11. Quake
QUAKE
“Okay, get some sleep.”
I disconnect my call with Lyric as I step into my quarters. I wanted to talk to him in person, but he’d already settled in with Mellie for the night, so I opted for a call instead.
I’m fucking tired, and it’s the kinda tired that stems from bone deep exhaustion, making every step feel heavier than it should.
I’ve spent the last week following Keith, and today was the worst. He spent eight solid hours busy doing nothing important. We traversed a total of three-hundred miles across three towns, and not once was I worried that he knew he was being followed.
If he noticed a pickup truck showing up near the diner, gas station, and apartment complex, he never let on.
The problem is, I didn’t learn anything new. An entire week of tailing the guy, and all I’ve managed to discover is that he occasionally works at a Goodwill, he pays his rent late, and he has terrible taste in food and music.
Not once since the night of the party has the girl been with him.
He dropped her off at a sorority house on the other side of the city, and she’s been MIA since.
That bothers me more than anything else because despite the countless hours I’ve spent cooped up in a cage, I still don’t know who she is.
I tried to convince myself that she’s not a minor, and going to a sorority house would support that, but it still doesn’t feel right.
When he hadn’t left a bar in the downtown area in two hours, I decided to call it a night because I have to get some sleep or I’ll be useless. It’s only eight, but I don’t give a damn. I’m going to bed, and if that makes me a pussy, so be it.
I’m just pulling my shirt over my head when my cell rings. I consider ignoring it, but a quick glance at the number has me dismissing that thought immediately.
“Hello.”
A shaky breath comes through the line but no words.
“Sister Emiliani?” I ask, all traces of exhaustion evaporating. Still, no response. “Whitney!” I snap, panic infusing my tone.
“Quake.”
I release a breath, relieved to hear her voice. It’s trembling, but I can hear how she’s trying to remain calm.
“What happened?” I demand.
“It’s Melissa.”
I put the phone to my ear, grab my keys off the table by the door and leave my suite. “Tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know. She’s terrified, crying. Her shirt is torn, and she keeps saying she’s scared but refuses to tell me what or who she’s afraid of.”
Rage settles in my chest. “Is she hurt?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Are you still with her?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” The night air does nothing to cool my anger. “Stay with her, okay? I’m coming.”
“Quake, you don—”
“I’m coming,” I snap as I use my keyfob to unlock my truck. I’d be faster on my Harley, but I have no clue what I’m walking into, and I might need more seats. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
I hang up and climb into the driver’s seat. The trip to Sacred Haven seems to take forever, and my knuckles are white from the force of my grip on the steering wheel.
When I arrive forty-five minutes later, it’s dark except for the light coming from the office window. I know this is normally the time when the Sisters have retired to their rooms, and the children are likely in bed, so the lack of activity isn’t alarming.
Not Melissa or Whitney.
I jump out of the truck and head to the front entrance. The door is locked, and I pound on it. Once, twice, three times, and then the door swings open.
Whitney launches herself into my arms, and that tells me just how worried she is.
“Sorry,” she says when I release her. “I don’t know what possessed me to do that.”
“No need to apologize,” I assure her, having enjoyed her hug more than I have a right to.
Movement behind her catches my attention, and I step inside, closing the door behind us. Melissa is cowering by the office, her eyes red from crying. She moves to stand next to Whitney, and that’s when I notice the tear in her shirt.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I say, keeping my tone gentle.
She buries her head in Whitney’s side, and Whitney gives me an apologetic look.
“It’s okay,” I assure her. “Why don’t we go i—”
Footsteps thunder down the staircase, and we all turn to see Sister Beatrice racing downstairs like she’s running out of a burning building. When her eyes land on me, I swear a ghost of a smile lifts her lips. It’s gone so fast, replaced by concern.
“What’s going on?” she demands, her voice scratchy from sleep.
Melissa and Whitney dart their gazes to me as if begging me to answer. Hard to do when I have no clue myself.
Sister Beatrice sighs, pointing toward the office. “Inside. All of you.”
None of us argue as we do as she says. The elder sister settles into the chair behind her desk while Whitney and Melissa sit on the worn couch along the opposite wall. I know the moment her eyes land on the girl for the first time because she gasps in shock.
I focus on Sister Beatrice first. “I’m sorry for waking you. Whi—” I press my lips together before correcting myself. “Sister Emiliani called me, and I rushed over without thinking about how it would appear to you.”
The sister waves a hand dismissively. “While I don’t appreciate being woken up by your infernal pounding, I very much appreciate the fact that you came when called upon.
The fact that Whitney trusts you is good enough reason.
” She leans forward, and shifts her attention to Melissa. “Now, child, what happened?”
The little girl doesn’t answer. Instead, she squeezes her eyes shut as if she can close out the world around her.
In an effort to make myself less intimidating, I kneel in front of the little girl while Whitney keeps an arm wrapped around her shoulders.
“Sweetheart,” I begin. “We need you to tell us what happened?”
She remains silent but opens her eyes to peer at Whitney.
“It’s okay,” she encourages the child.
Melissa’s lip trembles, and us adults wait patiently for her to work out in her head what to say.
“I’m scared,” she finally whispers.
“I know.” She immediately bursts into tears again, and it takes every ounce of self-control to remain calm. “Who scared you?”
Melissa shakes her head, refusing to answer.
“Melissa,” Whitney says softly. “Did somebody hurt you?”
It’s pretty clear that someone did, but what do I know? Maybe she fell.
And maybe pigs can fly.
When Melissa nods, a murderous red haze fills my vision, and I take a deep breath so I don’t physically react in a way that scares her more.
Then she presses her face into Whitney’s shoulder and whispers, “I didn’t like it.”
Her voice is muffled, barely audible, but I catch the words. The stillness that settles over the room tells me I’m not the only one, either.
Finally, I stand up and start to pace. I need to expend my energy somehow, and this is the only safe method at the moment.
“I told him that I didn’t like it when he touched me,” she adds.
Every cell in my body goes still. Whitney’s hand freezes where she’s rubbing circles over Melissa’s shoulder, and Sister Beatrice slowly straightens in her chair. The room seems to shrink, grow colder.
“Who?” I ask with barely contained contempt.
Fear flashes across Melissa’s face so quickly, and she shakes her head. “I can’t tell you.”
The panic in her voice is unmistakable. Every part of me wants to push, to demand an answer so I can kill the son of a bitch. Thankfully, Whitney uses better judgement and speaks before I can.
“It’s okay,” she soothes. “You don’t have to tell us right now.”
Melissa clutches her sleeve. “I can never tell.”
My jaw tightens. Whatever happened, the person responsible terrified her into silence.
They will fucking pay.
I pull out my cell. “We need Carrie.” Whitney nods in agreement so I dial the caseworker’s number, the one I know by heart because I call her enough to bitch. The line rings and rings and rings. Her voicemail picks up after five rings, and I disconnect the call. “Dammit!”
I call again, and then a third and fourth time. Still nothing.
“She’s not answering,” Sister Beatrice says unnecessarily.
“No, she’s not,” I confirm.
“Maybe she’s asleep,” Whitney suggests.
I huff out a breath. “I don’t care if she’s on her goddamn death bed. When you’re responsible for the safety of children, you make yourself available or pass the baton.”
“Quake,” Whitney admonishes.
“I tend to agree with him,” Sister Beatrice says, surprising me. “Which is why I’m comfortable asking this favor.”
“What favor, Sister?” I ask.
She rises and walks around the desk to stand in front of Melissa. “Child, do you feel safe here?” she asks.
Melissa shakes her head just as the building creaks like old buildings tend to do. The noise startles her, and she whimpers.
“Would you feel safe somewhere else?” she continues, and Melissa seems to think about it for a moment before nodding. “Does Quake scare you?” Melissa looks at me and shakes her head again. Sister Beatrice straightens. “Then it’s settled.”
“Uh, what’s settled, Sister?” I ask.
“Whitney and Melissa will go with you tonight. I’m passing the baton.”
Whitney shoots to her feet, and my jaw drops.
“What?” we blurt simultaneously.
“It’s the perfect solution,” the elder nun says, beaming.
“You want them to come stay at the clubhouse?” I ask, certain I’m misunderstanding something. I’m not opposed to the idea at all… just confused that she’s the one suggesting it.
“I do.”
“It’s a motorcycle clubhouse,” Whitney says.
“And she’s a nun,” I add.
“I’m aware,” Sister Beatrice says. “But this isn’t about either of you. It’s about Melissa, and we need to do what will make her feel safe, right?”
“Is that appropriate for a child?” Whitney asks.
“Is whatever happened to precipitate this little pow-wow appropriate for a child?” she counters and stares at me. “Will you let any harm come to either of them?”
Damn, she’s good.
“Fuck no.”
She nods. “That settles that.”
“This is absurd,” Whitney states.
Before Sister Beatrice can argue further, Melissa stands and grabs Whitney’s hand as if desperate for her attention.
“Please,” she whispers. “I want to go but not without you.”
My heart cracks at the words. She doesn’t care where she goes or where she sleeps as long as Whitney is with her. She might not be afraid of me, but it’s Whitney she trusts to keep her safe.
One emotion after another flits across Whitney’s face. Surprise, worry, uncertainty… acceptance. She glances at Sister Beatrice one last time as if seeking permission.
The older woman studies the three of us before moving toward the door. “I’ll help you two pack your bags,” she says and then disappears out of the office.
“Did she say bags?” Whitney asks.
“Yep.”
“So we might stay more than one night?” Melissa asks, hope in her tone.
“I guess so.”
I might not have come up with the idea, but I’m fucking glad Sister Beatrice did because the more I think about it, the more right it feels. Until we know what happened to Melissa, who hurt her, she’s not safe here.
Doesn’t hurt that the pretty nun is along for the ride.
I pull my truck keys out of my pocket and usher them into the entrance hall.
“I’ll go warm up the truck while you pack.”