Blood & Rust (Lock & Key #4) (54 page)

“Yes, he should’ve. I just found this on his bike in his saddlebag.” She handed me the plastic supermarket bag.

I opened it. Old glass soda bottles, cut up oily rags that stank of motor oil and kerosene, baking soda, petroleum jelly, rubber cement, strips of tire tubing. Fuck me, the kid’s been making Molotov cocktails instead of beer bongs.

My eyes shot back to Alicia, her face tight. She knew, and she was worried.

“Please find him. Please,” she whispered, stepping toward me. “I don’t know what else to say or think at this point. He’s been using Jump’s bike, and he’s out somewhere, doing God knows what. He’s angry and confused. Please, you and the men need to find him.”

“I’ll find him, Alicia. I promise.”

She pressed her lips together, nodding stiffly. “Thank you. Let me know.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

She picked up the drinks tray and headed toward the kitchen.

“Butler, let’s go!” shouted Dready from the doorway with Dawes and Clip.

“Hey, Dawes!”

Dawes turned around. He shook his blond curls from his eyes, his shoulders standing at attention. “What’s up?”

“You still keep that tracking device on Jump’s hog?” I asked him.

The Jacks kept devices on all their bikes just in case they got stolen by rival clubs or anyone else. Your bike was your identity, your partner, your soul. You couldn’t let anyone fuck with that.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Wes is missing, and he’s out on his dad’s bike. Find it.”

Dawes gestured toward the president’s office, and I followed him inside. He threw himself down in Jump’s old swivel chair and turned on the computer. The room still reeked of Jump. Stale cigarettes, old vinyl, boot polish. Just the creaking of that goddamn chair still sent prickles up my spine, reminding me of all the times I’d been in here in the past—being reprimanded, cursed at, or my hand being shaken, my back slapped. Grins and scowls, disappointment and approval had all been aimed my way within these walls over the years.

A photo of Dig stared at me from the wall dotted with pics of former officers. His ringed hand, cut and bloodied, was balled into a fist, which filled the frame, his face with lips snarled blurred in the background. Determined, stubborn. A Jack.

“Prospect, welcome to the brotherhood. Welcome to the One-Eyed Jacks.”

Dig’s rich voice came back to me from one of the most spectacular nights of my life, the night I’d patched in and become a One-Eyed Jack.

“There’s hope for you yet, bro.”

That hearty laugh of his roared in my ears. The slap of his palm against my face, his hand smoothing down the stiff leather of the brand-new vest he’d settled over my shoulders.

“You ready to take it on?”

“Butler?”

I tore my eyes away from Dig’s photo and focused on Dawes at the computer once again. I cleared my throat. “What did you find, man?”

“I didn’t find shit. I got nothing.”

My spine grew rigid. “Why the fuck not?”

“Because the device has been disarmed since last night.”

THE BELL RANG
over the front door of the gallery. Lenore strode through, wearing a long black tank that showed off the beautiful tattoos swirling over her chest and down her toned arms along with black skinny jeans, topped off with black leather stiletto booties. She sported a number of earrings, and a gorgeous labradorite pendant around her neck. She was an unlikely vision in our small town laden with dusty pastels and cozy prints. Lenore placed a large Meager Grand Cafe iced coffee with a dollop of whipped cream before me on my front desk.
A tasty peace offering?

I removed my reading glasses. Inputting inventory data nonstop on my computer had screwed with my eyes. “That looks insanely yummy.”

“That’s cold-brewed.”

“Bless you, my child.” I grabbed the coffee and took a sip of the richly flavored drink, groaning. I gestured to the rattan armchair next to me. “Sit.”

Lenore sat down. “I’m so sorry about the other night at my house.”

Finger had come looking for me at Dead Ringer’s to help him get through to Lenore. She’d only thrown us both out.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Better. I’m sorry I lost it. You came over because you care, because you were concerned. And I was…a mess. I’ve been a burden to you. For years now.”

“No, you haven’t, Lenore. Things are complicated. I get that. But maybe you could give an inch.”

“Finger was really angry.”

“Being upset was at the heart of his anger. He’s trying, Lenore. He’s reaching out.”

“He hates me.”

“No, he doesn’t. He can’t. I hate all these bad feelings flying between all of us.”

“That’s my fault.”

“I’m not trying to lay blame here.” I put my coffee down and took in a breath. “I’m tired. I was up late last night with my mother.”

“Is she okay?”

“It comes and goes with the MS. The past few days, she’s had a new set of muscle spasms, and we might have to try new medication. She’s been depressed lately. She can’t knit anymore; her fingers won’t cooperate. She loves knitting. It’s more than a hobby to her, just like cooking was. How much more is my mother going to have to give up?” I grabbed the coffee and took a hard, long sip from the straw. “She was trying to knit a poncho for Becca yesterday, and she had to give up. She was crying, yelling at herself about everything. I gave the poncho to her friend, Nancy next door to finish. Every time I think we’ve got this under control, that we’re handling it, something new always comes along and blows that illusion out of the water, and we’re being dragged back into Shitville.”

“I’m so sorry your family’s going through this. I have something that can cheer you up.”

“Vanilla vodka over ice?” I shook the almost empty coffee cup, the ice rattling within.

“No, no.” She let out a laugh. “Too early for that. This is way better. I’ll be right back.”

Lenore headed out the door into the golden shower of the midday sun. I went back to my inventory program on my laptop, went back to ignoring the heaviness in my heart and the gnawing in the pit of my stomach.

Within five minutes, the bell jangled, and the door cranked open once more. Lenore held up one of her own store’s shopping bags, a grin on her face. She was pleased with herself. From the purple Lenore’s Lace bag, she drew out a breathtaking orchestration of silk and sci-fi fabric.

“Holy—”

“I know.”

From her hands hung an elegant corset of the deepest, richest tone of blood red I had ever seen. I was mesmerized by it, magnetized toward it.

My fingers outstretched and slid over the textures. “It’s gorgeous. It’s—”

“I made it for you. I’m almost finished with it. One piece. One size. Yours. Try it on.”

I pursed my lips, my eyes darting to hers. “Lenore—”

“Ah, Tania, trust me. I know these things. With your skin and hair…”

I took in a deep breath.

She raised a sharply defined eyebrow, her blue-green eyes gleaming at me. “You can’t take your eyes off it, can you?”

“Give it here.”

She laid it in my arms, as if she were handing over a precious, very delicate antique haute couture museum piece. The fabric deliciously glided against my skin, and I bit my lip as my fingers slid over the webbing of silken material.

“Go,” she ordered.

I went in the back storage room and kicked off my shoes and stripped off my clothes. I almost didn’t know where to begin.

“Be brave, Reigert. Be brave!” I said to myself.

I carefully stepped into the corset and sucked in a breath, smoothing down the gorgeousness of Lenore’s craftsmanship over my body.

“Honey, you need help?” Lenore stepped into the room. “Oh God, Tania. It’s perfect.”

I stared at myself in the antique full length cheval stand mirror that I had in a corner and swallowed hard. The silk and Lycra-like bands stretched across my flesh, a complexity of glossy texture, seamless workmanship. The corset covered just enough without being crude yet tantalized as it bound my body, revealing all the right curves. Elegant minimalist perfection.

“This color on you—it’s even better than I hoped.” Lenore smoothed her hands down my back and across my waist. “Fantastic,” she murmured to herself.

My hand passed over my hip, and something inside me trembled.

Her eyes met mine in the mirror. “Hon, you okay?” She stood up straight and put her arms around me, her chin on my shoulder. “Tania, what’s wrong?”

“You’re amazing,” I murmured. This is a beautiful work of art. I feel beautiful.”

“Babe, you are beautiful. Only you could carry this one off. The color on you is—”

“Stunning. Somewhere between blood and wine.”

“Exactly. Your eyes really pop, and your skin is glowing, that dark shiny hair…”

I pressed a hand against my middle. “I don’t even mind my tummy.”

“Stop. Your body looks great. I think you’ve lost a few pounds lately. Stressed out much?”

“Just a tiny little bit.”

“And don’t say a word about that ass. It’s glorious,” she continued, her hand sliding down the curve of my hip.

I let out a breath and averted my gaze.

“What is it, Tania? What’s wrong?”

“I haven’t felt this way in a long, long time.”

“What way is that?”

“You know what I mean.”

She squeezed my hip, and I found her gaze in the mirror once more. “Say it out loud right now while you’re feeling that shit.”

“I feel like the me I want to be. The me I have always wanted to be but was never usually on the outside—sexy, in charge of myself. Powerful. Bold.”

The mirror revealed this different me. Brash, saucy, out there. Here-I-am, take-it-or-leave-me-the-hell-alone Tania. Or the I-don’t-really-give-a-damn-because-I’ve-got-it-going-on Tania.

She gripped my arms. “That’s the Tania I know. This one right here. Very powerful. Very bold.”

“That’s the act I put on for everyone. Or when my back is up against the wall.”

“No.”

“Yes. There’s a part of me that’s still a scared little girl. Scared of the dark, scared of twisty roller coasters, scared without her daddy, scared of bikers wielding knives.”

Her chin lifted. “That’s not the Tania I know. No. This Tania is only scared of being alone, of not being enough.”

I bit down on my wobbly lower lip as a tear slipped down my cheek.

She pressed into me. “I know. Don’t I know?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

“You know.”

She wiped the tear from my face. “Hadn’t we said no more tears?”

“Tell me you’ve kept to that deal all these years.”

She screwed up her face. “Nope.”

“Didn’t think so. Me neither.”

She took in a quick breath. “It’s all right. We’re tough, you and me.”

I covered her hand with mine. “I’m glad you’re in my life again, whatever your name is.” I pressed the side of my face against hers in a sudden rush of emotions. “I really, really am.”

“Me, too.” She pulled back, and a small smile tugged on the edge of her lips. “So, tell me, are you falling for Butler?”

“Yes,” I breathed.

Her head tilted. “You’re questioning it. Maybe it’s too soon after your husband and you need to be on your own for a while?”

“I’ve been on my own for years and years. That’s not what I want.”

“Then, what is it?”

“I’m questioning myself. Maybe I don’t have what it takes to go the distance.”

“That’s the fear talking.”

“Says the expert.”

“We’re talking about you now.”

“I don’t want to screw this up. He and I are both screwed up enough as it is. How many second chances do you get in life anyhow?”

Her eyes flared.

Shit.

I’d always wanted her to stand up and take her second chance, and she’d refused. Refused.

“I’ve had my fill of second chances. Girls like me have a limited number. You wouldn’t understand. Thank your god that you never will.”

Those words of hers had haunted me for years after they’d fallen from her lips, her tear-stained face pallid in the headlights of the trucks thundering by us on the side of the road.

I smoothed a hand over the corset. “I want to be with Butler like I’ve never been with anyone before, ever. But now he knows that I’m keeping a secret from him. A secret involving Finger. I haven’t told him all of it. Nothing about you.”