Knife & Flesh (The Night Horde SoCal Book 4) (16 page)

“You would have just made things worse. I have to figure out how to tell him about us, and not while Lucie is around.”

“Not while you’re alone with him, though. Promise me that.”

“I promise. I never want to be totally alone with him ever again in my life.”

Trick didn’t want that, either. He decided he’d ask Sherlock to do some poking around in Mark Stiles’ life. Maybe there was something he could do to put a leash around that bastard’s neck.

Juliana’s desk phone buzzed, and she picked it up, surprised to see the light for an outside line. The desk phone almost never buzzed an outside line these days. Everybody used cell phones or, if they didn’t have that number, got patched through from reception. “Emily Garcia’s office.”

“You sound so professional.” Lisa, her best friend, drawled in her ear.

Juliana tucked the phone between her ear and her shoulder and got back to typing. “Well, that’s because I’m at work, and you’re calling my work phone. Why?”

“Because you never answer your cell at work unless it’s about Lucie. I’d have to hack into her school line to get you to answer.”

“That’s because
I’m at work
. You could leave a message and I’d call you back at lunch. Like always.”

“Yes, but this is
about
lunch. Like us having it. Together. Today.”

“I can’t, Lisa. Payday is Friday. You know I’m on fumes the last few days before payday.” She hoped Lisa wouldn’t take that reminder as an excuse to lecture her about not taking Mark for more child support when he’d gotten his new, much better paying job the year before.

“No, you can, because it’s my treat. I won some dumb company contest and have a gift card to that new Frenchy wine bar downtown. La Belle Vie. Downtown…which means close to your office. You could walk, meet me there, we have a little glass or two of vino with our pretentious salad. That’ll improve your Monday, right?”

Lisa worked as a sales manager for an office electronics company and did much better financially than Juliana did. She was always trying to treat, but Juliana could rarely have afforded to reciprocate, and she didn’t want to be the charity friend, so she was always refusing to let Lisa treat. She wondered if this gift card story was true.

They’d been friends since middle school, had graduated high school together, and Lisa’s family had taken Juliana in after her parents were deported. They’d all been at her party and had witnessed the whole horror.

“I can’t come back to work drunk, Lisa.”

“Not drunk.
Relaxed
. Grendel’s mother is in court all day, right? Who’d know? Come on. You blew me off all weekend, and I want to know why. I was all ready to be supportive and get you drunk while Dick Assface had our girl. That go okay?”

“It went fine, and I didn’t blow you off.”

“You
did
. You didn’t answer your phone the whole weekend.”

“I did too.”

“One text the whole weekend.
I’m fine. Love you
. That does not count. How many calls and texts did I send?” Five calls, ten texts, was the answer. “You owe me lunch. Today.”

Juliana wanted to sit with her friend. Trick might not tell his best friend everything—or, apparently, anything important—but she did, and she was near to bursting with the need to share. “Okay, okay. I’ll see you there.”

“Damn right, you will. Noon.”

She had a mountain of research to summarize for Emily before she went anywhere. “Make it twelve-thirty. I have to get—”

Lisa cut her off with a loud huff. “Yeah, yeah. Fine. Twelve-thirty. But I get a full hour.”

~oOo~

Juliana ran late, and when she got to the table, Lisa had a nearly-empty wine glass on the table in front of her. Another full glass of red sat at the seat across from her. Lisa stood, and they hugged and did an air kiss, both cognizant of their hair and makeup.

“God, you look good,” Lisa sighed as she dropped back to her seat. “You always look like Oscar de la Renta just dropped you off in his limousine. I don’t know how you do it. I mean, I do. I’ve seen the magic happen. I’m just jealous.”

Juliana was wearing a black pencil skirt and an olive green silky blouse. Neither piece was anything special. The skirt was a remade Goodwill find, and the blouse she’d made in a weekend, just a simple menswear cut. What made her outfit today shine, she knew, was accessories. A multi-strand necklace of green glass and silvery beads, with matching earrings—discovered tangled in a cigar box at a yard sale. Her mother’s heavy, hammered-silver cuff bracelet—she wore it almost daily. A wide black patent belt and classic black patent peep-toe pumps—both from a vintage boutique in Madrone. Her Jackie O sunglasses had come off a rack at the drugstore. The whole ensemble had cost under a hundred bucks.

She slid into the chair facing Lisa. “You always look good, too.” Lisa liked clothes and fashion as much as Juliana did. But she had the money to shop off the rack. Today, she was wearing a wrap-around silk dress, ecru with a light pattern of brown butterflies, that did fantastical things for her gorgeous, curvy figure. The earth tones were perfect for the burnished honey that was her current hair color. She’d complemented it with amber and gold jewelry and a pair of brown, brushed leather hidden wedge shoes.

“I know, but
I
can’t take credit for my look. I stole it off the internet and just shoved my phone at the salesgirl so she could put the whole thing together for me. Which reminds me: I need my style guru. We’re so due for a trip to LA.”

Juliana had just been to LA.

What a weekend she’d just had. It hardly seemed real—in fact, waking up alone this morning, she’d had the stomach-sinking impression that she’d dreamt the whole thing. Until she’d realized that she was wearing Trick’s t-shirt.

Friday night had been a revelation of physical intimacy. Saturday had been a heart-wrenching panorama of emotional connection, from the fear and then joy of riding with him to the worry and horror and compassion of learning his story.

But Sunday was her favorite day. On Sunday, they’d stayed in. She’d made breakfast, he’d made lunch—among his many talents was cooking—and they’d spent the day quietly. He’d read, and she’d sewn. And then Lucie had come home, and they’d had pizza and heard all about her Disneyland adventure. It was the perfect kind of day.

And now she had a place to wear the pretty dress she’d started Friday on a desperate whim. Trick had asked her to go to his friend’s wedding with him. He’d wanted Lucie to go, too, but the wedding was in two weeks, and she’d be with her father that weekend.

Thinking of her wonderful weekend, Juliana smiled and took a sip of the wine Lisa had ordered for her.

“Okay. What is with the grin? What did you do this weekend? Did you get laid? Oh, MY GOD. You got laid! Wait—how? Is there a guy? Since when is there a guy? I just saw you the night before you moved!” Lisa knew she didn’t get physical quickly, and Juliana could see her struggling to put together all these random—and accurate; Lisa knew her well—conjectures.

She took another sip of her wine—a longer one, this time. “Okay, yes. I have news.” Juliana’s grin got goofier. She couldn’t help it. She was happy—still scared, but the happy was drowning out the worry. She was falling in love.

Lisa leaned in and squinted at her like she was the fine print on an eye chart. “Well, hell. We’re gonna need a whole bottle of this shiraz. My little
Juli
has been up to some shenanigans.”

~oOo~

Lisa had had most of that bottle of wine, so when Juliana got back to the office, she was steady. She felt good and happy, and as she walked down the sidewalk and into the building on this early August day, then through the atrium lobby toward the elevators, she didn’t mind that she was catching notice.

Usually she felt self-conscious when she realized that people were watching her—a combination of wary discomfort and surprised pleasure that felt like the opposite of confidence. She knew she was attractive, and she was proud at her skill at putting together an outfit, but that didn’t mean she was comfortable in the light of other people’s regard. She dressed for herself.

Today, though, buzzing with wine and delight, she walked like she was on a runway at Fashion Week.

She hadn’t told Lisa exactly everything. Mainly, she’d skipped the PTSD or anything about Trick’s military service. She wasn’t sure she understood all of her feelings about that herself, and anyway, it seemed like a breach of trust to share something so painful and personal with someone who was a stranger to him. If he couldn’t even tell his own best friend, she didn’t think it was right to tell hers.

She’d also faltered about telling Lisa he was Horde, but her friend was savvy and nosy, and as soon as Juliana had said he designed motorcycles, Lisa had the rest of the truth in about three questions.

Juliana had been worried that Lisa would be judgmental. Instead, though, she’d thought it seriously hot.

Which it was—all the parts Juliana knew about it, anyway. He looked unbelievably good in his black kutte and sunglasses, his ink and metal, his dark jeans and heavy boots, sitting astride that big black and chrome monster of a bike. And oh God, riding with him. She’d feared for her life at first, but then it had become exhilarating. Like Titanic-King-of-the-World exhilarating.

Possibly not the best simile, considering how that movie ended.

Yes, she was aware of the Horde’s reputation as criminals. But as her understanding of Trick Stavros, the man, became clearer, her concern about his ‘club’ and its alleged activities faded. That man was not a criminal. He was a good people.

Lisa’s enthusiasm for her news had stoked her happiness and cooled her fears even more, so when she pressed the call button on the elevator, she was grinning stupidly to herself, looking forward to seeing Trick again that evening. She decided that once she got to her desk, she’d call him, just to say hi.

In the high sheen of the brass elevator doors, she saw Mark walk up and stand behind her.

When he saw her see him, he smiled. “Don’t you look happy, Julie. You look like a woman who is well and truly fucked.”

She swallowed and forced herself to stay calm. No fear. Not of him. Without turning around, she said to his brass reflection, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m working. Don’t get your thong in a twist.” The elevator dinged and opened. It was past the lunch rush, and they were the only two people waiting for the elevator. Still, Juliana made to turn away, to wait for the next one. She did not want to be trapped alone in a box with her abusive ex. But he grabbed her arm and nearly dragged her in with him.

He pushed the button for her floor—23—and no other button. Fuck. Striving for calm even now, she said, “I thought you were here for work.”

“I am. But as long as I’ve got your attention, who is this Trick asshole?”

She was not going to tell him the truth, not like this, trapped and alone. “He told you. A neighbor.”

Mark pushed her into a rear corner and leaned in, blocking her escape with his arms. “That’s a load of steaming horseshit. Lucie wouldn’t fucking shut up about him the whole weekend. Every fucking thing we did, she wanted to show Trick, tell Trick, bring Trick. Who the fuck is this guy?”

His face had clenched and reddened as he’d spoken, and now fear had Juliana in its teeth. She couldn’t answer. Her eyes went to the doors, over his shoulder, as she willed the elevator to stop and open, bring in new passengers. Witnesses.

But no luck. It was the two-o’clock lull.

“No? Nothing?” he sneered when she could only stare silently. “Well, I know some things. Patrick Robert Stavros. Thirty-four years old. Born in Torrance, graduated from Torrance High School. Ex-Army: Sergeant, enlisted almost five years, three tours in Afghanistan. Sniper. General discharge.” He lifted his eyebrow in a theatrical display of being scandalized by that. “Art history degree from UCLA. Member in good standing of the Night Horde Southern California since the charter was certified. Employed at Virtuoso Cycles on Mariposa Avenue in Madrone—owned by the Night Horde. Which is where he is right now.”

They arrived at her floor, and the elevator finally opened. Mark smiled and stepped back, the hostility erased from his face. “I don’t want your
neighbor
around my kid, Julie. Whore yourself out to whatever scum fits up your cooze, see if I care. But not around my kid.”

She escaped from the elevator, her pulse slamming against the backs of her eyes and drumming in her ears. He smiled cordially and pressed a button. “Have a nice afternoon. I’ll talk to you Wednesday.” He called Lucie every Wednesday.

Juliana stood where she was until the elevator doors closed and she could hear the mechanism move the car away from her floor.

She understood exactly everything that Mark had just done. He had threatened her and Trick both. His club, too. That fading understanding of the Night Horde’s alleged activities came back into stark relief. Trick had secrets, secrets so potent that he couldn’t get the help he needed for his anguished head. Mark could do him real harm.

The confident, happy strut she’d entered the building with gone, Juliana slunk back to her office.

~oOo~

By the time she picked Lucie up at her preschool/daycare center, Juliana had made some decisions and had her rioting fears and feelings more or less in hand. Being a mother had helped her learn to control her emotions in ways she’d have said, in her pre-Lucie life, were impossible for her. Once she’d understood how profoundly she influenced her daughter’s comprehension of the world, she’d learned to calibrate what she showed of her emotional state.