Chapter 31

[Mavis]

When Darren pulls into the motel parking lot, roughly an hour outside of Sterling Falls on some obscure highway, I have no sense of where we were. The seedy, rundown location screams motel rooms that rent by the hour.

I complained at first. “Dutton needs medical attention.” I wanted him checked for a concussion better than the brief scan I’ve done in Darren’s truck. Plus, he needed ointment for the seatbelt burn on his neck.

“The kid looks fine.”

The kid? Was he kidding me? His kid. Although, Darren had no claim to the boy he created.

Inside the dark room, a musty smell lingers. Darren keeps the blinds closed.

For the longest time, we are quiet. All three of us.

Darren took a seat in a chair two sizes too small for him. He’s been staring at his phone but not necessarily scrolling.

I don’t have my phone to distract Dutton with Princess Power videos, and the television doesn’t offer any streaming services. Not that Darren has bothered to turn it on. Instead, I sit on the lumpy double bed against the headboard with Dutton curled into my side. Stroking his hair, I attempt to keep him calm while my heart hammers in my chest.

Eventually, Dutton naps, and I stare at my reflection in the mirror opposite the bed. Black and blue marks are forming beneath my eyes from the pressure of my nose slammed by the air bag. The tension of gripping the steering wheel is starting to settle in, making my upper back and neck stiff. I briefly close my eyes.

When Dutton wakes, he whines, “I’m hungry.”

Darren’s head shoots upright as if he’d forgotten Dutton is in the room. His large mouth falls open, before he snaps it shut. His gaze fixates on Dutton tucked into my side.

“He’s turning soft,” Darren grunts.

“He’s six,” I remind him, not certain Darren can count that high. Or has bothered to recall how much time has passed since he denied this child was his son and dumped my sister. “And he’s hungry. There’s a difference.”

Darren is really referencing Dutton’s appearance. A time, or five, he’s eyed Dutton’s peach sweatshirt with a gold-colored crown.

“He didn’t eat breakfast,” I explain. “And we missed lunch as well.” The digital clock on the nightstand tells me it’s after five. Clay must be coming out of his skin at my absence. While he might not have noticed I was missing during the hours of my shift, we do communicate often with text messages and an occasional phone call, and by now he’d notice I haven’t responded to any.

It’s also well past the time I would be home, making dinner for the three of us.

We’d settle onto the couch for episodes of Princess Power we’d seen a hundred times or maybe watch the new horse program Clay found as Dutton’s newfound interest leans toward wanting a horse of his own. We’d fall into the routine of getting Dutton ready for bed, tucking him in, and then maybe resettle on the couch for some adult time together. Or we’d head to Clay’s bed and—

“I’ll order something,” Darren huffs, typing away at his phone.

“Why don’t you just let us go?” I haven’t tried pleading with him yet, knowing a man like Darren needs time, not pressure, to make a decision. Especially as he doesn’t appear to have thought anything through. If he wanted to disappear with us, we’d still be on the road. If he wanted only Dutton, I’d have been ditched, or worse. And if he wanted to go back to Florida, and the club, we’d be heading south by now.

“What’s the plan here?” I snap.

“Don’t ask.” His dark beady eyes narrow at me.

“Because you don’t know,” I argue, knowing I’m pushing him.

“Shut it, Mavis.”

When my sister and I were teens, Darren was in his twenties, and I might have talked back to him then, telling him to make me shut up. Knowing he couldn’t touch me because of Dad. But at some point, once we aged, Darren thought he’d get away with fooling around with Cecelia. Her body and her emotions. Then again, with Cecilia in her late twenties when she made the mistake of getting involved with Darren, they were both consenting adults. Being pregnant when she turned thirty wasn’t how she saw the next decade of her life going. At thirty-one, her life was cut short.

Many in the club blamed Darren. My parents had. I certainly did. And I wanted him to disappear again, like he’d been missing for the last six years.

Within forty minutes, greasy fast food that I wouldn’t typically feed Dutton arrives. He balks at the burger, dripping with ketchup and mustard.

Darren points a French fry at Dutton. “Eat the meat, boy, so you grow up big and strong.”

Dutton bends his thin arm, attempting to make a muscle when there is hardly a bulge. “I’m already strong. Clay tells me all the time.”

My brows lift. I don’t recall Clay saying such a thing but then again Clay is always complimenting Dutton. Telling him how smart he is with his schoolwork. Telling him he can be anything he wants to be, even a Power Princess. Clay doesn’t stifle who Dutton is, because he’s six . And Clay cares about Dutton. I see it in the way he watches him, marveling at him. I hear it in the way he talks to him, like he’s not only a child, but a person with thoughts and ideas, feelings and emotions.

“That your man now?” Darren’s eyes lift, locking on mine.

“Yes.” I don’t want to put Clay in any danger as I don’t know who Darren is working with, if anyone. But I also want him to understand something. “His brother is the local sheriff, and considering we should be home by now, he’ll be looking for us.”

The warning is a shot fired. Our absence is not going to go unnoticed.

“You should have stayed in Florida.”

“I felt safer here.” Until this moment .

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. The idea of keeping my enemies close meant Wesley might be drawn back to Sterling Falls. Darren was the last person I expected to lure to this small town.

“That old man of yours was worthless.”

“Daddy?” How dare Darren speak about a senior member of his former club like that?

“Wesley.”

How does Darren know about Wesley? Darren was long gone around the time my sister’s death happened, and Wesley came into the picture for me.

“Have you been following us?” My brows heavy cinch.

Darren tips his chin at Dutton. “He’s my—”

As Dutton and I are sharing a chair, I cover his ears, like Darren is about to swear in front of a six-year-old. His intended statement is worse than any cursing.

Dutton is not Darren’s. He’s mine.

Darren drops another fry from his fingers and sits back, narrowing his eyes at me.

“He’s my son.” I lower my hands from Dutton’s ears. “You have no claim on him.”

“Biologically, he’s mine.” Darren continues as if Dutton isn’t present. Little ears with big listening power .

“And in every other way, he’s mine . Cecelia wanted it that way.”

“Don’t mention her,” he growls.

“Don’t you,” I warn.

He dropped my sister like she was some sweet butt, a woman hanging around the club easily offering up sexual favors in hopes of a higher status within the club ranks. But Cecelia was better than that, and I never understood what she saw in Darren in the first place to make her start sleeping with him. Or how he thought he was worthy of my sister.

“I could take you to court.”

This is one of my biggest fears, as Darren does have paternal rights, even if the birth certificate is blank in the box that reads Father’s Name . However, I can’t imagine a court in America that would give rights to an absentee father who has had no recorded address for six years. I doubt he’s employed. And I don’t care. I also know Darren has lived a lifestyle that prides itself on living outside the law. He won’t take legal action, but he could try to kidnap Dutton and disappear on me.

“What would you do with him?” I sneer at the flat burger bun dripping with sauces that Dutton hasn’t touched. “What’s his favorite meal? His favorite book? His favorite shirt?”

“He wouldn’t be wearing no damn girl sweatshirt, that’s for sure.” Darren nods at the one Dutton wears.

I tug Dutton into my side. Everything in me wants to shut this conversation down, while I’d love nothing more than to continue defending Dutton . . . just not in his presence.

“He is who he is,” I snap. “You accept him as such, or never see him again.” Just like he hasn’t seen him in six years. “What do you really want, Darren?”

Because I don’t think it’s his son or the right to claim who is biologically his.

“I want back in the club.”

Ah, there it is . I lean back in the chair and run my hand up Dutton’s little back.

Going rogue can be dangerous for a member. Going rogue is also rough when the club is all you’ve known. They are family and friends, camaraderie and competition. Being a member is everything to some.

Not me. I’d wanted out, and being a woman, I wasn’t ever officially in.

“You want me to call Dad.” It isn’t a question.

“I want to explain myself.”

“Explain it to me.” Darren isn’t getting anywhere near a conversation with my father if he can’t tell me first what he wants to say. Daddy won’t give him a breath of a chance, especially if he knows Darren has Dutton and me held as hostages. And if I can’t help Darren get what he wants, so I get what I want, which is no contact with him ever again, we’re at a stalemate. Or worse.

Darren might be a coldhearted man, but I’d like to hope he doesn’t have the emotional strength to harm his kid. As for me, I’m another story.

Darren and I stare at one another, eyes narrowed, neither willing to look away.

“Not in front of the kid.”

“And what do you suggest I do with him?” I’m not letting Dutton out of my sight.

Darren shrugs. “What do you do when you need a minute?”

I might let him watch television as a distraction, a guilty form of babysitting. Or I could stick him in the tub, the running water drowning out a conversation. Turning to Dutton, I swipe a hand through his hair. He looks tired, and I know he’s still hungry. Maybe a bath will distract him.

“How about a bath, buddy?”

He looks up at me. “Are we spending the night here?”

I glance at Darren. “I hope not.”

Darren simply shakes his head. He doesn’t have an answer. Hasn’t made up his mind.

“Let’s give you a bath for now.” Gently, I nudge him off our shared seat and guide him to the bathroom. While the water runs, Dutton steps into the tub, swiping his hands underneath the stream coming from the faucet. I check out his thin neck again, angry once more that Darren didn’t stop at a pharmacy for ointment or pain meds.

Leaving the door slightly ajar so I can see Dutton in the tub, I step back into the bedroom area, leaning against the door jamb, and purse my lips while looking at Darren.

Hoping the water drowns out Darren’s story, I tip up my chin. “So speak.”

Darren moves to the edge of the bed, eyes fixed in the direction of the bathroom where I’ve closed the door as a shield from Darren but can still see Dutton myself. I’m working double time here, watching Dutton out of the corner of my eye while keeping my sights on Darren.

“I loved her,” Darren states.

A fire rushes up my belly. “You had a funny way of showing it.”

“Denying I did was my way to prove it. I had to protect her.”

I glare at him. How dare he think denying his kid and pushing my sister to the side was protecting her?

“If I’d claimed her, she’d have been marked.” He swallows hard, hands clasping together between his spread thighs. “But not claiming her damned her anyway.”

He blinks rapidly before clearing his throat. I don’t offer him any sympathy. I’d been there when my sister found out she was pregnant and there for the aftermath of Darren’s rejection. I was there as she held her son for the first time, and there when my sister was discovered, her last breath gone.

“I thought I was doing right by her.”

“Save it,” I snap. “You broke her heart.” Thankfully, not her spirit, though. My sister was a vibrant force which I imagine might have caused Darren’s attraction to her. Not that Cecilia wasn’t also beautiful in body and mind, but her energy was contagious.

“It broke mine as well,” he admits. The large man before me, a wall of strength and pride, looks ready to crumble. “And I hate myself every day for what I did to her. What happened to her.”

“You killed her.”

“I didn’t.” He sits up straighter.

While he hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger, my sister was dead because of him. Someone had it out for him and took my sister out as a warning.

I check on Dutton, my eyes filling with tears at his loss. My loss. He’ll never know what he’s missing, and many days I consider myself a poor substitute. But we are all each other has, and I’ve come to terms with that.

Me and Dutton . . . and Clay.

I close my eyes, once more thinking about him, and how he must be going mad. I hope he understands I didn’t leave by choice. I’m hoping someone found my car in the ditch, and he found my phone at his house. I’m praying he takes each clue as a sign that I’d never willingly let him go, unless the decision was made for me.

“What does this have to do with Dad or the club?”

“I want a meeting. I want to explain.”

I turn my gaze toward him again. “And you’re holding us hostage?”

“Collateral.”

“What if Dad refuses?”

“I have faith he won’t.”

I equally hope that’s the case.

“I don’t have my phone.” Surely, Darren’s noticed by now, especially as he didn’t give me time to gather my things.

His brow arches, but he sits up straighter. “You can use mine.”

I’m afraid Dad won’t recognize the number. Or he will. Or it’s blocked. But I’m willing to try anything.

I step into the bathroom and turn off the water, allowing Dutton to simply soak and play with a thin washcloth and a plastic drinking cup that had been wrapped in a protective cellophane cover near the sink.

Stepping out of the bathroom, but still keeping my eyes on Dutton, I hold out my hand. Darren sets his phone on my palm but pauses, keeping his fingers on the device.

“No funny business, Mavis. Straight talk. No locations. Nothing yet. He agrees to a chat.”

“Or else?”

Darren drops his gaze. He doesn’t want to answer me, but I already know what he might do, what he is capable of.

While my heart hammers, I’m equally calm. Maybe too calm. Maybe this is shock, or fear on the most base level. I’m numb.

“And if he agrees?”

“Then I’ll tell him where and when.”

Being that my father is in Florida, some five states away, and Darren isn’t likely to let us go until he talks to Dad, we’re stuck.

“Let me call Clay. I don’t want him to worry. Plus, his brother, Stone, the sheriff . . .” I let the thought linger. The authorities will be looking for us and that’s more trouble for Darren.

“Hammer first.”

Hearing my dad’s road name stiffens my back, but when Darren releases his phone in my hand, I make the call. It goes unanswered. I’m positive dad lost this number and won’t answer a random one he doesn’t recognize.

My next hope is my mom. “Let me call Mom. She can pass this number to Dad.”

Darren eyes me suspiciously before nodding. It takes a minute to recall my parent’s house phone number. Shocking they still have a house phone, but mom feels safer with the landline service. She answers on the second ring.

“Hello.”

“Mama.” My voice cracks and my gaze catches on Darren. He shakes his head slowly side to side, warning me to keep it together. He also lifts his hand, holding it close to my ear, before capturing my wrist and pulling the phone downward. He clicks on the speaker button.

“Mavis, baby. It’s been too long. How are you? How’s Dutton?”

“We’re both . . . okay. Mom, I don’t have long to talk, and I really need to get in touch with Daddy.”

“He’s not here, honey. Got a call and said he needed to roll. You know how he is.” She chuckles. “Before he left, though, he told me if you called, he wanted to know where you were. Ask if there was a way to reach you.”

If my mother is concerned, she’s giving nothing away. And if she knows more than she’s leading on, she’s a darn good actress.

“I’m—” Darren’s hand covers the phone, ready to pull it from mine. “I need Dad to call this number.” I’m practically yelling, knowing I’m running out of time because Darren is running out of patience.

“Let me get a pen.” The comment buys me time. Darren takes pity that my parents are older, pen and paper is their thing.

“Okay, honey. Shoot.”

I call out the number as Darren mouths the digits. Then I ask Mom to repeat it back to me.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” she finally asks.

“A butterfly is never trapped.” My voice is hushed, shaky and rough, and before Mom can respond, Darren clicks off the call.

Our eyes meet. “You’re walking a fine line, Mavis.”

I glance at Dutton again, my throat thickening. I don’t have a choice. If the proverbial line is thin, I need to cross it to keep Dutton safe.

And the code to Mom should explain it all.

We are in trouble.