Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
RACHEL
The more they explained, the more I understood better why Wyatt had called me to inform me about what was happening.
While Mojave didn’t seem like an untrustworthy adult for Frankie, he seemed to not understand what was wrong with what Frankie was saying.
No kid should be left alone for most of the day.
Who was making sure she did her homework or that she got a proper meal?
No one was even home to make sure she got back safely, which would make the bullying issue a lot more dangerous if Frankie was alone more often than not.
Bullies waited for openings when their victims were alone and Frankie didn’t seem to have anyone watching out for her.
Turning on his heel, Mojave marched off, Frankie following behind him with her hands stuffed into the scruffy cargo pants she was wearing.
They were high waters on her and dirt stained, while her shirt was several sizes too large and tied up on the side, like it belonged to her parent and she tied it to make it fit better.
Pulling out my phone, I began jotting down notes, concern growing when Mojave returned to the school and his motorcycle, and Frankie skipped up beside him to look at it.
“You’re not going to take her on that, are you?” I asked worriedly.
Both Mojave and Frankie looked over at me with frowns on their faces.
“No,” Mojave answered. “I don’t got gear for her to ride. But I’m not leaving it here. I’m gonna bring it to the clubhouse. It’s only five minutes. I’ll be right back.”
Frankie’s expression clouded, but she didn’t say anything, already headed in another direction. I followed her, not wanting her wandering alone, and shot a confused look over my shoulder at Mojave, but he didn’t seem to notice. He slid his helmet on and drove off without a backward glance.
“Frankie?” I asked when she ducked down a nearby alley. “Where are you going?”
Turning to walk backwards, she studied me with a frown. “The motorcycle club is that way.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder.
My mouth fell open. “You meet him at the clubhouse?”
She shrugged, spinning on her heel to continue her trek.
This whole situation was odd and I had the strongest urge to demand Frankie go back home where she was safe.
I didn’t, since doing so would only make things more difficult, and technically, it wasn’t something I could enforce.
There was no age limit for kids being home alone in our state.
If her parents didn’t care about her wandering around town, there was very little I could do about it without speaking to a judge first. And I needed more information before the judge would give me the time of day.
Since I needed more information anyway, I decided it was better to follow Frankie and see what she got up to during the afternoons.
As long as she was okay with me tagging along, she wasn’t by herself and I got a better picture of her day for the report.
I didn’t have anything else on my docket for today anyway.
Mojave appeared after about ten minutes of us walking down alleys and side roads, his hands still shoved into his pockets and his head down.
He wasn’t at all what I was expecting when Prez called to let me know about what was going on.
I’d met a few of their crew and they were all a little intimidating at first glance.
First impressions could be deceiving, especially with this crew who I knew was kinder than they looked, but Mojave didn’t look like a biker so much as a homeless person in a leather vest. His beard was scruffy and his hair was tied back into a messy bun at the back of his head.
He looked chronically tired, with bags under his eyes, and a frown almost constantly pulling at his lips.
When I’d first encountered him, I thought it was some kind of prank.
Why else would someone who looked like a vagabond show up at the nice three bedroom home I owned with my husband saying my spouse was being unfaithful and criminal in his downtime?
It was his eyes that made me believe him.
Despite the way he looked, Mojave’s gaze was steady when he spoke to me.
Like he wanted to make sure I was listening.
And not only had he been right, everything he’d given me had been what I needed to be granted a divorce, despite Scott contesting it.
He tried to jerk me around for a while, demanding couples counseling and reconciliation, but with all the proof I had, the judge saw my side of it and denied him.
The biker had saved me from a long drawn out divorce and I wasn’t even sure he was aware of it.
Frankie rushed to meet Mojave, and I missed what she asked him, catching up just in time for him to shrug and say, “Sure.”
I shot him a questioning look. “Sure what?”
Forest green eyes lifted to look at me and he shrugged again. Seriously, those two had to be related. There was no other reason they acted so similarly. “She asked to see the clubhouse. There aren’t a ton of guys there right now, but I think I saw Killian there.”
I didn't know who that was. I wasn’t familiar with all the club members by name just yet.
I was getting to know them, putting in an effort to be more open minded about their crew as more kids came under their care, but aside from stopping in to speak to Zero a few weeks prior, I hadn’t spent any time at the clubhouse proper and not all of the members were there at any given time.
When I didn’t protest the plan, he turned and headed back the way he came. Frankie followed after him, leaving me to take up the rear, still taken aback by how much my plan for the afternoon had changed so quickly.
The clubhouse was at the end of a long road in the industrial area of town, far enough away from the general public that they likely didn’t get much in the way of noise complaints.
There was a fence blocking off the front of it with a club member on the other side, watching the road.
The security surprised me the first time I came here, I hadn’t thought they’d be so guarded, but then again, maybe it shouldn’t have been that surprising.
The babyproofing they did inside the clubhouse showed how serious those guys were about protecting the kids in their lives.
I wouldn’t have been surprised if the fence was put up at the same time they started baby proofing as an extra form of kid protection.
The biker guarding the gate looked confused by our arrival, but didn’t say anything to Mojave, pulling the gate open and looking us over with a frown as we walked in.
I saw Mojave’s shoulders tense when the fence closed behind us, but he didn’t say a word, continuing toward the front door that was wide open, the sound of music pumping from inside the clubhouse.
It took a second for my vision to adapt to the darker interior after we stepped inside, long enough that Mojave had wandered off before I could get my bearings. I just barely saw Frankie disappear to the left and when I followed them, Mojave was nowhere to be found.
“You’re the social worker,” someone said, drawing my attention to the couches surrounding a massive tv.
One of the bikers sat on the couch, one foot propped on the coffee table and a baby tucked against his chest. He looked suspicious, but I didn't take it personally. After everything that’d happened between them and the local police department, I wasn’t surprised they were suspicious of anyone working for the government.
“Yep, that’s me. Did you see a little girl run through here? She’s about seven.”
He lifted his chin to the doorway behind me. “She followed Mojave to the kitchen. Does she belong to someone here? Because at this point, I wouldn’t even be surprised to find out another brother had a secret kid or something.”
Huffing a small laugh, I shook my head. “No, she’s just… visiting.”
I wasn’t sure how else to describe it. She wasn’t related to Mojave, at least according to him, or anyone in the crew as far as her school file had said.
She latched onto a biker for who knows what reason and decided to become his new shadow.
I still hadn’t figured out what to do about the situation.
Technically, she wasn’t doing anything wrong. It was just odd.
“Just visiting, huh? That’s a new one,” the biker commented lightly. “This place is becoming more daycare than biker club by the day.”
He didn’t sound bothered by it. If the grin on his face was anything to go by, he thought it was funny. And since he was being open with me, I gestured to the little one on his chest. “Was that one a surprise too?”
He snorted. “Like you wouldn’t believe. Her mama showed up seven months pregnant telling me she was mine.
You think it’d teach me to avoid drunken hookups, but I got an old lady and this little girl out of it, so things turned out for the best, if you ask me.
” He set down the empty bottle he’d been holding in his other hand, offering me his free hand to shake. “I’m Vegas by the way. Club treasurer.”
“Rachel Clark.”
He pursed his lips, studying me as I stepped back again. “Tell me something, Ms. Clark. Are girl babies really harder to manage? Because I feel like my brothers are just trying to get in my head because she’s been easy so far.”
Of all the questions I thought a biker would ask me, it wasn’t that one. I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s a myth. It’s all baby specific. I do know girl babies are easier to potty train though. At least, that’s what I’ve heard from foster parents I work with.”
He grinned, looking proud of that fact. “I’ll take it. We’re not anywhere near that, though.” He paused, frowning. “Right?”
Snickering, I shook my head. “She looks a little young for that. Most baby girls start potty training at eighteen months. You’ve got time.”
He sighed with relief, slumping a little, and when the baby shifted against him, he automatically moved to make sure she was comfortable. The more I got to know this crew, the less I felt I needed to worry about them. They were all big softies.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mojave leave the kitchen with Frankie following behind him like a little duckling.
He headed past the front door and into another room without saying a word, and I felt a frown tug at my lips watching them.
Her behavior was more concerning than his was.
What was happening in her life that she felt safest following around a strange biker instead of being at home?