Chapter Five
Sweet Poppy
Dusty led Edward outside to her bike. Neon lights lit up the outside of the bar, and the street beyond bustled with people. The parade had been cut short thanks to the bank robbery, so the main roads were open once again. Her bike, a pristine hog with a red paint job and ROXANNE scrawled across one side, dominated the street in front of the bar. Out of the long line of bikes, Dusty liked to think Roxy gleamed the brightest. Granted, she’d built the damn thing, so she was a bit biased. Roxanne was a collection of parts from several different bikes all crafted together to form something new, slick, and dangerous. The motorcycle was streamlined and built for speed.
Dubious, Edward eyed Roxanne as Dusty straddled the seat and revved her engine. “So do I follow you in an Uber or…?”
Dusty glanced at him over her shoulder, the tail end of her ponytail sliding across her leather jacket like a snake. A serpent just as impatient as its charmer. “Get on.”
Scowling, Edward shook his head.
Dusty’s lips curled, a hint of mockery waiting and ready. “You’re about to join a motorcycle gang,” she said slowly. “But you’re afraid of riding a motorcycle?”
“I’m not afraid,” a fire flickering to life in his amber eyes.
The rev and rumble between her legs was all too familiar, but his frustration made it all the sweeter. “Then prove it, Pretty Boy.”
“I’m starting to hate that name,” he grumbled, clambering onto the bike behind her. He was so big he had to curl around her, and Dusty rolled her hips as she leaned forward to grip the handlebars.
“Tough shit.” As soon as he was settled, she eased off the clutch and let Roxy fly, slipping into the flow of traffic with the ease of long practice. Edward yelped, gripping her hard around the waist.
Pressed against the curve of her back, Dusty could feel the muscled planes of his chest and belly. She took a turn too fast, and his arms tightened further, biceps trapping her in the circle of him. Against her better judgment, she shifted, fitting herself more solidly against him until she wore him like a second skin. His breath teased the back of her neck, the only spot of warmth as cold air whipped past them. The ill-fitting clothes did a lot to hide it, but now there was no missing the sheer strength of him. If he wanted to, he could hurt her.
The thought intrigued.
Dusty was careful never to give a man the physical advantage. She preferred sleeping with women because it was the one time she could be vulnerable enough to enjoy the act. Men Edward’s size were to be avoided at all costs. But there was something about him, something insidious and sweet.
Dusty shook the thought away. Pushing her awareness of Edward to the back of her mind, she headed back into the heart of the city. She didn’t have time to moon over someone like him. He was running from something, and her job was to keep it from catching him. First things first, pass the flash drive to Vance and see if she could make a little extra cash, since the heist today was a bust. If a certain someone was around, maybe she could charm him into buying her a little more time with Papa. The bastard wasn’t known for his altruism, however, and she wondered what it would take to buy his cooperation as they rode. Around them, the world passed by in a blur, a drunken kaleidoscope of color. Something she would always be a part of, but not really. The grief in her heart was an old wound, one she knew better than to pick at anymore. Being around Edward was like digging nails into the edges of scared skin to see if there was still fresh blood underneath, but it was too late now to turn him away.
By the time they pulled up outside Happy Nails, the parking lot was full despite the closed sign and lack of interior lights. There were plenty of other shops in the strip mall to account for the number of cars, but Dusty knew the Party City and Home Depot weren’t the reason the parking lot was poppin’ at midnight on a Friday.
Edward was quiet as they walked toward the nail salon. Already she’d grown to expect his near-constant stream of nervous chatter. Now, he seemed content to watch, his eyes bright with curiosity as she knocked twice on the salon doors.
A young woman scurried over to the door and inclined her head in a half bow, both apology and greeting rolled into one. “We’re closed,” she said, pointing to the sign. “You come back tomorrow.” Her accent was thick and her English clipped.
Anyone else may have been fooled by the performance, but Dusty knew better. She pressed her forehead against the glass and grinned down at the woman, the flash of teeth hinting at hunger as she took in the lithe body beneath the pink bustier and camo pants. Bone-straight hair framed her rounded face, and her sharp asymmetrical bangs had been dyed dark pink. Slanted brown eyes and a button nose graced a pale face. There’s my girl. “Come on, Poppy,” she purred. “Don’t be a fuckin’ tease.”
Poppy stared at her in silence before rolling her eyes. As soon as she opened the door, Dusty wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her, lips parted and moist, sweet and soft.
“There’s my girl.” She buried her face against Poppy’s neck as they danced through the doorway. “How long’s it been?”
Poppy smacked her upside the head, and Dusty drew back with a grimace.
“Not long enough,” Poppy accused, though Dusty liked to think there was still some lingering affection in the outburst. “What the fuck are you doing here?” she hissed.
Dusty always got a kick out of it when she dropped the Korean accent. Poppy was born in Idaho. The closest she’d ever come to Korea was watching romantic dramas with her grandmother, who, coincidentally, just so happened to be the founder of Briarcliff’s premier underground fight club.
A worthy gauntlet indeed.
Poppy’s eyes darted between Edward and the back of the salon, and Dusty knew she was checking to make sure Mrs. Park wasn’t about to appear out of thin air like a pissed-off Dr. Strange. “What part of ‘banned for life’ isn’t sinking in?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“All of it, if I’m being honest,” Dusty admitted, slipping past her and hot-footing it toward the back hall. Edward followed, though she could tell he was beginning to second-guess his decision to join the Legion by his expression.
Past the eyebrow station and a wall of nail polish in every color imaginable, was a door. During business hours, they set up a table up inside the small back room so women could get their cooters waxed, but on fight nights, the table was shoved aside and the trap door underneath thrown open. Briarcliff had several tunnels located underneath the city from miners back in the day. Many of them had been sealed away, but Mrs. Park knew there was little a person couldn’t accomplish with the help of the Ancestors and a working jackhammer. People would have been trickling in since the shop closed Thursday afternoon. If she listened hard enough, Dusty could hear cheering and drunken shouting as she opened the door. She was a kid in a candy store.
“Oh no you don’t, you crazy bitch,” Poppy plastered herself against the door as Dusty was about to walk in. “If Halmani finds out you were here after what happened last time—”
Dusty’s eyes widened with glee. “You mean she’s not even here?” The old battleax must be losing her edge.
Poppy winced. “No, Eliot took over.” Dropping her arms in defeat, her tone turned accusatory. “Which you would know if you ever called.”
Planting a hand on the wall above Poppy’s head, Dusty leaned in and pressed her smile against her cheek. “You sound like you missed me,” she whispered, pleased when she shuddered.
“Um, should I leave? ’Cause I can leave.”
The sound of Edward’s voice brought Dusty back to the task at hand, and she straightened. “Sorry, Pops,” she said. “I know I should do better. And I will, I promise.” When Poppy remained unconvinced, Dusty sighed. “Look, I brought a peace offering.”
Dusty sent him a look, and though unsure, Edward nevertheless lifted his hand and waved.
Poppy’s lips parted in surprise.
“You’ve seen the news,” Dusty said, talking fast before she could get kicked out. “The bank job went south, and now we’re short. Talk to Eliot, let my boy fight.”
Poppy stared at Edward, unimpressed. “You think he can win?” She asked.
Hell no. “Absolutely,” Dusty assured her. “If nothing else, he might give Crusher a run for his money. It’d be a hell of a way to wrap up the night.”
“I’m sorry, who?”
Dusty waved Edward into silence as Poppy considered the offer. When the other woman nodded, she almost sagged in relief.
“Fine,” Poppy opened the door and led them inside.
They made their way to the trap door,and as Edward was descending the dark staircase into the club, Poppy cleared her throat.
“Dusty,” she said, voice low. “Just so you know, things have changed since the last time you were here.”
Dusty cocked her head to one side. “Changed how?”
For the first time, Poppy grinned. “You’ll see.”
At the bottom of the staircase was a room the size of a community theater, with a boxing ring in the middle. At least a hundred people were watching the current fight, and voices rose and fell around them as bets were placed. It was muggy in the tunnel-chamber, and the smell of sweat and blood were heavy in the air. The current fight was almost over, but Dusty could see what Poppy meant as soon as she cleared the last step. Both fighters were buck nekkid. She threw her ex a wide-eyed look of glee and Poppy bit her lip on a smile.
The fighters had been going at it (ha!) for a while. Both men had taken heavy damage, though only one of them was weaving where he stood. The spectators were looking a little rough around the edges, too. There was no real telling how many days some of them had been here, though it was long enough for their deodorant to wear off. Assuming they’d worn any in the first place.
Eliot, the somber overseer of the fights, was stationed at the bar so he could keep an eye on the proceedings and everyone coming and going. Security manned the staircase and stalked the parameter to keep the audience in line. One of the guards tensed when he caught sight of Dusty, but Poppy was there to give the signal that all was well. An alarmed squeak brought her attention to Edward, who remained frozen at the bottom of the steps.
“It’s just a cock fight, Edward. Grow up.”
“Grow up!?” Edward struggled to keep his voice down, though it wasn’t as if anyone could have heard him over all the noise. Poppy tapped her on the shoulder, nodding towards a privacy screen in the back, and Dusty nodded. Since he didn’t seem inclined to follow on his own, she gripped his forearm and drug him after her.
Patience, Adele, she thought. If it weren’t for being a former employee, she might have been just as overwhelmed as Edward. The nudity was new, but a decided improvement as far as Dusty was concerned.
“Care to explain to me what we’re doing here?” Edward asked, as soon as they were behind one of the screens.
Seeing dong always left her feeling amicable, so she nodded. “Sure thing, Chere,” she said. “You ever see the movie Fight Club ?”
Edward nodded, while Dusty rolled the lollipop she’d snatched from the Snack Girl on her tongue. “It’s like that,” she said. “But with your dick out.”
“So, not like that at all.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen the movie.”
“So why assume I have?” He was almost shouting, but Dusty found she didn’t mind much.
She snorted at his question. “You’re a White guy in your mid-thirties. Please be fucking for real. Next, you’re going to tell me you don’t have strong feelings about Chris Pratt, and you’ve never argued with someone about Star Wars .” She leaned in, eager to tease. “Is Baby Yoda your Roman Empire?”
He bit his lip, and his face turned red. One second passed, then two. He never made it to three. “I just don’t understand why you would infantilize such a powerful and significant figure in the Star Wars franchise—” He shook his head, cursed. “You know what? Never mind.” Edward paused, but it was clear he couldn’t help himself. “For the record, Chris Pratt is a goddamn treasure. His work on Parks and Recreation alone is iconic and will be remembered for generations.”
“Right.” Dusty nodded as if she gave a shit. “Of course.” She pointed her lollipop at his crotch and waved it like a wizard’s wand. “Now take those off. I can’t place any bets until I see foreskin.”
Edward reached out, grabbing the hand that held the lollipop and squeezing. Even frustrated and embarrassed, he handled her gently. Carefully. As if she were something that might break. As if he couldn’t tell she already had.
Curiouser and curiouser.
His touch was gone a second later, and Dusty found that, much like last time, she missed it.
“Do I really have to be naked?” He asked, sad puppy eyes weapons at the ready.
“It’s Greco-Roman style, darlin,’” she reminded him, almost unmoved. “Eliot is into that cultured shit.”
“There’s nothing cultured about two grown men fighting naked.”
“There is if you’re doing it right.”
Edward started pacing.
To be honest, Dusty wasn’t sure why Eliot now insisted on full nudity. A few people were stabbed over the years, true, but the bystanders were just as likely to carry weapons as the fighters. Not that she cared either way; she enjoyed the view just as much as the next guy. Why the hell would she tell Edward he could technically keep his underwear on and still fight when it would mean depriving herself of the chance to see…so much?
Poppy poked her head around the screen and Edward yelped.
“Good news I hope?” Dusty said, straightening.
Poppy sent Edward a look and lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug. “Ban’s lifted for the night,” she said begrudgingly. “He can fight. A lot of folks saw you two come in and they’re already placing bets.”
Dusty hooked a finger around the edge of the curtain and pulled it back just long enough to see Poppy was right. The blue slips— small strips of paper representing Edward in the upcoming match—were already piling up before Eliot.
“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” she asked Poppy, half-joking.
“Whatever,” Poppy groused. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
Poppy gave her the finger and disappeared. Dusty stared at the place she’d been and told herself it wasn’t a huge mistake coming here tonight.
“Maybe we should go?” Edward was speaking, and she cleared her throat of regret.
“If you’re scared, just go out there, swing your dingle-dangle a bit, and then tap out before he can hit you.”
“Why would I need to swing it—”
“The point,” Dusty interrupted, “is that you can throw the match. So, a few people see your patty cakes? Big deal. Who hasn’t flashed a room full of strangers their upside-down? It’s not like you’ll be the only one.”
Instead of being reassured by her words, Edward clutched his chest, fighting for air. Dusty scrambled out of the way and urged him into her vacated seat. “I can’t breathe,” he gasped, fanning himself with both hands.
For fuck’s sake. Trying to remember what it was like to soothe someone and coming up blank, Dusty channeled her inner cheerleader. “Come on, Chere. This is only awkward if you keep doing”—Dusty waved helplessly at him—“whatever this is.” Crouching next to him, she patted his arm. There. That felt normal. That felt good. She was good at this, damnit. “No one likes a sad peen,” she said, booping his nose. “So just be confident about your shit, and you’ll be fine.”
Without warning, Edward surged to his feet. Dusty stumbled back, surprised once again at how much taller he was than her.
“Whelp, I guess I’m calling it,” he said, reaching for the privacy screen.
Dusty jumped up, catching his wrist before he could shove the screen aside. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” she asked, all traces of good humor gone. “I’ve been nice so far because you’re cute, but you don’t seem to understand the situation you’re in. Let me spell it out for you.” Stepping into his personal space, she let her head fall back so she could keep her eyes locked on his. “Your face is plastered all over the news. You think the asshole gunning for you is going to just give up? Chances are he’s hunting for you as we speak, and if he’s anything like me, he has connections all over this city. If you even make it to the cops, what’s to stop him from killing you in holding?”
“The police—”
“As far as they’re concerned, you’re an accomplice, Chere. They’ll cuff your ass to a table for a day or two while they go around finding clues and eating Scooby Snacks or whatever the fuck it is they do. Plenty of time for trouble to come knocking.” She took a deep breath to calm herself, and when she spoke again, her voice had gentled. “You want my help? Well, this is how you get it without the rest of the Legion knowing what you did for me.”
Edward searched her face, his amber eyes darkening to a warm brown. “They don’t know what you’re up to, do they?”
“No,” she admitted, voice hoarser than usual. “And I plan on keeping it that way.”
She couldn’t tell the rest of the Legion because she knew not all of them could be trusted. After all, it was one of their number who killed Desi and all those other girls. Now, Dusty wasn’t one to judge. Every one of them had blood on their hands, including her. But there was a difference between killing and slaughtering. Someone among their ranks was a serial killer.
A monster.
Dusty had no way of finding her sister’s murderer. She’d spent the last fifteen years trying, but it was damn near impossible to pin down a suspect. The Legion had hundreds of members spread out across the country, some of whom she’d never met. The ones who weren’t dead, in jail, or on the road were busy keeping the money flowing for the rest of them. Besides petty—and not-so-petty—larceny, the Legion also trafficked drugs, weapons, and information. As the Charter President, everything filtered back to Dusty. The bank heist hadn’t just been a cover for snatching the flash drive. Families were falling on hard times, and the money from the bank job would keep many of them going for the remainder of the year.
The other robberies had gone off without a hitch, but since the Legion didn’t collect protection money, they needed to keep the lights on somehow, and living in Briarcliff wasn’t cheap. With the bank job a failure, Dusty needed to make up for her losses if she had any hope of keeping folks fed and a roof over their heads. If she failed, the clubhouse would have several irate spouses and a shit load of toddlers running down its halls come the end of the month. It was funny now, but when she took over the Lost Legion, she thought she’d have enough time to play Nancy Drew and right a few wrongs. In reality, she was too busy keeping this circus running to do anything else, let alone catch a killer and save Rat.
“Can I really throw the match?” Edward stared at the ground, his shoulders rounded as if already waiting for a blow.
Dusty blinked. Sometimes, she forgot there were people whose lives didn’t revolve around blood and violence. Against her better judgment, she softened by slow degrees. “I’m begging you to throw the match,” she said. She touched his chin and tugged until his eyes were on her once again. “You’re too pretty to get hit in the face.”
The fear in his gaze shifted to annoyance. “Thanks.”
“No problem, darlin’.”