Exquisite Karma (Iron Horse MC Book 4) (14 page)

For a moment I stared dumbly at her before my I muttered out, “Gotta go to Colorado.”

“What?”

Pulling my arm from her grasp, I quickly folded the letter and shoved it in my pocket. “Swan will probably be here in a few days. When she arrives, you need to give her a message for me, it’s very important. Can you do that?”

The breeze blew the fine strands of her hair, lifting them in a gentle dance as she chewed on her thumb. “Yes, I should be able to.”

As I passed on the information I wanted her to relay to Swan, and probably Smoke as well, because I doubted he’d let her out of his sight, I began to plot my journey that would lead me to my mother, hopefully before it was too late.

I clung to the sides of the toilet, black spots dancing across my vision as I retched and tried to hold my abdomen. My core muscles ached from all the heaving I’d done and I wondered dimly if the altitude in Golden, Colorado, was somehow fucking with me. All I knew was that in the few days I’d been here, my morning sickness had returned with a vengeance and I was out of my anti-nausea medicine, which left me up shit creek without a paddle. Sweat lay heavy on my skin, and I gasped as I hugged the rim of the toilet I personally cleaned every night like it was a piece of lab equipment in a biological warfare research hospital. I knew, without fail, I’d be slumped over the porcelain throne like I currently was, and I wanted it as clean as possible.

Nothing like heaving into a toilet and noticing a mold stain beneath the rim.

Urk.

My brain was pounding with a massive stress headache that had me seeing more dots and I wanted to just curl up in a ball and weep, but I couldn’t. Even though my muscles ached like I’d climbed forty flights of stairs, and even my bones felt brittle, I had to be strong. Giving up was not an option. I had to find my mom, though all I wanted to do was run home to Beach and lose myself in the safety of his arms, but if I did that, people—lots and lots of people—would die. More importantly, the baby growing inside of me would suffer if I gave up under the seemingly insurmountable odds.

When the last wave of nausea passed, I cleaned myself up and stumbled into the bedroom area of the extended-stay cabin where I was holed up in Golden. The worn but clean log cabin butted up against fifteen acres of forest that ended at the back of the Iron Horse MC’s main compound, perfectly positioned for spying.

Three months ago, I’d have been over there right now, staking the place out and looking for someone or something to fuck up. I felt, deep in my gut, that there was someone in that clubhouse who knew where my mom was. All I had to do was be patient and I would catch them…that is, if I could ever go more than three hours without puking.

My breath left me in a low sigh as I lie back for a moment and let my poor body rest.

The cabin I was staying in had been built probably sometime in the 1970s, and had been upgraded over time, but bits and pieces of original décor still sat here and there. My wandering gaze went from the floral curtains, faded and slightly stained, to the parquet flooring, and up to the exposed beams of the massive logs that made up the cabin, which someone at some time had painted white. The forest-green comforter on the squishy bed was new, but the chipped, modular wooden end tables had seen much better days. But I didn’t choose this place as my hideout so I could vacation in luxury. I needed something isolated, safe, and close to the clubhouse. 

As this cabin aged, the wood became stronger, denser, and would become hard enough to stop bullets. The windows looking out into the forest were a liability, but the walls gave me a feeling of security, however false, that I desperately needed. I was exhausted in every way and held on to my panic by ever-dwindling threads. This pregnancy could leave me in serious trouble if I didn’t get some kind of medical attention soon.

Right now I was as week as a newborn kitten and out of options. I had to get some more of that anti-nausea medicine and I had to do it soon. The soft layer of fat I’d built up had melted away despite my best efforts to keep myself hydrated and fed. If it went on much longer, I’d need to go to a hospital—and that was a bad idea. Even though I was pretty sure my fake ID would hold up, there was no way I could give them access to any past medical records because they didn’t exist. If I had time, I could find someone to forge me a medical history, but I was trying to keep off the radar as much as possible. Besides, other than Marley, anyone could be a traitor. The thought of the men and women I considered friends stabbing me in the back sent a pain of a different kind through my heart.

My options were slim, and that had led me to taking a desperate leap of faith and calling the one person I knew in Colorado who had access to prescription medications that I trusted. Poppy Garcia, aka The Green Goddess. In her late forties, the kind and brilliant woman was in charge of developmental marijuana research for the Iron Horse MC. Beach had seen huge money-making possibilities in the designer marijuana field and had secured Poppy, a brilliant bio-chemist, to develop Iron Horse’s marijuana. He’d wanted Iron Horse to have the best stuff around so we could be the go-to regional supplier for high-grade weed. Beach had once again predicted the future with almost scary accuracy and Iron Horse was making money hand over fist at the legal dispensaries we backed throughout Colorado.

Poppy, on the other hand, could give a shit about the commercial aspect of the plant. She did research in her free time on different kinds of medicinal marijuana and her results were amazing. She was a devoted advocate for people with cancer, having survived two rounds of chemo and losing both her breasts in her late twenties. The experience had marked her and gave her an almost mystical calm that never failed to relax me.

I’d met Poppy back in Austin when Beach and I first started dating, and I’d visited her farm every time I came up to visit. I trusted her enough that an hour ago, I’d placed a very short phone call to her, asking for an enormous favor.

Glancing at my watch, I saw it was time to get ready to meet her at the rendezvous point we’d set up. I rinsed my mouth out with a burningly strong mouthwash, then chugged some water and got my barf-bag kit ready.

Because I wasn’t able to discuss being pregnant with anyone, I spent a lot of time on a couple of those anonymous online pregnancy sites where they had topics covering just about every aspect of pregnancy, and a lot of good discussions on some of the issues I was facing. One lady had posted her ever-so-helpful barf-bag kit, a brown paper bag with a gallon Ziplock baggy inside of it. Beneath the plastic bag was a small, sealed container with a toothbrush and toothpaste, along with more mouthwash. Bad smells set off my nausea and I didn’t want to taste puke in my mouth all day. Just the thought had my stomach roiling.

Forcing my mind back to business, I checked the fit of my dark brunette wig one more time before exiting my cabin, locking the door and heading for the parking lot. My ride tonight was a lovely blue minivan from the early 2000s with a lot of use on it. The vehicle looked like it was used to transport kids around, complete with the interior faintly smelling of French fries. Nobody paid attention to Mom-mobiles. To blend in with the minivan, I’d worn a large University of Colorado sweatshirt that I’d gotten at a secondhand clothes shop, along with a pair of thick-framed, trendy green glasses. They were merely for show, but there were studies proving that glasses messed with a human being’s ability to identify a face. I also wore brown contacts and more makeup than usual, aging myself, along with a simple fake gold wedding band.

This look was one of seven disguises I rotated through, and it would work best at the coffee shop I was meeting Poppy at. It was a little strip mall off the beaten track outside of Golden, a place I’d scoped out earlier and found to be sufficient for my needs. Small, clean, and quiet, yet public enough with all the neighborhoods around it that if someone tried to grab me, or there was trouble, enough people around me had cell phones to summon help. I wasn’t expecting anything to go wrong, but it was always good to imagine some worst case scenarios before going into any new situation.

I parked in the paved lot the coffee shop shared with a shipping place, a small grocery store, and a hair salon, then scanned the area again. It was busier than I’d expected, and I found myself starting to breathe faster as paranoia tried to rob me of my senses. No, I wasn’t going to start seeing enemies everywhere. I would be smart and evaluate the situation like my father trained me to do, not spazz like a spooked animal.

Forcing myself to really pay attention to my surroundings, I looked through the windows of all the places I could see from here and didn’t find anything alarming. Bikers would have stood out like a sore thumb among this upper-middle-class crowd, no matter how hard they tried to disguise themselves. There were two motorcycles in the lot, but they were tricked-out, flashy street-racing bikes and men like Beach would never be caught on one.

My heart rate slowed and I took a deep breath, doing everything I could to calm.

As far as I could see, it was just a normal early evening in the natural splendor of Golden. In fact, it was a beautiful. Great weather for going for a ride with Beach. The thought of touring through this town on the back of Beach’s bike roared through me and I had to close my eyes and tighten my grip on the steering wheel, fighting the tears. I’d been so proud to be his old lady, so proud of wearing his patch on my back and reveling in being his.

A tingle went up my spine and I instantly went on alert, looking for whatever had caught my subconscious attention.

Nothing looked out of place and I scanned the coffee shop again, looking for Poppy. I didn’t see her, but I did recognize her pimp-ass navy-blue Land Rover with its dark-tinted windows parked near the front door. I knew it was hers because it had a happy face daisy sticker sparkling on the back bumper. Only Poppy would put a sticker that looked like it belonged to a seventh-grade girl on her sixty-thousand-dollar custom ride.

The heavy scent of coffee filled me as I left the minivan and stalked across the parking lot, my stomach growling with the desire to gulp down gallons of fresh, hot coffee. Yeah, lucky me gets cravings for strong coffee instead of ice cream and pickles. Too bad I’d already had my quota of one half cup of coffee today, so I wouldn’t indulge, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t torture myself with the smell. The closer I got, the stronger the scent became, and by the time I pushed the doors open I was practically salivating at the thought of one of those big, thick, creamy coffee shakes with caramel drizzle on it.

I scanned the small sitting area with its cute white-painted wrought iron tables and fancy yet folksy chairs. One of the tables was occupied by some hipster dude in a black skullcap typing away furiously on his laptop while bobbing his head to whatever music was playing on his headphones. I ignored him and spotted Poppy next—but she wasn’t alone.

My feet took a step back without me even being aware I was retreating as I wondered if Poppy had betrayed me. She was talking to a woman with her back to me. Older, with silver threading artfully through her dark hair, she sat with a poise and grace I would recognize anywhere.

As she turned to face me, my stomach sank as my eyes met Mimi’s familiar dark brown ones, filled with anger.

I didn’t care how angry she was. I was relieved beyond belief because my mom, my real mom, was here to help save me from the bitch who gave birth to me.

To both our shock, I burst into loud tears and started to stumble to her. Until this moment, I really, deep down, thought I was in this alone, that I would have to do everything by myself. The part of me that had never grown up rejoiced that she was here, knowing without a doubt she’d die to protect me. Her strong, slender arms wrapped around me tightly and I clung to her, sobbing as she shushed me. Various knives strapped to her body pressed against mine, but that only made me feel safer.

Yep, I was officially way overdue for a session with my therapist.

Poppy stood next to Mimi and rubbed my back while whispering, “Shhhh, honey, get ahold of yourself. You’re drawing attention that you don’t need.”

I took in a shuddering breath and mentally cursed my hormones for making me freak out like this. I whispered into Mimi’s ear, “I-I’m sorry. I just…I missed you so much. I’m so scared and I missed you so much.”

Jerking back, Mimi studied my face, and what she saw there must have been as pitiful as I felt because her gaze softened. “Ahhh,
bambina
, the messes you get yourself into. Come, we need to talk in private.”

“I have a cabin.”

Mimi’s lip curled as she slid her grey suede Dior handbag over her shoulder, the somewhat short skirt she wore inching up a bit in the back as she bent over to leave a tip on the table.

“I have seen your cabin. No thank you.”

A man joined us, the hipster writer I’d seen earlier, and I almost reached for my gun before I looked past his disguise to see the familiar and handsome face of my cousin Vinnie. Yes, I actually had a cousin Vinnie. Nice guy, but a real smartass who often got himself in trouble with his grandfather, the head of the Stefano Mafia. Vinnie tried to tone it down, but when God made him, he gave my cousin a huge set of balls and very little common sense. Thankfully Vinnie also knew how to handle himself in a fight, because he seemed to stir up trouble wherever he went.