Obsession (A Bad Boy's Secret Baby) (14 page)

Even dazed, I immediately put it together that it was Tash's voice. She was waiting for me outside, that's why I didn't see her at the table with the other bikers. Smart girl.

I turned to see if she was alone. She was. Then, in my stupor, I searched for my fallen cigarette. I couldn't find it. A hard rain was coming, and all I wanted was one last smoke before it crashed down.

“Give it to me or I swear to god, I'll bash your fucking brains in!” She thrust forward just to pull away again; keeping the brick raised, ready for another strike.

Through my fog, I couldn't help but notice that it was such a beautiful night out. Brisk and clean. I turned over so my ass was more firmly seated on the blacktop. The world still spun around me, but I d been thrown from my bike enough to know that the feeling would eventually fade.

“Do it!” she screamed, dropping the brick and pulling out a gun. It was a tiny thing, maybe a twenty-two caliber pistol. Not much stopping power, but it would certainly ruin my day. Why was she in such a rush? It wasn't like I was going anywhere.

My head finally started to clear, I realized that she wasn't sent by Wrex for some sort of indirect revenge. This was all Tash, and she didn't want to get caught. All junkies were opportunists. Well, who was I to delay her? I pulled out my wallet, folding all the cash as I held it up. “This is a bad idea, Tash.”

“I'm the one with the fucking gun! Put the money on the ground. What? You think that because we fucked and shared some happy junkie moment, that we're friends?”

Being reckless, stealing, arson, murder; all that shit I could handle. It was shit like
this,
letting my guard down and giving a damn...

That's what really got me into trouble.

“If you take this money, it'll kill you.”

“Are you fucking serious? You're going to threaten me?” Tash racked her pistol. A perfectly good, live round popped out of the ejection port on the top of the gun. She probably saw on TV that cocking a gun is what you do when you want to raise the tension, or show that you mean business. All it does in real life is just waste a round and make you look foolish. She'd obviously never fired a gun before.

Tash looked worried for a moment, like she wasn't sure if it would spontaneously fire, but she soldiered through and re-aimed the gun back at me. I lightly shook my throbbing head in amused disbelief, damn near laughing out loud at how absurd it would be if this was how I went out; accidentally gunned down by a junkie in a parking lot.

I tossed the wad of money on the ground by her feet, confident that, as stressed and hurried as he was, she wouldn't take the time to count it. Then I laid back on the cold pavement and looked up at the night sky.

Tash snatched up the cash, got in her car and disappeared from my world. She had no parting words for me. She'd thought I'd been threatening her. Funny thing is, it was a warning.

I'd only put about two hundred in my wallet, so it wouldn't be the haul she'd be expecting. It would be enough to get her a few balloons... or whatever they were calling
doses
of heroin these days.

With that much money though, she'd probably get talked into an up-sell and buy a full gram. Properly separated that would last her a week, maybe two, but if she fucked up the dose amount she'd just nod off and never wake up.

I sighed and slid a hand over my face, reminding myself that she wasn't my problem. Hell, she'd robbed me. I didn't owe her shit. Still, I've always had a soft spot for junkies.

I forced out a smile, it was bitter like sour candy. “Just another day in paradise,” I chuckled, knowing full well that one of these days that soft spot was going to get me killed.

The cherry tip of the cigarette rolled its way to my palm, burning me enough to recoil from it. “Hey, buddy. Thought I lost you.” I reached over and grabbed it. I laughed again when I put it in my lips. “At least I
know
that you're trying to kill me.”

Closing my eyes, I breathed that soothing cancer in as deeply as possible. I held the smoke in until it turned my lungs to ash, hoping it would burn away my soul, or at the very least, my goddamn nagging conscience.

My pocket vibrated. I let the smoke escape, it streamed from my nostrils.

“Yeah?” I asked, not bothering to look at the number. I knew it was my club calling.

“Hey, Ronin. We need you in south Jersey to back Repo up ASAP,” Tee said. He was an old friend from our club's mother chapter. I hadn't talked to him in awhile.

“Hey, Tee, it's been— Did you say Jersey? That's Knights' territory.”

“Remy sent Repo to broker a deal with their regional Pres. This is some serious club negotiation shit.” Tee was always good for laying it out as it was.

“Our Red Bank chapter isn't running protection? They're a hell of a lot closer.”

“It's a small meet, neutral location. Only one enforcer on each side and Remy wants that someone to be you.”

“Sounds fun. I've been dying for a hoagie anyways. You ever been to Carmen's Cold Cuts?” I asked.

“Nah, but pick me up a doggie bag. And one last thing. Repo does the talking, you hear me? These guys are pretty ruthless, don't piss anyone off!”

“My reputation precedes me. I'll be on my bestest behavior, brother. Cross my heart, hope to die,” I mumbled. My head was sore, I could feel the swelling starting.

Tee laughed. “That's what I'm afraid of. Stay outta trouble, man. Good talking with you, Ronin.” He hung up, the line going stale.

Sporadic dots of something wet nipped at my face. I opened my eyes.

Snow. It was barely October.

Fucking New England weather...

I dragged myself to my feet and took another drag off the cigarette. I didn't have to worry about the cold for long. The Knights of the Only Order had a way of heating things up, but I guess that's why our pres wanted me there personally.

In a climate like that, I would thrive.

Flora

––––––––

I
kicked aside the trail of empty bottles. Like usual, they'd accumulated into a pile, circling the body on the floor the way people might surround a casket at a funeral.

Okay, too grim,
I chided myself. Bending over my unconscious mother, I wrinkled my nose as the smell of booze assaulted me. Finding my parents like this wasn't new, but each time, I swear it got worse.

Gingerly, I set a bottle of water beside her temple. “Mom,” I hissed. She didn't react. I checked her breathing and, satisfied that she was alive, placed a paper bag near the water. “Hey, Mom, it's Flora. There's a sandwich and some aspirin in there. Okay?”

Not waiting for the response that would never come, I stood up, cracking my back. Taking care of my parents was just part of my reality. Though I'd moved out over four years ago, the day I'd turned eighteen, I'd accepted the responsibility of watching over them. Dopefiends to a fault, they were awful at caring for their own basic needs.

Well, beyond satisfying their addictions.

Call me crazy, but even through all this shit, I still loved them.

Abandoning them never occurred to me.

Until now.

This is different,
I reminded myself. It was my mantra, at this point. Things had always been messy in my life, but they'd been predictable. Small towns went one of two ways; they were either Christmas-card-picturesque where everyone new each others' names, or they were like my personal hell, Lakeville. Pretty name. Not a pretty place.

Here, no one cared what anyone else did. The lack of jobs and healthy distractions meant most teens—and adults—spent their time wasting away on whatever they could stick into their bodies. Alcohol was tame, people drove around with open cans of beer and bottles of straight whiskey.

The rest... the rest of them found solace in the warm kiss of a needle.

My parents were no exception.

But like I'd said, I was used to that. I didn't touch the shit, and I could thank my mom and dad for that. You'd think most kids wouldn't emulate their parents after seeing them sleeping in their own vomit for days at a time.

Most probably do. Just... not all of them.

My older sister, for example, fell in with the wrong crowd. It was easy for her, especially when she knew the dealers our own parents used by name.

So, yeah, there's a reason I hate the stuff. I also know it's
just
stuff, it's not who these people are. Not deep down. My parents are messed up, but they really love me.

Even if it isn't obvious.

But my sister? Claudine? She
showed
me that she cared. And that was new. She was all I had for a very, very long time. That's why, even if
no one else
gives a fuck...

I'm going to find her.

Inching around the rotting wood of the doorway, I leaned into the backyard. It was the last place my dad would be, but I had to check. The air was cool, the right kind of chill for Nebraska. Especially with Fall creeping around the corner. In no time at all, October would be on us. “Dad?” My voice was stale in the late hour. “Dad, you out here?”

Tugging my jacket high around my throat, I pushed my thick, reddish hair away from my ears. My skin was already turning pink; I hated the cold.

In the low light of the fading day, the backyard was some weird combination of junkyard and museum. Old, gutted vehicles sat in the same spot they always would. Next to a rusted lawnmower, a dusty, turquoise plastic tricycle appeared out of place.

Crunching on the gravel, I watched my breath flow into existence. I never liked coming back home, no matter how many times I did it.
Will they be okay without me?
The thought alone was twisting my guts.
Of course they'll be fine. Worry about Claudine.

No one else would, after all.

It had been over a week, time had flown by. One night, she just didn't come back to the tiny studio apartment we shared together. According to her text, she was hanging out with her new boyfriend, but when neither of them answered their phones the next day... or the day after... I knew something was off.

I did the obvious thing first, the thing they tell you to do; I went to the cops. You know what
they
said? They said, 'It's just Claudine. She's always been a little messed up. Bet she ran off with some guy, and you're a smart girl, Flora. You can guess what she's so busy with.'

Yeah. That's right. Apparently, doing a bit of heroin means nothing bad can happen to you unless you do it to yourself! They told me she was an adult, so they wouldn't search for her like she was some runaway kid. It was a 'waste of resources.'

It didn't matter that I said her boyfriend had seen her last! They wouldn't even talk to him!

Small town politics can rot in hell.

My next step was my parents, but mom and dad didn't want to discuss Claudine. She'd run out on them pretty early, they'd never repaired their relationship. I could grasp their hurt feelings, sure, but you'd think—even with bad blood—you'd worry about your missing daughter?

My father kept ranting that he was too busy getting ready to go out again for another two weeks of working at the oil drill. Mom would just walk room to room, never meeting my eyes as she got drunker and drunker.

The message was clear:
Give up on your sister.

But fuck that.

Giving up on Claudine was the last thing I'd ever do. She'd done so much for me over the years. I couldn't walk away from this.

“Dad! Hey!” Cupping my hands around my mouth, I shivered. The sun was a bleeding speck on the horizon. Where
was
he?

Turning, I spotted his dented up truck on the edge of the property. The tingling in my scalp acted as intuition; it told me what I'd find, even before I jogged up to the driver's side window. “Dad,” I breathed out, tapping on the glass.

He was curled up inside, a beer between his knees. If he was out here, it meant my parents had been fighting. I didn't have time—or much of a desire—to ask what about. “Here,” I said, cracking the door a few inches.

Grunting at me, his red-rimmed lids fluttered. “Flora?”

“Take this.” Setting the paper bag on his lap, I smiled as much as I could. It didn't reach my eyes. “Food, pain meds, water. You'll need them.”

The way his forehead crinkled said volumes. I knew my father; he was showing as much thanks as he ever would.

Shutting the door, I stepped back. I realized that this was it. I was going to try and find Claudine, even if it meant leaving this tiny town entirely. My instinct blared that she wasn't here, not any longer. I could be gone for who knew how long—I had no clue, for sure—but I didn't have the heart to tell my parents.

Maybe I'm a coward.

I think part of me was worried that my parents wouldn't even
try
to stop me.

I feared their indifference, so I never said a word about my plan. Turning, I hurried off towards the road, consoling myself with one simple phrase. One that Claudine had said to me again and again.

It's for the best.

I had to believe that. I wasn't turning back, regardless. Too much time had gone by, I
knew
something bad had happened to Claudine. I'd told the police who they should investigate. If they wouldn't, then
I'd
make the effort.

On the barely lit streets, I made a fast path towards Fiddle's house. Yes, Fiddle. The kind of name you hear and go, 'Oh. Sounds like a suspicious person to me!'

Seriously. I hate the fucking cops here.

The street narrowed, guiding me down the cracked pavement towards the skinny building Claudine's boyfriend called home. As I jumped up the steps, I had a terrible second of panic.
What if he isn't here anymore?
Her motorcycle was gone, it was why the cops leaned heavily on the idea that she'd ridden off somewhere of her own accord. Maybe she and her boyfriend
had
left together.

But... without telling me? That wasn't like her.

Walking away will tell me nothing.
If there was a sliver of information to be gained—even if it was that Fiddle and Claudine were both gone—I needed it.