Under Locke (27 page)

Each moment longer I had to wait, the more nervous and guilty I felt.

So when Dex showed up about halfway through the evening at Pins on Tuesday, I had to double check to make sure my big girl panties were on and finally go break the news.

And still, I wanted to vomit out my nerves.

Only the problem was that he'd shown up in a mood. He'd tilted his head up at me and Slim as he walked passed us and disappeared into his office. And that was my sign that something was adrift in the world of Dex.

Sh
i
t.

By the time I made my way into his office, he was sitting behind his desk looking too intently at the computer screen on front of him. The rim of his cap was tugged low on his head. A cigarette peeped out from between his ear and
hat
.

"Dex?" I asked him in a small voice from the doorframe.

He didn't even bother looking up. "Sup, Ritz?"

"You have a minute?"

"Now's not the best time," he warned. "I'm tryin' to sort this shit out."

What shit he was trying to sort out...I had no clue. But time was a ticking.

"I really need to talk to you though," I insisted.

Dex blew out a raspberry from between his pink lips. "One minute, babe."

Sheesh.

"What
’cha
need?"

I couldn't summon the courage I needed to tell him verbally, so I shoved the paper across the desk.

Wordlessly, Dex picked up the paper, his smooth forehead was already lined with rows of frustration at whatever was bugging him. Those bright blue eyes moved in a line across the paper twice.

And then he balled it up and tossed it into the trash can, his expression unchanged.

Dex said one word and one word only. "No."

Umm...

"What?" I asked him in a squeaky voice.

His attention was already back on the computer screen he'd been glued to when I walked in.  He simply lifted a single shoulder in a shrug and repeated himself. "No."

"No what?" What the hell?

Dex repeated the two letter word again.

"No...you don't want me to finish out my last two weeks? Or—"

He huffed, his eyes still locked on the monitor. "No, you ain't quittin' on us."

That was absolutely the last thing I expected him to say. I scratched my nose. "I mean, I can probably swing both jobs if it takes a little longer than two weeks to find someone else."

"Ritz, I don't have time for this shit right now," he huffed. "You ain't leavin' and that's that. You want more money or what?"

"No! Jesus, Dex. I'm not trying to play a mind game with you or something
. You have no idea how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but
I figured you could find someone who fits in better than I do," I explained to him honestly. Well, as honest as I could get without admitting that I'd started looking for another job almost immediately after he hired me. 

"You fit in fine."

"I don't have any tattoos. Half the time I think you don't really care for me either. You can find someone else that you like more."

The way he looked over at me was so slow it threw me off. Like he was thinking, or absorbing what I'd said. Dex tugged his signature black cap off his head and tossed it onto the edge of his desk, sighing loudly. "Babe, seriously, I don't have time for this. You aren't leavin'. I don't give a fuck anymore if you have ink on you or not, and if anybody else gives a shit, they can shut the fuck up. You're fine here. You're stayin' here."

His words felt like a punch to the gut. You know, if a punch to the gut could be a pleasant thing.

Because, I mean, The Dick wouldn't just instruct me that I wasn't leaving if he genuinely didn't feel that way. I knew it. I knew that. I should be outraged that he was telling I wasn't allowed to quit. Then again, I'd been having issues accepting the idea that I'd be leaving Pins behind to work at a daycare for nearly half the hourly pay.

If I really wanted to go, I could just walk out right then and never come back.

"Don't even think about it, Ritz," Dex grumbled from his spot. He wasn't paying attention to the screen anymore, he had his gaze locked on me, his eyes intense. "You walk out, and I'll go get you."

It was completely inappropriate that his words brought a shiver up my spine.

"Call your other job back, tell 'em you aren't comin' in, and then I have an order I need you to place."

"I already told them I was taking the job."

He raised an eyebrow. "And I'm tellin' you you aren't takin' it. I've already trained you. You want more money, I can swing a little more your way until it's been a year. I already told you I'd add you to the insurance plan in September. And I don't wanna talk about this anymore, babe."

What in the world had told me that this would be easy? That I should be worried about telling him that I was quitting?

Arguing with him was futile, I knew that but I tried again anyway. "But—"

Dex scrubbed his hands over his face, his eyes wide with intent. "Babe, I've handpicked everythin' and everyone in here. I know what I want and I get what I want," he breathed. "And I keep what's mine."

~ * ~ *

After cleaning up and making sure none of the guys needed anything before I left, I was running home a bit later than usual. There were a few things I wanted to get from the drugstore that I forgot to pick up before work.  I pulled into the first Walgreens that didn’t look totally sketchy, bought new razors and lip balm, and headed the rest of the way to Sonny’s.

My mind was usually in a million different places, but all I was focused on at the moment was getting in, eating and vegging out on the couch to relax. With only Monday off because of the Expo and the stress I'd put myself under at the thought of quitting Pins, my body was suffering from the long days we had. Not to mention the fact that my brain hadn’t stopped running different scenarios and ideas on what I could do to change my life's current situation forever for the better.

I'd been given a second chance, it only seemed fair that I take advantage of it. What was the purpose of wasting
years, months, weeks, days, minutes, even friggin’ moments of life,
after everything I'd been through? My mom and
yia-yia
had done so much for me. I had to figure out something.

Sonny hadn’t come from beginnings that much more different than mine. He had a good job, a house and—except for this crap with our sperm donor—security. There was a reliable future ahead of him.

If Dex could come out of his father's shadow, somehow manage to stay in the supposedly reformed version of the same motorcycle club who had lost half its members over the years, moved passed the years he spent in jail, and built a successful business...
there was newfound hope in the world
.

If they could do it, so could I. It was just a matter of time.

I’d barely pulled the car into the open spot right in front of the house when I happened to look down the street in the opposite direction I’d come in from. And what I saw made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle up. I forgot all about eating and watching the History Channel.

There were three men straddling old school bikes two houses down. Three men I could barely see in the dark under the luminescence of the street lamp.  It was the same friggin’ guys from the party and two of the same guys who had driven down the street. The one with the shaved head was in the middle as before, his big body looked incredibly imposing from where he was rooted.

Shit!

Double shit.

Something in me told me that wasn’t right. These guys weren’t like Trip or Luther, or the other people I’d watched while at Mayhem. These guys weren’t a part of Sonny’s club.

So I did what any somewhat intelligent woman that’s watched too many movies did—I hauled my ass out of the car, kept my focus on the door, slid my three keys between my knuckles for protection Wolverine style, and slammed the door shut the first nanosecond I was in.

And then I shrieked, “Sonny!”

~ * ~ *

“You’re sure?”

I glared at the dark haired man across the table and nodded slowly. We were sitting at the dining room table while I scarfed down toast and a warm glass of milk before bed. This was normal behavior.

If only there weren't creepy ass bikers down the street.

And if only Sonny didn't currently look like he was fighting every cell in his body to unleash something ugly that was residing beneath his light brown eyes.

“They’re the same guys.” I bit into my toast. “I recognize them from when I left the bar that night, and I swear they drove down the street a couple weeks ago looking over here in a weird way. They have jackets instead of vests, and there's a big bald guy that looks familiar.”

His attention was focused on the wall while his hands propped up his chin. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

My question was calm. “What is it?”

His eyes stayed on the wall.

All right, he wasn’t going to tell me that either, so I was going to plan B.

I reached out to touch his hand, trying so hard not to let the tiny nip of fear in my gut swallow me whole. "Sonny, did you do something?"

He slammed his eyes shut and grunted. His hands fisted into tight balls on the table as he blew out a long breath.

"If something happened, I'll help you," I promised him. Because I would. There wasn't much I wouldn't do for him, and that included letting him use me as an alibi if he'd done something awful.

Sonny's fingers uncurled just enough to wrap around my elbow, squeezing just lightly. "I didn't do anything, Rissy."

Jesus F. Christ. He called me Rissy. He only called me Rissy when he had bad news to tell me.

"What is it?"

He groaned, earning him a poke in the rib.

“Are they like your… arch enemies or something?” I asked him quietly, setting the bread back onto the plate. I probably sounded like an idiot with that terminology, but I didn’t know his biker lingo, and I thought that description worked well enough when his cheek quirked up for a split second before his lips hardened.

He leaned back in his chair, clenching his eyes closed. “Kind of but it's not like that.” He paused. "They're part of a group of wannabes in San Antonio that aren't exactly fans of the MC's territory here."

Oh my God, I was living in a real-life television series.

I blinked at him, confused as hell. “I thought you said you guys weren't doing stuff anymore.” I pushed the plate away, leaning toward him.

He was going to tell me the truth, damn it. My mom had told me that back when my dad had left the MC, they'd been associating with drug distributors, whatever the hell that meant. I could clearly remember Sonny telling me that president, Luther's old nutted self that'd been making out with a much younger woman at the bar, had split the club up, cleaning it out after his wife had gotten murdered in retaliation.

He dropped his gaze down to press his forehead to one of his upturned palms, closing his eyes in the process. “It's nothing like that, Ris,” he promised. "It's not me or the Club they have business with."