22. Taylor
Chapter twenty-two
Taylor
Ifill my mug with steaming coffee and yawn. The first sip warms my throat in the early morning solitude. Peering out the window over the kitchen sink, I check the weather. The sky is pale gray, the sun barely up.
I frown, not seeing any clouds because I thought I heard thunder.
My quiet is shattered by the roar of more than one motorcycle approaching up the street. Hope flares in my chest. Maybe it's Player coming home to me. The mug hits the counter with a clatter, and I dash through the house to yank the drapes aside.
Two bikes roll up my mother’s drive, and I frown; neither are Player’s bike.
My excitement plummets. Did something happen to him? Are they coming to tell me? When they climb off their bikes and I catch the back of their cuts, it's clear they’re prospects. I can’t think of another reason for them to show up here.
Blood drains, and a pit forms in my stomach.
Oh please, God. Don’t let anything have happened to him.
They’re pulling off their helmets, and I yank the front door open, standing there in my shorts and t-shirt.
They turn at the sound.
“What is it?” I snap, wrapping my arms around my body, steeling myself for the news. “Did something happen to Player?”
The two men walk up the path toward me.
“Hey, Miss Taylor,” one of them says. It’s the prospect who was asleep on the couch yesterday. He’s young with a cute smile. The other one looks a bit older and more hardened. He’s built with a broad chest and muscular arms. He stops at the bottom step, his hand on the railing.
“Name’s Sleaze. Player sent us to get you.”
I frown. “Is the club back? Is he at the clubhouse?”
The two men exchange a look.
“Uh, yeah,” Sleaze says. “We need you to come with us. Player said to grab what you need for a couple of days.”
Days? Something is off. I tilt my head. “Why didn’t Player come for me himself?”
Sleaze shifts on his boots. “He’s in a meeting with Prez. He ain’t got time, so he sent us. You gonna keep us waiting all day or what?”
I don’t like his tone. I suppose he thinks this task is a shit job. “I can take my car. You don’t have to wait.”
“Yeah, we do,” he snaps. “VP’s orders.”
“Let me call him,” I say, lifting my phone.
Sleaze grabs the phone from my hand, moving so fast, I jerk back. “I said he’s in a meeting. Now get your stuff and let’s go. The quicker you are, the quicker you’ll see him.”
Panic floods my body. I think about trying to back into the house and slam the door, but I know they’d be on me before I could get the lock thrown.
“It’s gonna be okay,” the other one says. “Player said to hurry up, is all.”
“What do they call you?” I ask.
“Billy Jack.” He gives me another killer smile. “Please Miss Tayor. We don’t want Player mad at us that we took too long.”
My eyes shift to Sleaze. He’s still got my phone, and it’s clear he has no intention of giving it back. “Fine. Wait here. I’ll just be a minute.”
“Make it quick,” Sleaze adds.
I close the door and throw the lock, then peer through the peephole. They’re still standing there. Sleaze folds his arms, revealing bulging tattooed muscles.
Billy Jack slaps the back of his hand against Sleaze’s arm. “You didn’t have to be such a dick. Didn’t your mama ever tell you that you catch more flies with honey?”
“Fuck that.” Sleaze swats at a mosquito. “You think I wanted this fucking job? Player said don’t take no for an answer, so one way or another she’s getting her ass on the back of that fucking bike.”
“Chill out, man.”
“Fuck you.”
“Bite me.”
I walk to my room, wishing I had my phone and cursing the fact that Mom doesn’t have a house phone anymore. Maybe while I’m throwing things in a bag, Sleaze and Billy Jack will slug it out on the front lawn.
I fling a small duffel on the bed and start gathering jeans and a few shirts. I pause at my underwear drawer and pick some of my cuter lacy bras and panties, thinking about seeing Player again. I can’t imagine why he’s having these two goons bring me, but I can’t wait to be in his arms again.
I hesitate, glancing toward my nightstand. Moving toward it, I carefully take out Player’s gun and put it back in my purse. If I’m lucky, maybe I can return it to his dresser without him ever knowing I took it.
After changing into some nice lingerie, a pair of jeans, and a cute shirt, I shove my makeup bag and pain pills in my purse, then head outside, locking the house.
I stand uncertainly, staring at the two men.
Sleaze flings a cigarette butt into the yard and reaches for my bag. He tosses it to Billy Jack. “Strap it on your bike. I’ve got her.”
“Why do you get her, and I get the bag?” Billy Jack grouses.
“Yeah, maybe I’d rather ride with Billy Jack,” I say, because the thought of clinging to Sleaze is not appealing.
“Player says you come with me, so that’s what’s fucking happening. Understand?” Sleaze snaps, grabbing my arm.
His big hand closes over the burn hidden under my sleeve, and I cry out.
He instantly releases me. “What the fuck now?”
My eyes flood with searing pain.
“You okay, Miss?” Billy Jack asks, stepping closer.
I nod, tears spilling down my cheek as I cradle my arm. “I hurt myself. It’s still tender.”
“Sorry,” Sleaze grumbles. “You okay to ride?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“You sure? Can you hold on?” he asks.
“Yes. Let’s just go.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Sleaze says. “We’ll take it real slow and easy on the ride.”
For the first time, I realize there may be some decency buried beneath his hard outer shell. That, or he’s just eager to please his VP and earn his patch, and hurting me won’t win him any points.
“Thanks,” I whisper and head toward the driveway.
Sleaze is gentle when he straps a helmet on my head, his eyes meeting mine briefly as he buckles it under my chin. “Sorry if we got off on a bad foot.”
I just nod, and we climb onto the bike.
He pulls out with Billy Jack right next to us, and good to his word, Sleaze takes it slow on the ride back.
When we pull up, I spot Cici’s car parked outside the clubhouse, but there’s only one other bike parked in the lot, and it's not Player’s.
Sleaze and Billy Jack pull next to Cici’s car and shut their bikes down.
I climb off and stare at Sleaze accusingly. “Where is everyone?”
He swings his leg over and takes his helmet off, then reaches for the strap under my chin, popping it free, taking the helmet. He hangs it off his handlebar.
“Don’t know. Maybe Prez sent ‘em somewhere. Come on.”
The third prospect opens the steel door for us, and we walk in.
It’s dark inside, and my eyes take a moment to adjust, but I don’t see Player. My shoulders droop. I suppose I expected him to come and greet me with a big hug and kiss. Maybe he’s in that meeting with Gage.
A glass bangs on the bar top, drawing my attention, and I see Cici climbing off a bar stool.
“Taylor.” She comes over and gives me a hug.
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t the club return? They said Player sent for me.”
Her eyes shift to the two men, and her head tilts. “You didn’t tell her?”
“Hey, I told her what I had to get her to come along with us. What Player tells her is his business,” Sleaze says, moving to the bar. He twists and points at the third prospect. “Booze, lock the fucking door.”
Booze moves to it and drops a heavy crossbar into place.
I pin Cici with a look. “What the hell is going on?”
She lifts a shoulder as if it's no big deal. “We’re on lockdown.”
“Lockdown? Why?”
“I don’t know. Daddy didn’t tell me. Just said to get my ass to the clubhouse and wait for him to get back. I guess they had a threat. Sometimes they overreact.”
“When are they going to arrive? Is it today?”
She laughs. “I don’t think so. They were just pulling out this morning.”
“So we could be here for days?” I practically shriek.
“Guess so.”
“I can’t be stuck here. I have a job helping my sister with The Rusty Pelican.”
Cici shrugs. “Guess she’ll have to manage without you. Lockdown means nobody gets in or out.”
“I know what lockdown means, Cici.”
She hooks an arm through mine. “Come on. It won’t be so bad. At least we have each other to keep company. I’ll teach you how to play 8-ball.”
She steers us to the pool table. “I’ll rack ‘em, and you can put some music on your phone.”
“My phone. The big goon still has it.”
She squats at the end of the pool table, putting the colorful balls up on the green felt. “What do you mean? What goon? Is that ex-boyfriend back?”
“No. That goon.” I point at Sleaze sitting at the bar.
Cici stands and lets out a sharp whistle. “Hey, Sleaze. Give her phone back.”
He turns his head and looks over his shoulder, his beer bottle halfway to his mouth. “Maybe if she comes over here and asks real nice.”
“Or maybe I just call my brother,” Cici snaps, folding her arms, throwing out her hip and quirking her brow.
Sleaze bangs the bottle on the bar top and climbs from his stool, heading this way.
He’s just a prospect, but I can’t help but take a step back when he stops in front of me and pulls my phone from his pocket. “Here you go, darlin’.” His eyes cut to Cici. “We good, princess?”
She grins big. “Yep. Was that so hard?”
He rolls his eyes and returns to the bar, muttering under his breath. “Women.”
“Ya big goon,” Cici whispers under her breath, sticking her tongue out at his retreating back.
I’m over it and just want to call Player. Unlocking my phone, I see a text from him.
PLAYER: By now Sleaze should have you safe at the clubhouse.
I need you to stay there until I get back.
I gave him instructions to put you and Cici on lockdown.
It’s for your own protection, babe. Please don’t give the boys any trouble.
I love you, and I’ll be home as fast as I can.
I’ll be on the road, so I won’t be able to talk, so don’t call unless it’s an emergency.
What the hell is going on? I can’t help wondering if this has something to do with what I overheard Molly talking about.
I wonder which of the prospects she was fucking that day. It wasn’t Billy Jack because he was on the sofa. Hell, maybe she’s been with all of them.
I think about warning Player, but he said to only contact him if it was an emergency. I guess what I overheard can wait until he returns.
By midday, Cici and I wander into the kitchen to see what there is to make. We stand in front of the big industrial fridge. A moment later, Pearl shuffles in from a side door. “What are you two ladies doing in my kitchen?”
“We’re on lockdown, didn’t they tell you, Mama Pearl?” Cici moves to give her a hug.
“Nobody tells me nothin’. Well, you’re hungry, I take it?”
“Yes, ma’am. Whatcha got?” Cici asks.
“I made a big pan of lasagna for the prospects. Let me heat it up.”
She takes a covered baking dish out of the refrigerator and plops it on the big stainless island.
“What can we do to help?” I ask.
“There’s a bag of lettuce in the fridge. You can throw together a salad while I get the garlic bread started.” She preheats the oven, and a ticking noise fills the room.
Cici and I busy ourselves making a big salad, and Pearl keeps us laughing with funny stories from the old days.
“My ol’ man used to always bring me stuff to fry up for dinner. Trout, pigeon, squirrel. All the boys knew I could make a good meal out of just about anything.”
“You are a good cook, but I don’t think I’d ever want to eat a squirrel,” Cici says, sticking her tongue out. “Yuck.”
Pearl shakes a wooden spoon toward Cici. “It’s all in the seasoning, honey-child.”
“You say so,” Cici mutters, and I giggle.
“I remember one time Cooter came in the house with a burlap bag all a twitching in his hands. I lifted a brow and asked him what the hell was in it. He told me, ‘Dinner.’ I said, ‘It’s still movin’. What is it?’ He said, ‘rattlesnake.’”
Cici and I stare at her.
“Tell me you didn’t eat a snake,” Cici says, gagging.
“Hell, no.”
“What did you do?” I ask.
“Chased him out of the house with my grandma’s iron skillet. He didn’t come home for two weeks. That was the last time that man ever brought a bag of anything home.”
About an hour later, we’re all sitting at the dining room table. I look around at the strange group, all sharing a meal. Three prospects, Cici, me, and Mama Pearl, who rules the roost at a seat at the head of the table.
After the meal, I’m amazed when those boys stand and not only carry their plates to the sink but clear the table of all the serving dishes.
Once they move out the swinging doors, Mama Pearl catches our stunned expressions and winks. “I got ‘em trained. Gotta catch ‘em when they’re prospects, ‘cause once they get that patch, they think they run the world. Not at my table, they don’t. Not if they want to eat.”
“God love you, Mama Pearl,” I say.
She cocks her head at me. “So, you and Player, huh? You back for good?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“I hope so, doll. I love that boy to death, and he’s been through the wringer. You, too, Cici. Y’all have. But that’s life. Sometimes we just have to steel our spine and go on livin’ no matter what.” She points a finger at each of us. “We’ve all got a purpose on this earth. All of you do.”
“Do you miss your man, Mama Pearl?” I ask.
“Someday I’ll see him again. When God calls me home, he’ll be waiting for me.” She stands. “But I ain’t dead yet. Come on, young’uns, there are dishes to wash.”