Knife & Flesh (The Night Horde SoCal Book 4) (8 page)

BOOK: Knife & Flesh (The Night Horde SoCal Book 4)
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“Not that I know about this stuff, but isn’t it late to be talking about who to invite?”

 

“My point exactly. You want something to drink? Jack or beer? There’s Jameson, too.”

 

“I’m good, thanks. Where is he?”

 

“On the phone—”

 

Connor’s husky voice cut her off. “Nope, I’m here. Hey, brother. Sorry about that. What you need? Want a drink?”

 

“Nah, I’m good,” he repeated. “Thanks.”

 

“Okay. Have a seat.”

 

Trick didn’t move. Feeling hemmed in by the walls of his apartment, and itchy with tension and frustration after that little scene at the pool, Trick had made a decision and called his friend to ask if he could come over. Connor had, of course, said yes.

 

But now that he was here, Trick didn’t know if he could go through with it. Connor and Cordero stood there, watching him expectantly.

 

He knew for sure he didn’t want Cordero to hear what he needed to talk about. “Um…can we talk privately? Or let’s take a ride.”

 

Cordero reached out and squeezed his arm, her forehead lightly creased. “Tell you what. I’m going to ride over to Nana’s and talk to her. Apparently, we have to make room for like ten more people. And you guys can have your privacy.”

 

“No, I don’t want to kick you out of your own house.”

 

“It’s cool. I need to bitch about your buddy tonight, anyway.” She picked her keys up out of a bowl near the door and then went back to Connor.

 

They kissed, and he said, “Nana loves me. She’s gonna take my side.”

 

“She always takes both our sides. She’s a tiny Chicana Switzerland. But she’ll still let me bitch. I’ll be back later.” On her way to the door, she gave Trick another squeeze. “See ya, T.”

 

“See ya, Cordero.”

 

When she was gone, Trick turned back to see Connor grinning at the closed door. “You are stupid in love, huh?”

 

Connor focused on him. “Yeah. I even like to fight with her. I
really
like to make up with her.” He lost the grin. “You and I need to talk about this fight, though.”

 

“I want no part of your wedding plans, Con. I’m wearing a suit and making a toast. That is the end of this weirdness for me.”

 

“Not quite, I’m sorry to say. You sure you don’t want a drink?”

 

He needed one. “Sure. Just a beer, though.”

 

Connor nodded and gestured toward the kitchen doorway. “You start first. What’s on your mind, T.?”

 

He sat down at their kitchen table. “No—I want to know about this guest list fight. Why do I need in on it?”

 

Connor didn’t answer until he’d handed Trick his beer and sat down with one of his own. “Dora changed her mind. She’s coming to the wedding, and she’s bringing her court with her. Cordero’s having a heart attack because the caterer’s already been paid, I guess. Something like that. That is deeper into wedding business than I want to be.”

 

Connor and Cordero’s wedding was part business event, too. He was an officer, and they were having a full wedding—a ceremony in a Catholic church and a reception after in the Madrone City Park. It would have been an insult not to invite the club’s associates. Dora had sent her regrets. Though she moved back and forth across the border at will, she didn’t like to come so far into the country if she could help it. They usually met in the San Diego area.

 

Trick’s interest in La Zorra’s attendance had heretofore been minimal and wholly focused on the impact on the club. They had no plans to do business at the wedding; it would be the social event it was meant to be. So he hadn’t cared one way or the other. But now he knew she wanted something from him, and he felt paranoid. Paranoia had a hair trigger for him lately.

 

He put the bottle to his lips and swallowed down half the beer. “Is that about me?”

 

Connor shrugged. “I don’t know, bro. Maybe. She’s not bringing business with her. She says she’s just coming to wish us well.”

 

“You believe that?”

 

“Sure. We’re not doing business at my fucking wedding, whatever she wants. If you’re still asking if I think she’s trying to get close to you, I still don’t know. Best guess is maybe. I guess if she does want something, she might make a move there.”

 

“Fuck!” Trick slammed the bottle down hard enough to gouge the table. Then he raked his hands through his hair until his ringed fingers were tangled at the top of his head.

 

“Trick, man, chill. Just bring a date. Grab Maria or somebody and call her your date. She’s never said outright that she wants a ride. If you’re with somebody, then she’s too polite to get in the middle of that. You won’t reject her, she saves face, it’s all good. If that’s even what she’s about.”

 

It was too late for Trick to chill. He felt sick and itchy, and he kept his hands up, shielding his face. He could sense Connor lean toward him.

 

“What is up, brother? This is not like you.”

 

Trick laughed. It was very much like him, except the part where he let anybody see it was going on. He was a pro at keeping up a good front. Among the many harsh lessons the Army had taught him was how to be stoic, no matter what kind of pain and turmoil, physical or mental, was going on under the still surface.

 

Connor tried again. “Trick, talk to me. I don’t understand why this has you so tuned up.”

 

He’d come here because he’d decided that the only way he was going to reclaim his mind and keep it was if he told somebody what was happening. He couldn’t go to the VA this time, and he wasn’t particularly close to either of his veteran brothers. Ronin never talked to anyone about anything unless he absolutely had to, and J.R., hotheaded and loudmouthed, was Trick’s least favorite brother. Connor was his only option.

 

He doubted whether Connor would be able to empathize, but he was his best friend, and he trusted him to sympathize. He had to trust somebody.

 

Connor was the only one who knew any detail at all about his history. But he didn’t know much. Trick liked to talk about big things—politics and news, culture and books, people and places—but he didn’t like to talk about himself. Not even to his best friend.

 

And he couldn’t do it now. Confronted with this whole Dora Vega thing again, he could feel the ground shifting under his feet. It was so stupid. Of all the triggers in the world, a woman he didn’t even like was turning him inside out. He hadn’t unpacked for himself yet why this was so upsetting. There was no way to explain it to somebody else.

 

With a deep, slow breath, he dropped his hands and picked up his beer. While he swallowed down the rest of it, he used that time to smooth his surface. He set the empty bottle on the table and looked steadily at his friend. “Just not down with being La Zorra’s crush. I don’t want to cause problems for the club, and it looks like a loss any which way. But you’re right. I’ll ask one of the girls to play like she’s my date. That’s a good plan.”

 

Connor squinted at him. “You sure that’s it?”

 

“What else would it be?” He lifted his empty. “Mind if I get another?”

CHAPTER SIX

 

 

Juliana unlocked the door and stepped aside so Lucie could enter the apartment ahead of her. “Okay, we have to go to Papi in one hour. What do we have to do before that?”

 

Lucie set her backpack on the end of one of the mid-century sofas that were among Juliana’s most treasured thrift finds. She turned around and stood straight, as if she were about to give a recitation. “Have a snack, take a bath, brush my teeth, get dressed, do my hair, pick out my clothes and books, and pack my bag.”

 

“That’s right. You think we can do it all?” Juliana set her bag on the floor in the corner of the living room.

 

“I think so. Just a little snack, though.”

 

“How about peanut butter and rice cake?”

 

“Okay. With milk, please.”

 

“You unpack your backpack and put your school papers away, and I’ll make your snack.”

 

Lucie went to do just that, and Juliana kicked off her sandals and went into the kitchen. Her heart was pounding, and her hands wanted to shake, but she thought she’d been doing a decent job keeping Lucie from feeling her stress.

 

Lucie hadn’t seen her father in more than two months—because Juliana had gotten a restraining order against him and a stay of his visitation rights.

 

But he’d fought both, and he’d won. He’d gone to some anger management class, and he’d made nice with the court-appointed family counselor, and they’d all been persuaded that what he’d done to her had been an isolated incident. He was slick, handsome and good with people, and, as an investigator for another law firm, he had important contacts—more important than Juliana’s.

 

Moreover, Juliana had only her word to assert that it hadn’t been an isolated event, because she’d been stupid, sure she could handle it, believing for a long time that he truly loved her, and she could do something different that would make him stop.

 

The incident had been isolated because it was the only time she’d reported it.

 

The one worthwhile concession the court had made to her was that Mark was to stay away from her home. They were meeting in the parking lot of the Sizzler on Waterman Avenue, and she was supposed to hand Lucie off to her father for the weekend, meeting them at the same spot Sunday evening to collect her again.

 

Mark had never hurt Lucie. He doted on her, and she loved her papi. But he was an abusive asshole to Juliana, and he had always been. They’d never married, and they hadn’t been together since Lucie was a year old, when it finally dawned on Juliana that if she didn’t get out, then Lucie was going to grow up with a bully for a father and a victim for a mother.

 

For a while after she took Lucie and left him, Mark had been even worse, though he hadn’t touched her. Instead, he’d stalked her relentlessly; she’d frequently found him in places he had no business being, simply staring at her. Some days, she’d seen him repeatedly, each time a little closer, like a horror-movie villain. His job gave him all sorts of tools and access to make tormenting her easy.

 

And then, for a couple of years, things were okay. He got involved with another woman, got married, bought a house, seemed to settled down. Juliana had relaxed. She’d started thinking of her weekends without Lucie as little vacations. She’d started going out with friends, for dinner or karaoke. There’d even been talk of a book club, but that never got started.

 

She’d finally begun to date. She’d met a firefighter around the same time she met Trick, and they’d gone out several times. It was while she was seeing Kyle, who had a dangerous job and an unpredictable schedule, that she understood what she needed for Lucie and her. So she’d broken it off. After that, she’d gone out a few more times, but not with anyone she’d really clicked with. Her friends had been in a frenzy, trying to fix her up.

 

Two months ago, she’d come home from a date and found Mark sitting in her dark living room. It was his weekend with Lucie, but he’d left her sleeping at his house, with his wife, Nikki. And had broken into her house.

 

Juliana didn’t clearly remember what came next. It was all random snatches of images. They’d fought. He’d been jealous—which, seeing as he was now married, was absurd—and he’d called her a whore. He’d threatened to take Lucie away. Then he’d beaten the shit out of her.

 

After he’d gone, she’d called her friend Lisa, who’d insisted that she go to the ER. She’d filed a complaint, Mark had been arrested, Lucie had come home early, and on the following Monday, Juliana had filed the papers for a restraining order and to revoke visitation.

 

When the DA had declined to press charges, Juliana had gotten her first clue that things wouldn’t go her way. And they hadn’t.

 

Today, they would see each other outside of a courtroom for the first time since that night. She was terrified. But now she lived behind a tall fence and a locked gate, and she didn’t have to let him into her house when he came for Lucie. That, at least, was something. So she tried not to be afraid. Being afraid gave your power away, and she did not want to give her power to Mark Stiles. Not anymore.

 

 

~oOo~

 

 

“This one, Mami.” From a drawer under the bathroom counter, Lucie picked out a purple headband with a big pansy fascinator.

 

“Are you sure? That’s awfully fancy.”

 

“It’s pretty and matches my top.” Her little fashionista was wearing a white gypsy skirt and a lavender peasant blouse.

 

“Yes, it does. Okay.” Juliana set the brush down and helped Lucie put the headband on, setting the fascinator at a jaunty angle. She fluffed her daughter’s lovely, golden-brown hair around her shoulders. “How’s that?”

 

As Lucie said, “Good!” and grinned into the mirror, popping her hip, the buzzer by the front door went off, indicating that there was somebody at the gate.

 

But they weren’t expecting anyone. In a couple of minutes, they had to leave for the Sizzler parking lot. “Okay, Lulu. Go get your stuff. We need to go in a minute.” She went to the door and pushed the response button. “Yes?”

 

Mark’s voice came through the tinny speaker. “I’m here for Lucie. Buzz me in.”

 

“You’re not supposed to be here. We’re meeting at the Sizzler.”

 

“I’m not picking my daughter up in a dirty parking lot. That’s stupid. Just buzz me in.”

 

Anxiety was sealing her throat shut, and she closed her eyes and tried to get hold of herself. She would not be bullied. She would not be afraid. But she couldn’t fight him here—there was no way to avoid Lucie hearing the whole thing.

BOOK: Knife & Flesh (The Night Horde SoCal Book 4)
11.9Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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