stairs, and my heart starts racing. Luckily, they stop mid-way.
“Talk.”
“Carlos and I were together. For two years.”
“Who the fuck is Carlos?”
“The Preacher, that’s his name.”
My eyebrows shoot up. I remember the gentle way he lifted my chin when he thought I was Rebel.
“He was very jealous and controlling, and towards the end…” she pauses. “He was also abusive.”
It’s whispered, but I hear it. I’m gripping the handrail like my life depends on it.
I’m not heartless. I want to believe she wouldn’t lie about such things.
“I knew I needed to get away before he killed me. So I took some money, and I fled. I lived off of it for a while, always afraid, always looking over my shoulder, and then I couldn’t do it anymore.”
“Why didn’t you call your brother? Or tell us the truth when you got here?”
“I was afraid Sly would cause a scene, and then Carlos would hurt him. Sly immediately bragged about the drug income the club now had, and I didn’t want to mess that up for everyone. I thought I’d keep a low profile, stay close to the club, and Carlos would forget about me.”
“You had to know that he’s not the type of man to let you go just like that?”
“I didn’t know what to do, Dylan. I was ashamed, to be honest, and I feared for my life. So I came to the only place that was safe, to the one man who’d always made me feel safe.”
The whole conversation reminds me of the telenovelas that my neighbour Marina’s elderly grandma always had on in the background when I was a child.
I hold my breath as I wait for Dylan’s response.
“You know that this club is your family,” Dylan says, in a weird, muffled way, and I imagine he’s saying it against her hair.
“We’d never let anything happen to you. So why don’t you run downstairs to talk to your brother, and I’ll join you guys in a minute.
We’ll figure it out together, don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”
I run back to the room as fast as I can. My eyes are stinging, and I feel nauseous. I sit down on the bed, not caring for whatever filth might be on there.
Who’s going to keep me safe, Dylan? I want to ask him when he walks in a few moments later.
I can’t believe he can meet my eye without appearing guilty or conflicted. Is this the man that I’ve slept next to for two years?
Junior pulls my hair, dissatisfied with my absent-minded ways.
“I know, I’m sorry, baby. Remember our plan? Help Hawk, get Mommy healthy. Let’s ask Aunt Rachel to borrow her phone.”
It looks like there’s only one Blue Security in Phoenix.
“Thank You, God,” I say as I wait for someone to pick up.
“Blue Security, this is Daphne. How may I assist you today?”
“Hello, can I please talk to… Squid?” I feel really stupid saying it.
“May I ask your name and what this is in reference to?”
I blank for a moment. “Marissa Johnson. And my reason for calling is a… uh, private matter.”
“Please wait.” Daphne sounds unfazed by the secrecy.
“Hello?” A deep, pleasant voice says into my ear, and I sit up.
DJ glances at me from the pillow he’s gnawing on, and I throw him a reassuring smile.
“Is this… Squid?”
“Yes? My assistant said you had a private matter you wanted to discuss?” He asks in the light, judgment-free tone of someone who’s used to dealing with mysterious people and their delicate issues.
“It’s about your friend Hawk,” I say, and I squeeze my eyes shut to make sure I remember it right. “He told me that you were his sponsor and that he misses Rat Park.”
There is a brief pause on the other end, and then the customer-service veneer is gone. “Tell me where you are,” Squid orders sternly.
“The Gray Wolves MC compound in Tucson.”
“We’ll be there in two hours to talk to you.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Rachel shows me how to fix Junior’s bottle, and then she feeds him while I take a much-needed shower and change into a pair of soft, gray pajamas.
Without my emotional support bra, I look like a cow with a swollen udder, but there’s nothing I can do about that. It’s part of getting Mommy healthy.
I don’t unpack the rest of my things. Who knows how tonight’s gonna end?
The Wolves won’t be happy that I invited another MC onto their territory, but every moment I waste could be a moment needed to save Hawk’s life.
I keep looking at the clock as I pace back and forth. When I hear a commotion downstairs, I know it’s time. I grab DJ from his playmat, and we head out.
The common room is empty, except for the prospect manning the bar.
Outside, Prez and Truck are having a heated discussion with two unfamiliar bikers in denim vests; if I had to guess, I’d say they’re Hawk’s Prez and VP.
His Prez is a bearded man in his fifties who towers over Sly in both height and build. The other man, tall and wiry, with thick black hair and a goatee, stands behind him, observing everyone and everything around him as if scanning for the biggest threat.
The scary part is that both VPs have a hand on their holsters.
The rest of the Gray Wolves men who found themselves at the clubhouse, including Dylan, are standing and glaring at the newcomers in a way that I guess is supposed to be intimidating.
Five more denim-clad bikers are calmly waiting on their bikes outside the gate, next to the expensive-looking SUV that their leaders must have come in. I can’t see their faces because they haven’t taken off their helmets.
“Marissa, go back inside,” Dylan shouts when he sees me approach the Prez’s group, and the newcomers’ heads whip towards me.
“That’s her,” the older guy tells his friend, and gives me a nod as I walk up to them.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” I tell them.
“Thank you for calling,” he replies, and I think that’s the voice I heard on the phone earlier.
“Marissa, I told you the club would handle this. You had no business calling another MC into our clubhouse,” Prez says angrily, and the two men step closer to me.
Truck frowns at his President. Dylan runs up to us and stands next to his brothers.
I stand with Hawk’s people, facing them.
“Letting a friendly club know about one of their own that’s missing is part of the biker code,” the older biker says in a conciliatory tone.
I can almost hear the wheels in Sly’s head turning as he considers whether this could lead to some immediate gain for him. Then, he nods.
“I would have appreciated a heads up, that’s all. I’ll have a word with your ol’ man later.” He glares at me, and I look away.
“And who is this little fella?” The older man waves at Junior, who’s perched on my hip.
“This is DJ,” I tell them.
“I’m Squid, and this is Uncle. We’re with the Redemption Chasers.” He turns to Prez. “We’d appreciate it if we could sit down with Marissa here to get info about our missing brother, and then we’ll be on our way back to Phoenix.”
DJ swats at Uncle’s cut, most likely trying to grab it so he could chew on it. The man glances down to see what the movement was, frowning at first, but then his face completely transforms, and he smiles at my baby, who giggles like they’re two friends sharing a joke.
“You two are welcome to come in and talk to her in front of us,” Prez finally says. “The rest of your men stay outside.”
Squid and Uncle share an odd little smile, and Squid says, “Thank you for the courtesy. Our club will not forget this.”
We head inside, and the two newcomers flank me like they’re my security detail in a dangerous situation. It feels nice, like I can relax and someone else will do the worrying.
Better not get used to it, my Mom’s voice rings in my head. I sigh.
I’m suddenly overcome with overwhelming, bone-deep fatigue. I just want it to be over. My relationship, this club, these people, my job, everything. I want to be at home with my son, doing nothing, going nowhere, seeing no one.
Help Hawk.
Heal.
Everything else.
I pick a large leather armchair where I can be comfortable with DJ in my lap. Squid drags a chair over and sits across from me. Uncle stands behind him, and Prez and Truck sit down on the couch to my right.
Dylan stands next to the armchair, on my left.
“Do you want me to take him?” He gestures to our son.
My body is twisted away from him, and both my arms are curled around DJ.
“No, thanks,” I reply without looking at him.
I wonder what we look like to Squid, who clears his throat and puts his forearms on his thighs.
He’s wearing a black Henley under his cut, faded jeans, and boots. His graying beard is thick, but neatly trimmed. The deep laugh lines on his face are comforting.
I wish Hawk had told me more about his brothers.
Squid’s eyes search my face. “Can you tell me where you met Hawk?”
“I was kidnapped on New Year’s Eve. The kidnappers took me to a room, and your friend was already there, tied to a chair.
His mouth was bloody, and his eye was swollen shut.
He told me they were keeping him there because of…
some property of theirs he damaged,” I tell them carefully, and they exchange a look.
“Where were you taken from?”
“Right here, in front of the clubhouse.”
Squid raises his eyebrows at Dylan, but says nothing. I feel Prez’s stare burning a hole into the side of my head.
I pretend to examine DJ’s fingernails as I savor the thrill of embarrassing them.
“And may I ask why you were kidnapped? And more importantly, released?” Uncle asks.
Sly butts in, “That part has no bearing on your investigation. I swear on my kid,” he adds, putting his hand on his heart.
I wonder which kid he’s swearing on, Molly or Ryder.
A very angry, aggressive resentment makes its way up my throat. Both Sly and Dylan protecting this woman at the expense of everyone else just underscores how unimportant I am to them.
I look up and, behind Squid, I notice Angie eavesdropping from the bottom of the stairs.
“At first I thought that my old man here was trying to have me killed,” I say, and in my peripheral vision, I see Dylan’s head jerk towards me.
“See, I had overheard Prez telling him that it was unacceptable to continue fucking his sister, Rebel, on the side like she was some cheap club pussy, and that he should dump me as soon as possible. And my old man replied that he was “working on it” and had to be careful because of custody issues.”
It feels good to get it out, to lay at least some of the blame at their feet.
I hold Angie’s gaze after I say it, and she guiltily looks away.
Good. For someone who cried to me more than once about Sly’s wandering dick, she sure as hell jumped on supporting her sister-in-law’s adulterous relationship.
The room is quiet for a while. Uncle and Squid seem visibly uncomfortable on my behalf, and I don’t even look at the other ones.
“Marissa,” Dylan whispers, but I shake my head and tilt my chin at Squid to continue.
“But it wasn’t your ol’ man who orchestrated it?”
“No, it was the drug lord known as Preacher. He was after Prez’s sister, who stole some money from him, but the kidnappers made a mistake.”
People start talking over each other angrily. Squid, Uncle, and Truck jump to their feet and position themselves in front of me like a human shield.
I glance at Dylan. His lips are pressed together, and his forehead is wrinkled.
“This interview is over,” Sly announces angrily.
Squid turns to me and says, “If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to let us know. We owe you.”
“I need something right now,” I admit.
The two men stand in front of me expectantly, looking like they’re ready to give me the world.
“Could you please give me and DJ a ride home?”