Chapter 2: CASH HOLLINGSWORTH

Two

CASH HOLLINGSWORTH

I bought a new place in Sedona two weeks before dad died. $2.7 million adobe style house in the most spiritual part of Arizona, but still close to the highway so I can get to the clubhouse and run the Western branch of our family businesses.

He was so fucking happy about the house.

"It's about time you give me grandkids," he said when I told him about the house, as if houses come built in with kids and a family.

"I'm not seeing anybody," I remind him. "No kids. No need for them."

That was our last conversation on the matter, which I don't think ended on a sour note, just not on a good one. Dad will never get to meet his grandkids if I ever have them.

After the funeral, I head back out to the house, but I have a bad feeling the second I get out there that I won't be there long. It's just the taste of trouble in the air. I try to put the worry out of my mind but then… shit just keeps happening.

We handled the situation with the cops, we built our new clubhouse, we should be on our way out of trouble and it's the perfect time to settle down. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that it doesn't matter how much shit settles down, trouble keeps following the club.

Our latest problem has been related to the Shaws… I just hope I'm not the only one the boss sends all the way across the country chasing some runaway.

Southpaw calls.

"I sent Jairus and Jotham to track down Oske," he says without much of a formal greeting. "But I need you to head to Sante Fe"

"Why?"

"Because. The club needs money. I need you, Hunter and Gideon to work out a deal," Southpaw says. I love Wyatt and he's always been a brother to me, but that man has absolutely no understanding of finance.

"What type of deal?"

He sounds immediately frustrated with me.

"You're the businessman, Tanner. Something that can get us $750,000."

"Shit," I mutter. "Okay… I'll have to give it some thought."

I pace my bedroom a few times when I hear my loud, long, sing-song doorbell polluting the house with noise from downstairs.

"Visitors?" Southpaw asks. "At this hour?"

I was thinking the same thing. I'm not expecting anyone, either.

"Dunno who it is."

I put on my slippers and walk across the cold stone downstairs. No lights on outside. Strange. I have motion sensors out there.

"Right," Southpaw grunts. "How fast can you get the money?"

"Clean? It's going to take at least three months to clean that much money. As for getting it in the first place… I'll need to make some calls."

I get to my front door and it's eerily quiet except for Southpaw's breathing on the other end of the line. He sounds like a thirsty dog, but I keep that thought to myself.

"Anna doesn't want me involved in anything that could carry federal charges."

Here we go. Women. This is what happens whenever you get a woman involved in your life. They start controlling things and making suggestions and next thing you know, she's wearing your balls around her neck.

"Does Anna have $750,000?"

I can't see anyone outside through the peephole. Oh what the hell. I don't bother grabbing a gun. I'm 6'6" and played football in high school and at Arizona State for a year before I dropped out of college to join one of our legitimate family businesses – managing one of a chain of gas stations out in Missouri with all its affiliated problems.

"No," he says. "She doesn't. But after the Little League incident, I'm trying not to piss her off."

"An illegal business deal is definitely the way to go about that."

"Thanks, Tanner."

I open the front door and nearly drop the fucking phone. Shit. I nearly swear. I try not to have any reaction as I stare at what sits there on my doorstep.

"Tanner?" Southpaw grunts.

"Wyatt? I'm going to have to call you back."

What the fuck?

The baby looks about eight or nine months old. I'm no expert, but she can't walk, doesn't appear to have the capacity to talk… She's pale. With red hair. And there's a letter fastened around her neck with a loosely tied green ribbon. She stares up at me in utter confusion. I don't bother bending down to pick up either the baby or the letter.

Someone left this kid here.

"HELLO?!"

I step outside and activate the motion sensors. Light spreads across what passes for a lawn out in the middle of Arizona. I have pretty good landscaping, so you can see lizards and beetles scuttling quickly across the earth once the light sweeps over them.

But there are no signs of human life. Not even footsteps.

My body tenses up and I suppress my initial worry. I've been in enough tough situations to keep my cool, but this address is brand new and well protected. Nobody should know I'm here except Southpaw, Reaper… maybe Hawk and Steel. Most of my family still thinks I'm out at my condo in Springfield, IL.

I don't like feeling vulnerable.

I step forward and suddenly wish I had on more than my goddamn boxers and Nike socks. Scanning around, I see no signs of people or vehicles. What the fuck?

My external calm covers up the fact that I am internally freaking the hell out. What am I supposed to do with this toddler? Bring it to the fire station? Give it to someone who wants a kid? Because I sure as fuck don't.

The baby makes a gurgling sound and a mixture of panic and shame surge through me. I can't explain the shame. It's just a feeling. Like I'm not ready for this. Like somehow, I screwed up. I crouch down next to the carrier and try to avoid eye contact, as if this infant could somehow accuse me of something.

She raises out her arms and scrunches up her eyebrows and round face as she looks at me.

No. I glare at her, which immediately makes me feel guilty because she's… a fucking baby. So alone. So vulnerable.

In the wrong fucking place.

Too terrified and curious, I grab the letter from around her neck and rip open the red envelope, careful not to destroy the paper inside. Even with the lights on outside, it's too dark for me to read. When I stand up holding the letter, I look down at the kid on the ground and wonder where the fuck she came from.

How the fuck she got here.

And why she's reaching out to me with that look on her face. Like she depends on me.

For a split second, I don't want to bring her inside. But I'm not a monster. It doesn't matter who she is, or why the fuck she's here… it's just a baby. I don't think about the fact that I'm in over my head. I carry her inside and head to the living room so I can sit.

I have to push out the thought that I just brought a random fucking baby into my house and I don't know how she got here or if someone will come looking for her, or if I'll go to federal prison for having her. She's still quiet when I set her down. I have enough nieces and nephews to know that won't last, so I hurriedly scan the pages.

But I end up having to slow down and read them twice. Because holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

This can't be real.