Chapter 15: STEEL

Chapter Fifteen

STEEL

T he pair of us stand on the sidewalk, staring into the house as an old Asian woman walks across the kitchen holding a stack of envelopes. She sets them on the counter and walks over to the sink, staring out the window. Hunter grabs my wrist, reminding me that she can’t see us, despite what it might feel like.

“Is that the maid?” Hunter asks.

The maid.

No. It’s not the fucking maid. I barely had to get a good look at her to recognize her. The woman looks exactly like her daughter.

“It’s Joslin’s mother.”

“I fucking hate you,” Hunter says. He sighs again and I feel a smidgeon of guilt for putting him in this position. Joslin never mentioned her mother, but considering what I know about her story, I can guess why. Mom pushed her into a marriage she didn’t want.

If it were any other way, I can’t imagine Joslin not asking about her or wanting to see her. Maybe I shouldn’t put much faith in the heart of a confessed killer, but Joslin doesn’t have the traits of a true criminal. If anyone forced this woman to the point of violence, she saw no other choice.

Hunter says. “We’re not gonna kill her.”

I don’t react outwardly. Hunter has always had the uncanny ability to read even my darkest, most intrusive thoughts that I would never act on. We have the same brain… and it’s fucked up.

“Of course we’re not going to kill her. She’s an old ass Asian woman.”

I wait a beat, to come up with a plan that sounds better than killing her. Not too many options come into my head. Killing her mother before I take Joslin to bed seems like a good way to get off on the wrong foot with her.

“I’ll go talk to her.”

Hunter puts his hand on my shoulder to physically stop me from rushing across the street. If there’s one thing liquor is good for, it’s stopping you from overthinking a situation. Action gets you from point A to B a hell of a lot faster.

“What do you know about her? Could she be armed?”

“She’s a church lady.”

“We’ll both talk to her.”

“That won’t scare her at all,” I mutter.

Hunter just flashes me a look. I want to scare her.

We walk across the street together. She’s up at three in the morning. Maybe Hunter’s right to be cautious. Maybe her mind is just heavy as fuck… We walk around to the backdoor as Hunter scans the house for cameras. My brother stalks ahead across the backyard towards the door. No automatic lights. No barking. It’s almost too quiet.

My hands slide into my cut and my fingers curl around the handle of the revolver I planned to use on Joslin’s husband if I caught any whiff of him. Hunter puts his hand on the door, then turns back to look at me. He says it without words. Locked. He steps aside, allowing me to work my magic. Hunter’s way would be a lot quicker, but we don’t need to converse or argue to decide that it’s not worth the risk to make this break-in too loud.

First, I check the type of lock. It’s simple to break into doors like these. I certainly wouldn’t let Joslin stay in a house with this type of lock under any circumstances. I reach into my pocket for the nail file I picked up from the Flying J on the way out. My fingers haven’t lost the stickiness they gained in prison.

The nail file slides between the door and the lock. I push it forward a little, listen until I hear the click and follow the pattern of the lock until I shove it back into the door and it swings away from the frame quietly, as if we’re entering our own house.

“I forgot how fun this could be,” Hunter whispers.

Fatherhood has to be fucking with his head a little. We spent a summer breaking into houses when we were fifteen. Dad found out when we stole $2,000 from a club member. He was so fucking mad he tied us to a fence, stripped our pants down to our ankles and turned our asses red with a belt, leaving us tied up there for a full six hours.

‘Course by that time, Wyatt and his entire family came down to see the twins with their asses out…

I don’t share Hunter’s fond memories of our short term criminal enterprises. I’m glad we traded up. I step into the house, stunned by the scent. I shouldn’t be shocked that it doesn’t smell like a crime scene, but I didn’t expect it to smell like cinnamon and lemons. We have done this type of shit so many times before that we don’t have to speak to each other or even look at each other to move quietly through the house.

The movement in the kitchen stops once we’re a couple steps away from the doorway. Hawk puts his hand out behind me to stop me from moving. I freeze and we both listen. No breathing. She suspects she isn’t alone. Hawk looks over his shoulder and gestures with his head towards another room which may provide another entrance into the kitchen. I nod and disappear in that direction as he puts his hand on his holster.

When I round the corner, the old woman’s loud, piercing scream causes me to flinch. I hope my brother is smart enough not to put a bullet in Joslin’s mother. Adrenaline courses through me as my brother aggressively commands her, “Put your hands up and don’t make another sound.”

She whimpers and says something in some type of broken English. I nearly trip over some fucking ottoman and don’t catch what she says. It doesn’t feel like I’m walking around Joslin’s home. I know I don’t know her well but… this place doesn’t feel like her. I follow the light once I pass through one room and sure enough, I come up behind Joslin’s mother.

It’s strange seeing her. From behind, she looks just like her daughter – except with long straight hair like an Indian. Dark skin like an Indian too. The kind with the red thing in the middle of their forehead… She doesn’t know I’m there.

“What do you want?” she says, and her English doesn’t sound so broken now that I’m behind her. Hawk knows exactly how to play this. He looks at her like I’m not even in the room and she doesn’t notice my presence. I quietly take in all the details I can while Hawk keeps her engaged in conversation.

“What’s your name?”

She shakes her head and I smell hot piss. I understand why she’s so scared, even if we would never hurt her. Piss will wash away. Much better to scare her quickly and get the information we need rather than prolonging her suffering.

“Maricel Pascubillo.”

“What are you, Mexican?”

I hardly see how that’s the point, but Hawk has her where he wants her and has his curiosity I suppose. The kitchen stands out to me as unusually clean. No signs of a man, so if he’s not dead… he’s somewhere.

“No,” she says. “I’m from the Philippines. Are you in business with Seth?”

There are papers on the table. Lots of papers. It’s the only thing that’s a damn mess about the room.

“Who’s Seth?” Hawk says.

“The man who owned this house,” she says. “Do you have my daughter?”

Joslin.

Hunter’s eyes catch mine and the minor movement catches Maricel’s attention. She quickly looks over her shoulder and the terror widens her smooth eyelids, as gorgeous and elongated as her daughter’s – distinctively non-European.

“Don’t scream,” I say in a low, gentle voice, hoping it works on her. The giant breath that nearly became a scream sinks into her chest. She glances back and forth between the two of us. She’s doing that thing.

“Twins.”

“Where is Joslin’s husband?”

She knows the man behind her has a weapon trained on her and now that the questions need to get more detailed than introductions, Hunter really doesn’t have a clue what the hell is going on.

“You know Joslin.”

She sounds relieved, but there aren’t too many strong emotions written on her face. Just like Joslin, she doesn’t back down from looking me right in the eye. It’s almost unnerving to have such a small ass woman looking at me with such fearlessness.

“Answer my questions first.”

“He’s dead,” she says, her eyes flickering with anger. I don’t know why she would be angry. Considering everything I heard from Joslin… that sounds like a damned good thing.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I respond flatly.

“The police suspect he was involved in shady business practices and one of his associates took him and kidnapped Joslin. They found her Jeep. So if you’re the killers, they’ll find you and you’re going to die in prison.”

My jaw moves impatiently back and forth while I let her get it all out. The smell of old lady pee is getting uncomfortable. It’s good to hear that Seth is dead and better to hear that the police are on the entirely wrong track. But if the cops are looking for Joslin, we might still have problems. And if the cops out here have a reason to start stopping and harassing the fuck out of bikers, that’s a separate and potentially more troubling issue.

“What business was Seth involved in?” Hunter asks, betraying us immediately instead of thinking things through. When I give him a slight look of disapproval, he raises his eyebrow slightly, and I go on and trust Hunter knows what he’s doing.

“All on the table,” she says. “Until I accept Joslin is dead, they will not probate the last will and testament. But I know my daughter isn’t dead.”

Hunter I make quick eye contact.

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know where Joslin is right now,” I tell her.

We have all the information we need. The folders and the papers all over the table are more important than anything Maricel might be able to give us. Hunter keeps his gun trained on Maricel and I grab everything off the table.

“Are those all the documents?” Hunter asks as I swiftly pack papers into brown folders and strap everything together. We don’t have time to look through all this shit right now, but bet your ass we’ll be combing through this mess later.

“Everything from his office,” she says. “Are you his business partners?”

“I don’t have anything to do with that man,” Hunter says. “What was his business?”

She doesn’t get the undertones. But I do. He still doesn’t know what the fuck I’m doing here and he clearly doesn’t completely trust that I haven’t gotten myself into trouble. If he hadn’t been best friends with Wyatt Shaw his entire life, he wouldn’t be so damn on edge all the fucking time.

“Unchristian,” she responds to Hunter in the tightest voice she has used yet.

“Can you get more specific?”

Hunter is so damn impatient. I keep searching around the table to make sure I get every last piece of paper. She shakes her head.

“You have what you need. Now where is my daughter?” she asks.

Hunter looks at me over her head again.

“Tell the police she’s dead. If you ever want to see her again, I’ll see her obituary in the paper next week.”

Hunter looks at me like I’m fucking crazy.

“She’s not dead.”

“Tell the police she’s dead.”

Our staredown reminds me of having a staredown with Joslin. But this woman is older. She has piss drying on her leg.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Hunter says. “But you have to do what we say and you can’t speak to the police.”

“This is wrong,” she says. But I can tell she just can’t think of what to say and there are thoughts and emotions running through her head. I almost feel bad.

“If you ever want to see your daughter again, you’ll do it,” I say to her. “Get your money and stay quiet.”