9: NOVA

“So, how are you settling in?” Jordan asks, holding her stick to the fire.

I watch as the marshmallow catches fire and slowly burns to a toasty golden brown as she turns it like a rotisserie in the fire.

I’ve been invited to a bonfire at my neighbor Jordan’s stretch of the beach. She’s trying to help me get to know more of the other neighbors, so she and her husband, Rick, are hosting a get-together tonight with a few other neighbors.

“Nova?” she says, calling my name again.

“Oh, um...I’m sorry. I was just basking in the ambiance of the night,” I apologize. “Everything’s pretty good. I like this town and the people. Everyone’s loving the bookstore, and I have to say it’s been easier than I thought it would...opening one, I mean.”

“Well, we haven’t had one here in years. After Ms. Evangeline passed on about six years ago with no one to inherit it, the old store closed. It became overgrown with weeds, and the city eventually tore the building down because it was attracting vagrants and dope fiends,” Sterling, another neighbor, says.

“I wouldn’t expect there are many of them around. This just doesn’t seem like that type of town,” I say.

Rick laughs, tilting a beer to his lips.

“That’s because you haven’t run into the riffraff yet,” Ethan, a brown-haired surfer type, says.

“And that would be?”

My stomach knots before I can get the question out. I have a feeling I know what his answer will be, and when he gives it, it doesn’t lessen the impact in my gut.

“The Fiery Disciples. Smokey Ridge’s very own one-percenter motorcycle club,” Ethan explains. “Surprised that they haven’t run into you. They’ve taken over almost every goddamn business around.”

“According to hearsay, they’d bought out Ms. Evangeline’s bookstore long before she passed. Apparently, they were letting her keep it open...for a percentage,” Sterling says.

“Yeah, I don’t know how true that was, though. Ms. Evangeline was scared of no one, but everyone feared her. I doubt the Fiery Disciples would cross that old, mean-ass woman. She’d have had them shivering on their bikes. Probably spank their asses if they got too out of line,” Rick says before tilting his beer again.

“I wouldn’t mind being spanked by one of them,” his sister, Claire, who lives at the opposite end of the beach, says as she scratches the scruff at my newfound pet, Raider’s neck.

“You would,” he sneers, turning his lip up.

Jordan presses a hand to her lips, trying to hold her laughter in.

“What sorts of things do they do? The motorcycle club, I mean,” I say, curious as to what others have to say about Kai and his friends.

“They’re a bunch of thugs,” Ethan says. “They steal, kill, rape, and sell drugs and weapons.”

“Ethan!” Jordan admonishes. “That’s not true. Selling drugs and weapons, yes, and possibly murder. But rape? That’s a bit far, don’t you think? We’ve never heard of one person being raped by them. Not even any thefts have been reported.”

“Angel was,” Ethan retorts.

“Angel wasn’t raped,” Jordan hisses.

“Nope. She ran away from her family because her father couldn’t keep his filthy paws off her silky draws,” Claire says, imitating the character Betty Rizzo from the movie Grease.

Sterling sniffs. “That’s not a nice accusation to make against an upstanding citizen like Phillip Houston.”

“Neither is accusing someone of rape just because they’re considered subpar citizens in Smokey Ridge,” Claire says. She tucks Raider onto her lap, and I notice that he’s fallen asleep, quite comfortable with Claire.

“Right. Just because Phillip Houston is on the city counsel does not make him an upstanding pillar of the community. Hell, I remember when we were in high school, and he got caught screwing Debbie McAllister in his garage,” Jordan says.

Ethan frowns and asks, “His daughter’s best friend?”

“You remember that, don’t you, Rick?” Jordan asks, turning to her husband.

“Like it was yesterday. She was a junior in high school. Tore their friendship apart, made her a pariah of the high school, and kicked off the church choir,” Rick answers.

Jordan uses air quotes and says, “No self-respecting female would be caught dead within ten feet of her. Her boyfriend broke up with her.”

“Yep, and Phillip’s marriage remained intact,” Rick adds.

Jordan bobs her blonde head and says, “Poor Angel was devastated, and while everyone was offering her sympathy looks and asking if she was okay while trying to get the gossip, she was still scared everyone might find out the worst secret. If you’d ever been to their house, you could tell that something was off with their relationship. Every time he spoke with her, he had to touch her, rubbing her arms, hair, legs, whatever. I’d caught him kissing her on the lips once when I stayed overnight at one of the many slumber parties.”

“So, that gives them the right to rape her?” Ethan asks.

“She wasn’t raped,” Claire says drily. “She left her father’s house to become a whore for the MC. Guess she figured if she had to put it out, she may as well do it on her own terms.”

Sterling shakes his head. “That’s...crazy.”

“So is becoming a club whore for the worst motorcycle gang around,” Ethan adds.

“It could be argued they’re not the worst. They don’t rape, and they don’t participate in the outrageous acts of human trafficking,” Jordan says.

“They’re no worse than Phillip Houston,” Rick says.

“Still can’t believe he did that to his own daughter,” Sterling says.

“Yeah, but that’s your upstanding citizen. Mr. Houston,” Rick says.

For the most part, I can’t tell if they’re for or against the MC. They seem to be divided in half, with Ethan and Sterling against them, Jordan and Claire for them, and Rick somewhere in the middle. Selling drugs and weapons doesn’t surprise me as it relates to Kai, but the rest of it I can’t align with the man that I know.

Knew.

I have to remember it’s been two decades since we saw each other before this time. People change a lot over time. Though there was a time when he was the stable force in my life, the only person I trusted, believed, and loved, the fact remains that he may not be the same person. I’m not.

Club whores. Was he screwing them? I think about how careless I was when it came to having sex with him after not seeing him for so long. Just because he was my first love and I was horny as hell didn’t mean I had to jump him so soon.

I hadn’t had sex with my ex-husband, Will, for at least a year before we filed for separation and then divorce.

“How long have you had him?” Claire asks.

I look up to see who she’s talking to.

“Raider, your kitten,” she says at the look of confusion on my face.

“Oh.” I’d somehow missed the change in subject. “Oh, just a week.”

“Where’d you get him? He’s so cute,” Jordan says, leaning over and rubbing Raider.

“Actually, I found him. A surprise,” I say.

“Found him? Where?” Jordan asks.

“My kitchen.”

At the look of confusion and the startled look on Claire’s face, I proceed to explain the events of the early morning last Saturday as I leave out details about the note.

“Did you call the cops?” Claire asks.

“No. I mean, what would I report? That my back door was left open in my absentmindedness, and a random kitty cat comes pouncing in?”

“Awww, look at him. He’s so cute and harmless. Who couldn’t take in a cootsy-wootsy like this,” Jordan says in a baby voice as she continues petting Raider.

“Yeah, but you said yourself that you were sure you locked your door. To wake up and find it not only unlocked but also opened is scary,” Claire points out.

I nod. “I was scared, but in all honesty, there were no signs of forced entry.”

“You should have reported it just to be on the safe side if nothing else,” Rick says.

“You’re right. But it’s been a week now, and nothing’s happened.”

“Just be careful. I know that Smokey Ridge isn’t a big city, but things can happen anywhere,” Sterling cautions.

“He’s right. Be careful. Make sure that you double-check your locks and install a security system if you haven’t already. We may be a close-knit community, but don’t forget lots of these homes are rented out to vacationers who we don’t know,” Ethan advises.

Everyone else nods and murmurs their agreement.

“You’re right. I’ll get on it first thing in the morning,” I say.

We continue roasting marshmallows, making s’mores, and drinking beer late into the night. I expect by the time I return home, I should be able to sleep peacefully without thoughts of Kai plaguing me and the devastated look on his face when I said that I wasn’t looking for anything serious. Nor the look of hurt when he saw me hugging Cameron Marino.

***

I’m cold and shaking. Darkness clouds everything as if I have a blanket over my face. I hear laughing and the muffled sounds of feet shuffling. My arms and legs flail, but I can’t seem to escape. It’s as if I’m being held down against my will.

I hate losing control and not feeling as if I have the final say over things in my life. I fight and struggle once more, but I still can’t break free.

Why the hell am I so cold? It’s the end of September, but it’s not often cold here in Santa Fe. Damn, Will! I bet he left the air on again and turned it down to a frigid temp. He doesn’t sleep well at night unless it’s cold in our bedroom. If he doesn’t turn on the air in the fall, then he’ll have the windows open and the ceiling fan blowing in the winter.

I struggle again, and I still can’t seem to break free. Nor does the darkness recede. Panic fills me, robbing me of the oxygen in my lungs. I want to scream, to cry out to Will to help me, but when I open my mouth, nothing breaks forth.

I scream and cry his name, but still nothing. Tears fall from my eyes, and each drop becomes bigger than the first. The teardrops become so big that they’re growing larger than me until they consume me. I’m caught in one giant teardrop like I’m trapped in a bubble. Before long, I’m drowning in a sea of tears.

Then, a sound breaks through. Is that a baby crying?

The panic starts to ebb, and I’m no longer trying to scream. Neither am I flailing my arms and legs. The tears dry up, and I’m left alone in the darkness. It’s just me and the darkness and that sound.

What is it? Whose baby is crying?

I look around, but I see nothing but darkness. The crying gets closer and closer until I realize that it’s not a crying baby.

It’s a kitten.

A little calico. Black, orange, and white. He’s the cutest little kitten ever, but he seems to be in distress. He needs my help. It’s now that I realize that I’m trapped in a nightmare. Nothing is real except for the crying kitten.

My eyes fly open, and there’s still darkness all around me. Moving my head, I realize that somehow, I’ve become tangled in my covers again.

I shove them back and stare into the moonlit room. Turning my head sideways, I notice that it’s a few minutes before six in the morning. Still too early to be up. The store doesn’t open until nine, and I’m not expected to be in until noon.

I yawn and stretch, and then I hear Raider’s little purr again. This time, I hop out of bed at the speed of lightning and head for the bedroom door. I’ve set up his little bed and toys in my office, but I keep my bedroom and office doors closed so that he can remain in there for the night. I’m trying to train him to remain there, and that’s the only way he’ll stay inside.

Yet, I shouldn’t be hearing his cry from behind two closed doors. He’s just a kitten and shouldn’t be that loud. No sooner than I open my bedroom door, I almost trip over Raider. He’s at my feet, looking up at me with those opaque eyes that seem to see everything.

Leaning down, I pick him up.

“Hey, little guy...hey, why are you wet?” I ask, stroking his fur as my heartbeat ramps up. “How did you get out of your room?”

I walk into the office, and I don’t see anything amiss other than the open door, which should have been shut. I know for certain that I closed the door firmly before going to bed. After the conversation I had with my neighbors, I double-checked to make sure the door was closed, and my house doors were locked, along with the windows.

Raider and I head back to the front of the house, and I see that all is well in the living room. When I head into the kitchen, I see that the back door is closed and still locked this time, but the kitchen window is wide open.

I run back to my bedroom and grab my gun. There’s no way that the window should be open. Someone has broken into my house, and while they’re no longer here, I know that they were at some point. Raider didn’t do this. He couldn’t possibly open the window.

Not only did he not do that, he also didn’t fill the kitchen sink with water. I walk back to the wall, flip the light switch on, and notice for the first time that there are tiny, wet paw prints all over the floor. Yet, I don’t see another set of prints.

In the middle of the table is a plate of sugar cookies. There’s a note beside them that says:

Girls are made of sugar spice everything nice.

XOXOXO

Your Secret Admirer

I think back to Rick warning me to call the cops if for no other reason than to report what happened. How can I tell them that I don’t trust cops? How can I tell them that every time I was supposed to depend on them, they hurt someone that I love or brought bad news? Even more ludicrous is that I have a secret admirer who breaks into my home, leaving me gifts and cryptic notes. They’d probably laugh me out of the station.

Nothing good ever came from contacting them, at least, not in my experience.

I return to my room and grab my phone, putting an alert in there to call a security company at the start of business hours. Looking through Google, I find Elite Security, Services, Systems and Solutions, and I make a note to dial them when they open at eight.

I’ll also call Kai because he’ll know what to do. As much as I hate to run to him now, this isn’t a battle that I want to fight on my own.

I know that I won’t get any sleep since this happened. So, I grab a blanket and pillow, return to the living room and get comfortable on the couch after I’ve secured the doors and windows.

Every light in the house is on, as well as my porch lights. I doubt anyone will want to walk up here with it lit up like the daytime.

“I wish you could talk, little one,” I say, scratching behind Raider’s ears.

He looks up at me, flattens his ears, and meows.

“Oh, sweet baby. Did they harm you?”

After calling the security company, I’ll see if I can’t get him into the vet as soon as possible. Hopefully, they can squeeze me in before it’s time for me to be at the store. I’d already taken him to get shots and checked out for any diseases or problems a couple of days after I found him roaming in my kitchen.

It briefly occurs to me that I should get a guard dog, as well. Maybe one that’s an attack dog, only I don’t know how well this little guy would do with him.

Either way. Something has to change.