Chapter 37: CASH

Thirty-Seven

CASH

S outhpaw hasn't stopped yelling for the past fifteen minutes. Every minute without Quin has been living hell. Now, she's found some way to add to that mess. Ruger yells an incomprehensible string of insults at Darlene behind the door. She calls him the n-word. I hear the sound of furniture getting knocked around. He better not be whooping her again…

"ARE YOU LISTENING?" Southpaw yells.

He blames me, somehow, for Quin Nash's deviant behavior. If she learned a fucking thing from living with me, she would have never done this.

"Yes, I'm listening," I growl. "I don't have the privilege of losing my fucking cool. I have to convince Ruger not to beat the shit out of a pregnant woman back there and now… this."

I also have to calm Southpaw's ass, which he doesn't realize takes a fair effort, and now I find out that Avery might be in real trouble. Quin is in real trouble. And Deb Shaw has Avery's whore mother captive.

We have too many problems at once and too many problems normally means someone ends up in prison. That's what happened last time. I don't need the club to collect their debt from a Hollingsworth this time. No fucking way.

"We have bigger problems than Ruger and Darlene. The Midnight SS know where my mother lives and she doesn't seem to give a shit. I need you to grab Quin, Juliette, and Avery and convince my mother to see sense. "

"She has no more reason to listen to me than to listen to you."

He's quiet for a beat, which means he sees my point.

"Anna says I should recognize when I lack the mental stability to deal with something and leave it to someone with a calmer demeanor."

I can't tell if he's just telling me that to kiss my ass. He does sound uncharacteristically humble, which makes him sound more believable.

"Who says I have a calmer demeanor?"

"She does," He snaps. "Now will you head over there?"

"How fast do you think I can drive?"

"Fast enough to cut Juliette and Quin off on the old Route 66 highway. I don't need them knowing you're on your way."

"Why not?"

"Because… they're stubborn and Juliette could find trouble in a goddamn straitjacket. The fewer people who know they're riding across the country with a baby in tow, the better."

"What about Deb and her prisoner?" I answer. "If they're leaving before I can get there, I don't see how you expect me to handle both."

"Use whatever family you have," Southpaw says. "Use Owen."

Owen is a more mentally stable choice than Ethan, but I would almost rather have a younger Sinclair or a newly patched-in member than a Shaw.

"Are you sure we can leave Ruger here alone?"

"No. I'm not sure. But we have to hope for the best. Hope that his Christian upbringing prevails."

"The last time I brought him to church, he was so drunk he pissed behind the podium," I say, reminding Wyatt of the horrible first Christmas after Ruger's enlistment.

"I'll pray for him," Southpaw says. Like that would be much better…

I don't have much time to argue. Ruger's yelling at Darlene only picks up and maybe if there's any God in this house at all, he's giving me an opportunity to escape this goddamn nightmare. I hang up on Southpaw and hesitantly approach the door. I hear the sound of smacking going on. Then another scream. Here we go.

I throw the door open to find Darlene weeping and crouched in the corner, Ruger standing over her holding a leather belt.

"I told you not to hit her."

"I'm not hitting her. I'm scaring her," he says, relaxing his shoulders and tossing the belt back on the bed. "Big difference."

"She's pregnant. "

"That's right," Ruger says, turning to Darlene. "I'm gonna sell her baby to a pack of niggers and see how she likes it."

"I HATE YOU!" Darlene shrieks before descending into violent body-wracking sobs. I would feel more sorry for her if it weren't for the racist tattoos all over her. Or the fact that she betrayed the club. Ruger's information paints an unfavorable picture of his wife. I shouldn't be surprised. Some chicks hang around the club just so they can get shit. Usually drugs, bikes, liquor, or babies. I don't know what the fuck Darlene wanted, but I'm not entirely surprised she wasn't loyal.

"Well, you racist bitch, that's what you deserve," Ruger says. "A bunch of niggers raping your goddamn baby."

Is this Ruger's idea of fighting racism? I put a hand on his shoulder, fighting my urge to use my hand for something a touch more violent.

"Enough talking," I huff. "I need you to promise me you can hold it together until I get back from a short road trip."

"Where the fuck are you going?" he says.

Great. I should have anticipated that question. Answering it will expose exactly how much time I need him to keep it together for and who knows how Ruger will respond to that information…

"Southpaw needs me in Missouri."

"Good. I need privacy with my wife."

"NO!" Darlene shrieks. "You can't leave me with him. He's going to kill me. "

He very well might. I don't have a problem with him killing Darlene. She's a goddamn psychopath. I remember Ruger working overtime shifts for the club to keep money on her books while she was allegedly behind bars. I questioned how a woman in prison could spend over $4,000 a month, but he never did. That was his girl and while he might be a stupid fucking asshole… that was all he cared about. Loyalty.

"I won't kill her," Ruger says, though he keeps his hunter's eyes trained on Darlene and she looks like little more than lunch to him. I can't tell if he's being honest, and I can't tell if I care. "Plus. Owen is here to look after her."

"Owen doesn't give a shit if I live or die," Darlene says. She whines the sentence, really, but I can't let this woman's tone get to me. It's all a big fucking manipulation with Darlene and I have Hollingsworth problems to deal with now. Not Blackwood problems. They all like crazy bitches. They need to sit their asses up in church and think about that.

"Actually," I say, bursting both their bubbles. "I'm taking Owen with me."

"The fuck is going on?" Ruger says, sliding his finger across his throat to intimidate Darlene into another wailing session.

"Can't tell you in front of her. But… it's connected."

"QUIET," Ruger says to Darlene, shutting her up instantly. He doesn't give me much hope that this woman will survive him. I pat him on the shoulder.

"I'd better talk to Owen," I mutter.

"Take Oske with you," Ruger says. "Stupid bitch doesn't even put out."

"She's gay, Ruger."

"So what? I eat pussy too," he says, running his fingers through his hair. "It would be my biggest dream to fuck that colored girl right here in front of Darlene."

It's hard to imagine this man is a result of a deeply religious country upbringing.

"Why don't you head downtown and meet a nice girl at the local bar," I say to Ruger. "You're pent up."

"Get Owen and Oske out of here," he says. "Don't worry about how pent up I am."

"Right."

"I promise I won't kill the bitch until she has the baby."

Owen and Oske are both sitting on the porch drinking and gambling on a game of Gin Rummy. Shit isn't going well for Owen judging by the smile on the Indian girl's face.

"This game is not that hard."

"Remind me to sell you to the first Midnight SS biker I see," Owen grumbles. Oske smacks his forearm and they laugh as if there's something funny about the Midnight SS situation. I never understood people who cope with humor. The only person who has ever helped me cope is somewhere halfway across the country getting her ass in trouble.

"Fun's over," I growl at them. "Southpaw wants us back East."

"Excuse me?" Oske says. "Why do white people think everything is free?"

"Because it is," I snap at her. "I don't think you want us to leave you here with Ruger."

"I don't want Ruger staying in my trailer at all," Oske says, standing up and folding her arms. Owen stands up too, most likely to stop her from recklessly launching herself at me.

"He's staying in the trailer," I tell Oske definitively. "So you can work out another place to stay or get used to it."

"I'm not staying here with him. He's a creep. I'm coming with you."

"Absolutely not. I'm dropping you off at the bus station," I tease her. Oske looks at me glaring until I break into a smile. She punches my arm pretty hard for a girl that small. Wolverine ass woman.

"I need more money," Oske says calmly but firmly. "Call Wyatt and tell him to send me money if he expects me to stick with you assholes."

"We can't keep giving you cash without getting it from somewhere," I explain through gritted teeth. I know Oske only enjoys pissing people off, so I try not to give her the satisfaction. Unfortunately, she observes the slightest twitching in my facial muscles. A smug smile crosses her face.

"I know how expensive it is to get housing out there in the colonizer world. I think you owe me at least $5,000 for using my house to torture some crazy ass white woman."

Owen can't hide his worry. He steps between me and Oske.

"What the hell are you going to do when they start shooting?" he asks her.

"It depends on what you give me," she says. "I can handle a shotgun, rifle. Not so good with a pistol but... I can practice."

Owen raises his eyebrow and looks at me for guidance. I have to run a quick analysis of the situation and determine which choice will bring me the least amount of trouble. Ruger putting his hands on Oske could start an outright civil war at the worst possible time. I might not have $5,000 to give her, but if I stick her on the back of Owen's bike, we can shut her up for the next couple hundred miles.

If we're lucky, I'll get a chance to dump her on the doorstep of some affiliated Shaw and get Oske off my hands. How does she go through money so fucking quickly, anyway?

"She's good with a gun from what I've heard," I answer Owen, registering his obvious surprise. "But I wouldn't trust her with one unless absolutely necessary."

Oske relaxes visibly sensing that she's going to get her way.

"Get a bag packed," I tell her. "Owen will carry you. Before I head back to Santa Fe, I have to intercept my girl and my daughter."

"Since when do you have a daughter?" Oske says, looking me up and down.

Owen steps in so I don't have to. "Get your shit packed, Oske. I don't rid easy."

"I don't need you to go easy on me, white boy."

Owen grins. "Sure you want to play that game?"

She rolls her eyes and struts back into her room to get her stuff. Owen fully expresses his concerns.

"Is this what Wyatt wants?"

"She's your family," I tell him. "I'm doing what makes sense to keep her safe. Ruger is unhinged and I don't know the last time he's been with a woman."

Owen returns my grimace and nods.

"Best keep Oske out of trouble. She has a smart mouth and so does he. Terrible combination."

"She's good with a gun," I tell him. "That much is true. Hope we don't need a woman to save our asses."

"We won't need a woman at all," Owen says. "Mom has that Nazi bitch in her basement somewhere and Avery is with Quin. I heard through the grapevine she treats Avery like her own."

Just the slightest mention of Quin makes me uncomfortable. It's not shame, but this deep desire to protect her and even keep her name away from other men. Even Owen.

"She does," I respond. "She's a good girl."

Owen smirks. "Damn. You are sprung."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means, you're obvious as shit when you like a woman."

I can feel my cheeks betraying me. "Shut the fuck up."

Owen laughs, but luckily, he's smart enough to drop the subject when Oske emerges with a backpack slung around one shoulder.

"I am ready to get the fuck out of here and earn some money," she says. "Let's go."

"Earn?" I grumble.

"Yes," she says stubbornly. "Earn. Now saddle up, white boys. Let's go save a baby."

From kidnapping a baby to saving one... I'm glad Oske is a Shaw problem.