Wring: Road Kill MC #5 Read online

  Mom's lips become a flat line. “Is that all he wants?”

  I look at my toes, thinking about my job. I sigh. I'll have to phone, do damage control.

  What am I going to say? I can just hear myself now. “Yeah, Sally—there's this gang guy and he harasses me so he can make me his little whore and steal my mom's house. So sorry. Today, he just happened by and wrenched my wrist while a gang biker guy saved me and…” Yeah.

  Aloud, I say, “No. It's not all he wants.”

  “Let's phone the police again.” Mom spreads her fingers on her thighs.

  I shake my head, biting my bottom lip. “That's not going to work. These guys are just smart enough to not get caught hassling me.” I look into her face. “And you. What happens if they get really bold and break in here while I'm at work?”

  Mom hikes the archaic phone that habitually rests on the table top beside her lamp and well-worn paperback. “I phone 9-1-1.”

  I hang my head. “Mom, they could hurt you before the police could respond.”

  “Maybe it's time for that state home, Shannon,” Mom confesses in a low voice. “It's beyond time. Sell the house, give it to that thug; keeping our home is not worth our lives. Get what money we can and fund my care that way. You could get a proper job and have a degree of autonomy you've never had before.”

  I walk toward Mom and sink, resting my butt on the heels of my boots.

  She searches my face, smoothing my hair back, and smiles. “I've robbed you of your life, darling.”

  I vehemently shake my head, afraid I'll cry if I speak.

  But she holds my face with her crippled hand and tilts her head. “The disease has.”

  A sick exhale slides out of me. I can't dispute that fact. “Yeah.”

  “What does it matter if this Vincent gets the house? Let him have it for—what was it? Two hundred fifty thousand dollars? I could receive help; you wouldn't be in this never-ending cycle of caretaking.” Her eyes search my face. “You could have a career with children. Like you've always wanted.”

  Her words fill my head like a dream.

  Except the nightmare of Vincent isn't going to go away.

  “I want that. I mean, if there was anyone who could take care of you the way I'd want it done.”

  Our rueful smiles match.

  “Anyway,” I say, putting my hand over hers, “he doesn't just want the house anymore, Mom. Maybe, if we'd said yes the instant he'd asked a couple of years ago, the deal would be done. Our home would belong to a gang member.”

  She gives a regretful sigh. “No one ever said life would be easy.”

  No shit.

  “But now he wants me to be some kind of slut groupie or something.” My laugh is sad even to my ears.

  “Absolutely not.” Mom gives an emphatic shake of her head.

  I shrug, gently taking her hand inside my own. I turn it over, staring at the tissue-paper-thin skin covering slim blue veins. “I know. That's the thing. Now, it's personal.” I search her face. “I can't agree to one without agreeing to the other.”

  Mom's smile is sudden, clever.

  “What?” I ask, excited. She's thought of something. I know it.

  “Let's just commit, Shannon—put the house on the market. It's zoned commercial. There's no reason why someone else wouldn't be interested.”

  Her eyes gleam with unshed tears. Instinctively, I know Mom would never sell our family homestead unless I was on the line. She's that stubborn.

  But she's not stupid. And if I say the gang guy wants to make me part of some messed up harem, she'll do everything in her power to get me out of harm's way.

  Unfortunately, I feel the same way about her. The two of us are a real pair.

  “He'll know.”

  Mom's chin lift is defiant. “Ask me if I care.” Her snow-white eyebrow, speckled with pewter, quirks.

  “Do you care?”

  Her smile is sure. “Not a fig.”

  We grin. “Okay, maybe we can get the place sold quickly. We grab the money and run. Get you full-time in-home care. I can get more hours at the library.”

  If they'll still have me.

  “What is it?” she asks, and I'm too late to halt my expression. Mom's lips twitch. “I could always read you, darling. Every emotion you have shows on your face. You're very expressive.”

  That's the problem. Vincent knew I wasn't going to ever cooperate. I didn't have to tell him. He read it on my face.

  Nothing wrong with that chode's street smarts. Except they’re focused on me.

  “By the time Wring helped me, I'd already missed reading hour.”

  Hot tears threaten, and I brutally beat them into submission. If Mom senses how distraught I am about all this, she might backtrack and try to take on more than she should.

  “Your job? Pfft,” she says dismissively. “Phone Sally, explain the incident with this ruffian. She'll understand. But don't wait.”

  I stand. “Can I help you to the bathroom? Get you a snack?”

  Mom inclines her head back. “I'm fine. I've used the little girlsʼ room and fetched some crackers and ginger ale. Take care of you, Shannon. Stop fussing.”

  Fussing. Yeah, that's me.

  I begin walking away to call my boss.

  “And I want to hear all about this new man. This biker.”

  I stop, turn. “There's nothing to tell.”

  There's so much to tell.

  “I think that any man who would come between you and that hoodlum is better than most.”

  I nod. “He is, but I'm not ready for what he offers.”

  I'm actually judging Wring harder than my own mom is.

  She frowns. “And what is that? Besides being a good Samaritan?”

  I reply slowly, “Danger.”

  Mom chuckles and I frown.

  “Don't be so quick to judge, Shannon,” she says, echoing my thoughts.

  The memory of him picking me up off the ground by my butt and hammering me against the wall with his mouth, splitting me with his dick, rises to the surface of my brain.

  Unforgettable. No, I think my assessment of danger is right on target.

  I need to stay away from Wring as much as possible.

  But not because he's a physical danger to me. Instinctively, I know he would never hurt me.

  He's a danger to me in a much greater sense. I face obsession, lust, and a whole shit ton of other risks.

  Besides, he's made it clear I was just a female who needed saving.

  Nothing more.

  Or less.

  *

  “I appreciate you calling, Shannon. We were so worried. And your explanation of events is colorful.”

  Colorful. I can't stand Sally. She's so cloying and insincere. I swallow what little pride I can hang onto and kick off my boots. They tumble on their sides on the battered old wood floor. “Um, yeah. I was terrified.”

  Some gang guy about tears my hand off, and she's pissed because she had to do reading time on the fly. Thank God I kept details vague, putting the entire encounter under “mugging.”

  I muffle my sigh of exasperation.

  “I know you've been on the list for additional hours, but if you can't get to work on time with only the twenty-five hours we give you…”

  I fill in her silence with the unseen shrug she gives.

  “We're putting the house on the market.” I pause for a few seconds, hating to confide in this bitch of a boss who has less than zero compassion. “If it sells quickly, my mom and I can afford in-home care, and I can take on more hours.” My voice holds all the hope I feel.

  A couple beats of time drum past, then she replies, “When that eventuality happens, we'll reassess your employment options. As it stands, you're on ninety days’ probation starting now.”

  “Sally—”

  “I'm sorry, Shannon. You're a great employee in many ways, but this inconsistency. What with your mother's illness—”

  “RA,” I say, with barely contained disgust.
>
  “With her troubles,” she corrects, going on, “you've missed or been late to work more times than we would normally tolerate. The City of Kent has high standards of punctuality and attendance from employees. Appearances and professionalism are critical.”

  Scalding tears collect like a river of molten fire, beginning to run down my face.

  Please, please don't fire me. I can't. I don't have enough money to hold me over before I get a new job, not to mention a job I love.

  “You get one more chance, Shannon.”

  I cover my mouth then release a breath in a gust of relief. My fingers shake as I wipe the tears from my hot cheeks.

  It kills me to say what I know I must. “Thank you, Sally.”

  “You're welcome. And I'd recommend relocating to a different neighborhood, where these sketchy types aren't around for you to encounter.

  I don't correct her. It's no use. Sally won't understand or listen. She wouldn’t believe me when I say I don't—and never would—hang around with gang members. Sally would never understand that my life revolves around taking care of my mom and bringing home whatever money I can in to keep surviving.

  Sally's never been challenged with anything other than being a bitch to her underlings.

  “Don't you agree, Shannon? That mixing with these types breeds trouble?”

  I was not mixing.

  I tighten my fingers on either side of my hips, crumpling my bedspread, holding my prepaid cell against my ear with my shoulder.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yes,” I seethe.

  I swear I can hear her smile. “Excellent. We'll see you tomorrow then.”

  “Okay.”

  “Goodbye.”

  I open my mouth to say goodbye, but there's just a void where she hung up on me.

  Empty. Like my life.

  I start to feel sorry for myself then squash those emotions. Self-pity is a luxury I can't afford.

  Cruising my apps on my cell, I find a big local real estate company.

  I call.

  They're very receptive to our small house crammed into all-commercial zoning. Sure—they'll come by tomorrow afternoon after I get off work and survey the property.

  A tired smile spreads over my face then fades as I realize what Mom and I have to give up more than a house—it’s our heritage, too.

  I soak my pillowcase with tears.

  Sometimes, it seems like the decisions I have to make are the best choice among bad ones.

  Chapter 9

  Wring

  “Not good.” Noose shrugs.

  “Just find out, will ya?” I ask.

  He gives me a hard stare. Actually, that's his normal look. “You'll check out my stock portfolio?”

  I snort. “Tit for tat.”

  Noose binds his longish dirty-blond hair in a hair tie that roughly matches the buff color. “Fuck no. But with Rose and Aria—I need to have something to fall back on. Condo's paid for. Now I need to do something with the green—stash it. And I don't know how to play the market. I don't have the financial know-how. You feel me?”

  I do. “Just giving you shit. I'll get your cash set up in some good companies.”

  Noose rolls his shoulders like they're tight. “ʼKay. Just wanna look out for the family.”

  I smirk.

  Too busy being pleased with myself to see Noose's fist.

  I feel it, though, when it hits me in the arm, spinning me off the chair I was perched on. I hit the floor like a cat then tackle him around the legs.

  “Fucker!” he howls.

  Big lug lands on his back and snaps his hands around my neck.

  Snare walks in and sees the two of us. Snorts. “What are you fucking Nancy's doing rolling around on the floor?”

  Noose is strangling me, and I'm thinking about gouging his eyes out when Lariat sails in on Snare's heels.

  “Dumb fucks, can't keep your hands off each other.” He grunts and wades past Snare.

  “Fucker,” Noose seethes, fingers biting.

  I hit him open handed in the face.

  “Bring it, ya pussy.”

  Huh.

  Lariat dangles a knot between us like a white flag of truce.

  Fuck.

  Noose lets go.

  I rise, glancing at his crotch.

  He smirks. “Rose'll kill you if you fuck with the jewels.”

  “Really?” I ask, thinking about a woman killing me because she can't have another man’s cock in her anymore.

  Now that's devotion.

  “You think that's funny?” Noose asks, standing, looking pretty ragey.

  “I do.”

  “Couple of cat-fighting girls.”

  “He started it.” I point at Noose.

  Snare folds his arms. “Like I was saying.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” Lariat looks between the two of us.

  “Wring's being a dumb fuck about this chick, poking some fun at me because I'm all domestic and shit.”

  I glower, looking at my boots. I guess I'm pretty transparent. Especially to Noose.

  “What's going on? Why do I come in here and you guys are beating the shit out of each other?” Lariat's dark gaze searches both our faces.

  “He won't admit he's got it bad for this girl.”

  I look at Noose. “I only admit that I want to close the loop with her. I came by—wrong time, wrong place. This fucking Blood was hurting her, and… I don't know. Didn't fucking like it. Made him stop.”

  Lariat whistles. “This is why Viper's calling emergency church. He's going to want to hear all about it.”

  I hang my head. I endangered the club by interfering. All the delicate turf war establishment and domination might be ruined.

  Snare studies my expression. “We've all done shit, Wring. What's going on?”

  “What's going on is Wring has pussy fever, and along with not sleeping, he can't think until he taps this girl.”

  I whirl, grabbing Noose by the collar.

  “Fuck,” Lariat spits and slaps his palms on our napes, slamming are skulls together.

  Noose sits on his ass, and I stagger backward.

  “You two fucking children are going to get along.”

  We look at each other, and I press a hand to my head where Lariat knocked our shit together.

  “I like tapping twats,” I say slowly. “Nothing better. I sure as fuck don't need some girl that's got a fucked-up home situation with a chaser of gang.”

  Snare spreads his arms wide. “Yeah. That all sounds great in theory. You sleeping around—or just sleeping?”

  I let my anger slide out on my next exhale, like a dragon breathing fire.

  Snare chuckles. “But when there's a woman you can't stop thinking about, that usually means one thing.”

  “It's never just pussy when you can't stop festering over a chick.”

  “Why don't you fuck it out?” Nooses suggests with a shrug, hauling himself to his feet and spreading his arms away from his body.

  I shake my head. “I could try, but the truth is, I'm concerning myself with her when she's not around. Fucking sweet butts will only be a distraction from my goddamned issue.”

  “What?” Lariat asks in thinly veiled disgust. “You met this girl yesterday?”

  I give a curt nod.

  “You can't be feeling anything—hell, is this a white-knight complex or something? You know we're not in the sandbox anymore, right? We don't have to save everyone.”

  Noose and I look at each other then at Lariat. We tap knuckles like people toast with champagne.

  “Ya can't save everyone, Wring,” Snare comments quietly.

  I fist my hands. “I don't want to save everyone.”

  “Just her,” Noose guesses with unerring accuracy.

  My head swivels in his direction. “Yeah, fucking genius. Just her.”

  I walk away.

  Gotta go to church and get my ass chewed and spit out.

&nbs
p; *

  Viper leans back, drumming his fingers on the battered church table. His faded-blue eyes peg me where I sit.

  We usually meet at eleven in the morning once per week. Why the late hour? Lots of hung brothers. And I don't mean in the cocky way, like horses. But hung from booze and bitches.

  “I don't know, Wring. You're the most level-headed of all the brothers.”

  “Amen,” says Storm, a prospect who has a knack for opening his mouth at the least opportune times. Noose glares at him, and he exhales in justified fear.

  Noose grins at his expression. He gives Viper a swift look. “Vipe, Wring and I got into it.”

  “Heard. Ya dumb bitches, we don't have time for a beatdown among ourselves.” He swings his finger between the two of us. “I need you guys to be ready for our enemies. What were you two lovebirds quarreling about anyway?” He rolls his eyes as though weary. “Gotta be pussy.” His thick eyebrows rise.

  Silence.

  “Isn't it always?” Snare says out of nowhere.

  “Yup,” Lariat replies instantly, giving me a hard look.

  I guess I earned that.

  “Noose tells me you came between a Blood and his bitch.”

  I bristle. Shannon is not Vincent's bitch. But I want him to be mine. My hands still tingle from the memory of her under my skin.

  Viper waits.

  I form my answer carefully. “I was killinʼ road, on my way to Noose's for some food.”

  “Rose was making pancakes?” Trainer asks with a hopeful lilt.

  I shut him up with a glance.

  “Fine, fuck,” he says in a sullen mumble.

  I point at him. “You're lucky you're patched in, or you'd be on cum and piss patrol.”

  Trainer pulls a face of such pure disgust it cracks us up. When we've finally controlled ourselves I continue, “I was driving through Kent Station, saw a Blood manhandling a chick.”

  Viper's shoulder lifts in a clear So?

  I rub a hand over my skull, feeling the bite of many short hairs needling my skin. “She didn't look like a working girl. I might have let it slide if I thought she was a Blood flesh worker.”