7. Lamb

Chapter Seven

LAMB

“ Y ou got what you wanted.”

I looked up from my phone and saw a disgruntled, curly-haired cowboy draped like a wet cloth over the front of his handlebars. The humid autumn air separated the curls on his head, the mass swaying in the breeze like seaweed on the ocean floor.

“And that is …?” I probed.

“My slow and painful death.”

I sighed, already regretting bringing him with me. “You’ve been away from your old lady for only a few hours.” I checked my phone screen to confirm the time.

14:05.

Notification: No new motion detected.

I slid the phone back into my pocket as the wind tousled my jacket. Sand rolling across the dirt road began to pile around my kickstand, and the glossy black paint had dulled to a matte. We’d been here too long.

I looked around the abandoned gas station.

What had once been a gas station was now filled with the sand and grit from the road. Spiders made their homes in the broken neon signs, and rats had lunch on their wiring. Plastered posters peeled from the walls, leaving spots of colored paint, untouched by the bleaching sun.

“That’s a few hours of baby-making I could be doing.” Jax threw himself up, his hair settling in a wily bunch around his shoulders. “This new fertility treatment has made her like a bitch in heat. She can’t get enough of this. ” He gestured his tattooed hand down the length of his equally tattooed body. Being clad in jeans, boots, and a leather cut did little to hide the myriad of ink covering his bare, sun-kissed skin. Jax and I were among the shortest active club members, but for what he lacked in height, he made up for in speed. Jax was a dirty fighter and could handle himself better than most in a fight, but that wasn’t why he was here with me.

“I’ll make sure to tell her that.” I made the mental note, watching Jax’s smug smile drop off his face. “Women love to hear their men calling them a bitch in heat.”

“Don’t you dare!” Jax flung his leg over his bike, his foot catching just enough to stagger him across the gap. “Or I’ll—” His finger wavered in the gap between us, the bolstered confidence waning in my presence.

I raised a brow. “You’ll what?”

I watched the bravado fall into the many crisp leaves scuttering on the floor. “Whatever,” Jax grumbled, showing his back, his Black Angels’ skull glaring as he sulked back to his seat. “Not worth it.”

“How about we strike a deal?” I proposed, toying with a leaf that chose my boot to settle. I pinned it beneath my heel, holding it back from the pull of the wind. “For my silence?”

“Nope,” Jax popped, sinking back into the wet rag position on his bike. “Ronnie is the lesser of two evils compared to you. I’m only here because I’m paying back a favor, anyway. Not going to dig my grave any deeper.”

“Wise choice.” I shrugged, crushing the decayed leaf beneath my shoe, crumbs scattering in the dust storms skating over the hot earth.

“Wise enough that you won’t tell her?”

I smiled.

“Of course, you’ll still tell her,” Jax whimpered, rubbing his head into his tattooed arms. “I’m never talking to you again; all I do is get in trouble.”

I shook my head, pulling my phone out of my back pocket.

Notification: No new motion detected.

“Talk about pot calling the kettle black,” Jax grumbled, turning his head just enough for a brown eye to scowl between the frizzy mass of dark hair.

“I thought you weren’t talking to me.” I clicked my phone shut.

“I’m not,” Jax said, beady eye following my hand as it slid into my pocket, depositing my phone. “But while I’m still not talking to you, do you want to tell me who’s got you all hot and bothered?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on.” Jax flung himself back into his seat, his suspension creaking with the motion. “We’ve been sat here for an hour—”

“Twenty minutes,” I corrected.

“—for ages , waiting for this guy we don’t even know will turn up,” Jax continued, anyway. “I’m bored.”

“He’ll come,” I said, looking into the distant horizon, heat rippling off the tarmac, trees swaying in the mirage. The breeze blew, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a tumbleweed rolling across the long, empty stretch of road.

“How d’you know?”

“I don’t.” I shrugged. “But I’ve never once had a no-show.”

“I’m not surprised,” Jax grumbled. “Everyone would jump at the chance to cash in one of your ‘ favors .’”

I assumed he was speaking from experience, seeing how Jax had ended up on the wrong side of my favors more than anybody else had. He’d been a gullible kid when he’d come into the fold; always desperate to prove me wrong, eager to win just one bet against me. Even all these years later, he was still falling into the same old traps.

“What information’s so secret that we’ve been dragged out to the middle of Nowhere-Ville, anyway?”

“Nowhere-Ville?” My eyebrows knitted together as I looked about the empty gas station.

“Yep,” Jax popped. “Right between Nowhere Town and Nowhere City.”

I rolled my eyes at last. It had only been a matter of time.

“And you know what? I hate Nowhere-Ville,” Jax huffed. “We’re like sitting ducks out here. No cover. No alternative exits. Getting a smooth run out of here if something goes wrong will be next to impossible.”

“That’s why I brought you.” I caught his eye. “It’s your job to get us out of here alive.”

“Did you miss the bit where I said impossible? ” He exaggerated the last word with his lips. “Do you want me to spell it out for you?”

“I don’t know,” I retorted. “Can you?”

Jax opened his mouth, words sitting on the tip of his tongue.

In the distance, a car engine rumbled.

Jax and I turned toward it, buzzing with anticipation and caution.

Soon enough, an old beat-up wagon cruised, clunked, and clattered its way up the open road before screeching to a stop next to our bikes.

I stepped back, waiting for the clouds of dust and dirt spinning in the air to settle.

Rust covered more of the car than the flaking silver paint, and the wheels were more threadbare than a burlap sack. It shrieked in protest as the handbrake was engaged and creaked when the driver’s door swung open.

A middle-aged, emaciated man stumbled from the car. He ran a sun-spotted wrinkled hand over his whiskered chin, gunmetal gray hair slick back with wax. His white wife beater, patchwork jacket, and torn jeans weren’t a fashion statement but a visible depiction of a harder life. As was the beaded chain that hung around his neck, a familiar emblem dangling at its end.

“Detective.” I stepped out, extending an outstretched hand. “It’s good to see you still breathing.”

“Wish I could say the same.” The grizzled man turned up a lip, his scraggly gray whiskers shifting with the movement. He turned narrow sunken eyes on Jax, scanning him up and down with scrutiny before turning back to meet mine.

“Hopefully, we can make this meeting our last.” I presented a friendly demeanor, but the detective had little interest in it.

“Better be,” he growled, turning on the heel of his worn and dusted boots. “The next time I see your face will be in hell.”

Jax took this moment to intervene, stepping up toward the car. “Did you make sure you weren’t followed?”

Steam piped straight out of the man’s ears as he whirled on the young upstart. “Followed!” he hissed. “I was in the force for fifty years! Ain’t nobody able to follow me while I got two working eyes.”

Jax flashed his hands up in surrender. “Look, old man, I just—”

“Hush up,” he growled, and I saw the white of Jax’s eyes widen. “I don’t need some greenhorn telling me what to do. Do you think I chose to be out in the middle of nowhere for no reason? Don’t be such a fool.” The detective stomped back to his car, his chain jingling with each unsteady limp. He gave the trunk an irritated kick and a hard pull before the old thing popped open.

Jax sent me a deep frown, coming close to my side. “You sure this guy is sane?”

“He isn’t.” I shrugged, leaving Jax with the passing comment as I walked over to the detective, getting a glimpse into the open trunk.

Inside were old luggage trunks, suitcases, cardboard boxes, and duffle bags, filled to the brim with things from CDs to VHS tapes and articles of clothing.

He reached in with thin, branch-like arms and lifted a cardboard file box from the mass. The lid sat haphazardly on the top, a file, stray papers, and the corner of a Ziplock bag peeking from inside.

I offered out my hands, ready to take the box from him, but before I was within reach, the man snatched the box back toward his chest.

“With this,” the detective grumbled, small dark eyes thinned into tight slits, “our slate is clean.”

It was worded like a statement or demand, but I could see the inquisition in his eyes, the uncertainty.

I reached forwards again, my fingers pressing around the edge and bottom of the soft cardboard box. “Consider your debt paid,” I reassured him, lifting the box out of his hands.

Relief slumped into his brittle bones as he glanced down at his empty hands with a stuttered breath. His eyes then jumped up to the box now held tightly in my hands. For a moment, something flittered past his eyes. Hesitation. To leave it with me or to take it back.

“It took a lot to get that information.” He gave the metaphorical bomb in my hands an uneasy stare. “Don’t waste it.”

I didn’t get a chance to reply. The old, weatherworn man staggered back to the heap of rust he called a car. He dropped inside, slamming the door closed with a gallant effort.

Spluttering screeches started the machine back to life, and with the last of his hesitation lost to the wind, the wheels spun, spitting dust clouds into the air as it peeled out onto the road. For a while, the car stayed in sight, the sound softening into the distance, murmuring until nothing, but the disturbed earth remained.

“Well, wasn’t he a delight?” Jax propped his hands on his hips, looking into the empty distance with a puzzled expression.

“He’s a crazy old man,” I explained, moving to my bike and setting the box on the seat. “But he’s the type of crazy that’ll dig, and dig, and dig until there’s nothing left to find.”

“So, that’s how he ended up owing you a favor? Dug too deep?”

“No,” I indulged. “We met at the races, actually.”

“The horse races?” Jax questioned. His surprise was amusing. “So, he lost a bet?”

“Of sorts,” I spoke. “He was chasing horse dopers. Got caught snooping.”

“By the dopers?” Jax leaned forward, intrigued.

“By me.”

“That’s even worse,” Jax gasped with a dramatic flair. “Poor guy.”

“I offered to help him escape,” I continued, ignoring the petulant man.

“Let me guess”—Jax sighed—“in exchange for a favor.”

“Everybody is useful.” I pried open the lid. I could see photographs and files—some new and crisp; others older, softened and wrinkled from years of prying through, revisited time and time again. “If you know how to use them.”

“Right. Thanks for that lesson, Satan,” Jax grumbled, giving the box a bored look. “Is that everything you were after?”

“It’s a start.” I pulled open my saddlebag, took the box, and pushed the contents into one side.

“Good. I want to get out of here.” Jax scanned the horizon, his body tauter with every passing moment. “I don’t like being this exposed. And this place is for sure haunted.”

I looked back toward the gas station, wind whistling through a broken window, a hanging sign creaking, and the absent whisper of even the smallest wildlife. I could see how he got that impression.

“Let’s go,” I said, slinging my leg over my seat, settling into the familiar weight of my bike between my thighs.

Jax was already saddled on his own, his engine rumbling to life with a flick of his wrist. He pulled a set of shades from his pocket, sliding them onto his face before kicking back his stand and moving toward the road.

I followed, giving one last look at the abandoned station. For a moment, my eyes caught a glimpse of something in the window, but when I turned to get a closer look, it was gone.

Must have been a trick of the light.

I pulled up behind Jax as we turned onto the road, happy to get the tarmac flying beneath us and leave Nowhere-Ville behind.

K nock.

Knock.

Knock.

No response.

I shifted the tray of food into one hand, my other slipping the key into the lock.

“I’m coming in,” I announced, flicking my wrist. The key protested for a moment, fighting at a quarter turn. But with a little bit more effort, the resistance gave, the lock clicked, and the door opened with a gentle push.

I slid the key into my pocket before stepping inside.

Drawn curtains smothered the evening dusk, while a soft breeze stirred the drapes, giving home to the autumn chill.

Despite the cold, the girl lying in bed didn’t rouse. Her hair was a mess, tangled and knotted over the white silk pillows, the thick sheets draped over her slim body. Something tightened in my chest, an unsettling unease as she remained undisturbed.

I placed the tray on the sideboard, the soup and bread joining the other cold, neglected meal from the morning.

I turned back, reaching to shut the door behind me. I paused.

My hand lay on the door handle, catching a glimpse of the small scratches etched around the keyhole. Sneaky little mouse …

I folded my lips between my teeth to smother my smile, picked up the low-ball glass from the tray, and headed across the plush carpet.

I settled on the side of the bed, and at last caught a glimpse of the weary, milky eyes I had begun to miss. It had only been a day, but I sensed my internal change.

Not being welcomed in my home was not a new experience. My relationship with my parents had dissipated over time as the differences between me and other children became more apparent. I hadn’t minded it. It was hard to love a child who could not love you back. I understood that.

Either way, my concept of home was warped in the eyes of many. I returned to take care of my needs, and that was all. I never needed to linger or shelter myself between the four walls. I only returned when it was necessary.

Wanting to return there was a novel sensation. Returning because of a person was even more so.

Those bright, wild green eyes glowered at me beneath long, dark lashes and drew me from my reflection. I waited patiently for whatever she might say, but instead, she clicked her tongue and squeezed her eyes closed once more. I waited longer.

Her fists tugged hard on the sheets, the material taut beneath my weight as she tried to wrap herself into a silk cocoon. The soft chatter of teeth filled the air, and a strong shiver radiated through the mattress.

Concern folded a frown between my brows. I peered through the dusty twilight, cataloging the shadows hugging the hollows beneath her eyes and the red flush lighting her pale cheeks. Her skin was clammy, and cold sweat beaded on the surface.

“Here.” I held out the glass, the scent of the spiced whiskey strong as the shallow breeze stirred its scent.

Her eyes shot open. They ignored my presence, focusing solely on the wash of dark golden liquid rippling in the glass. I took the opportunity to look at them, never having caught more than stolen glimpses before.

In thinner areas of scarring, her green eyes were more vibrant, like wild ivy that stubbornly grew and spread in even the darkest of corners. It made me yearn to see what bright shade they must have once been. In a time, perhaps, when she’d been younger, with the youth her trauma had stolen, with innocence, and joy, and a happy smile on her face from life’s simple pleasures, not hard-won through life’s toughest trials. Before she was scared. Before she was tortured.

Sensing my lingering gaze, her head jerked away, staring hard enough to burn holes into the stirring silk curtains. She tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders, knuckles pressing underneath her chin. “Stop smiling,” Ash grunted, shifting beneath her protection. “You’re taking way too much joy from torturing me like this.”

I pressed my fingers to my face, feeling the tight ridges of the smile tugging at my lips. I hadn’t even realized.

I jostled, feeling Ash’s feeble attempt to pull more covers from me as she adjusted her body. She pulled her legs into herself, keeping the gap between us as wide as possible as she maneuvered to an upright position.

I rose from the bed, freeing the material and allowing her to bunch it up around her slender one. It was an opportunity to come close as I dropped to my haunches beside her pillow, staring into the untrusting, weary eyes regarding me. I could smell the mix of her hair and her body tangled in the scent of my detergent and savored the aroma.

I offered up the glass once more.

It’d been a few days since we’d started this new routine, and Ash had yet to warm to me. Sometimes it felt like the temperature dropped every time I entered.

Ash reached for the glass with shaky hands, but her eyes remained on me, waiting for that split-second that I would seize payment.

I didn’t move.

I let Ash’s trembling hands cup around the glass, the liquid rippling in her grasp.

Securing the glass, relief dropped Ash’s defenses. Whiskey poured into her mouth as her sheet cocoon slipped from her shoulders, exposing the damp, pasty skin underneath. Her body shook with a mix of pleasure and desperation. I watched with fascination as her mind and body seemed to battle. Instead of downing it in one, she fought to slow herself, to savor it. It didn’t last.

In a few seconds, the couple of fingers of whiskey was gone. Ash’s tongue lapped the lip of the glass, trying to sap even a droplet more, to no avail.

The empty glass dropped to her lap, eyes dazed with relief and disappointment.

“Ash,” I murmured and watched her chin drop, eyes turning down to meet mine.

I kissed her. Her lips were soft, the quiver of her skin and the shaky breath brushing my tongue before she could even think to dodge.

Ash jerked back, her lips pressed into a thin white line, eyes bulging with a fiery rage.

“I wouldn’t call it torture,” I purred, tasting the sharp, sweet taste of the whiskey lingering on my lips. “Most people like this.”

“Like being licked by a dog,” Ash snarled, punctuating it with the slam of the empty glass on the nightstand. She swung the sheet high up over her shoulder and threw herself back down onto the bed, back toward me.

I couldn’t resist the challenge.

I wasn’t taller than most of my brothers, but I was not short by any measure. Rising to my feet and leaning down over the bed, I propped one hand on the far side, and she straightened like a rod. Her trembling body tensed as I leaned my weight down, trailing my other hand across the sheets, moving inch by inch closer to her. Her fists tightened beneath her chin, knuckles turning white with force.

“I’ll be gone for a few hours,” I whispered, knowing my breath would warm her cold skin. I slipped my hand beneath the pillow, her head undisturbed by my intrusion. “Don’t worry. I won’t forget about you.” I lingered a moment longer, waiting for her body to unwind. When it didn’t, I pushed my weight back up with ease.

I waited for the soft escape of her breath before I revealed what I had in my other hand. “Now, if you’d please?” I waved the small, broken clock at her, catching her eyes, and extended my other, a waiting open palm. Both clock hands were missing, and its place on the wall was scuffed from where it had been pulled down.

Silence was my answer. Just what I had hoped for.

“If you wish to be patted down, I will oblige.”

Less than a second passed before Ash, in a rare spurt of energy, whipped her hand out of the bed, and the resounding clatter of metal bounced off the wall behind me.

I felt the smile this time.

I walked over to collect the two broken clock hands. I stared down at the pair of accomplices that had caused the scuffs around the door’s lock. The hands were too small and too delicate to have had any chance against the heavier-duty lock. I was proud of the ingenuity, however lacking the results were.

I glanced over my shoulder, a flare of hair spread back over the pillow, blanket wrapped tightly around her neck. The serene picture that had been painted when I’d first walked in was now once again in focus.

I picked up the abandoned empty tray of food, leaving behind the new one. Steam had stopped trailing from the surface, but I knew it would still be warm enough for now. “Try having something to eat,” I advised. “I’ll be back later.”

Balancing the tray back in one hand, I opened the door, pulling loose the key from my back pocket as I turned to leave.

“Do not,” Ash growled, the noise so quiet I almost missed it, “come back.”

I paused for a heartbeat.

Then I walked out of the room and locked the door behind me.