Текст книги "Burning Ember"

Автор книги: Darby Briar

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

Sometimes all that’s left to choose from are bad choices. The variance of how bad determines how far we’ll fall . . .

My eyes travel back and forth from the pumpkin necklace in my left hand to the box of condoms in my right.

The necklace caught my eye, reminding me I have one other option. I can call Sundown, my sister, for money. But as I stare down at the small jack-o-lantern with a happy face instead of a scary one hanging from a silver chain, I know I can’t.

Won’t.

Taking some of the little money Sunny earns waitressing and receives from the state to support Willow, my niece, isn’t an option, no matter how desperate I become. Plus, no way do I want to put them in danger by contacting them.

Will is the only person in the world I love wholeheartedly, absolutely. I could never take from her or put her in harm’s way.

It’s mid-August, which means she’ll be starting school any day now. Her first day of kindergarten . . . I bet she’s nervous, but also excited. I picture her strutting around wearing this necklace like a badge of honor, proudly telling her little friends her aunty gave it to her. I would have done it if I were home.

My stomach turns when I think of all the days of her life I’ve missed.

And will miss.

But I have to push those thoughts aside. They’re not helping me right now. I can’t keep focusing on the past when I need to be worried about my immediate future.

I have five dollars to my name. That’s food for two, maybe three days tops. But then what?

My gaze swings back to the condoms.

Can I really do what Ivy suggested? Sell myself? Pleasure some stranger for money?

I don’t want to. After everything I’ve been through, I don’t even know if I can.

I’ve walked the entire day from store to store. I’ve tried for weeks to find a job, practically begging for one. But without ID and looking the way I do, no one will hire me. And I can’t work just anywhere, since I have to keep a low profile.

Warner’s father, his contacts, and half the world are undoubtedly looking for me by now because of the media coverage about the fire and my disappearance. I knew with Warner’s father being a state senator, it probably would make the local news, but I didn’t know it would spread further than California.

Three weeks ago, while I was hiding out from a hot day inside a super store, I froze in my tracks. Warner’s face was on one of the large high-definition TV’s. He stood behind a podium and pleaded with the public to call the eight hundred number on the bottom of the screen if they had any information about my whereabouts. I watched horrified as a picture of us popped up. I was smiling in the photo, so it must have been taken a few months ago when we first started dating. Back when I was blissfully unaware of who he truly was. The camera zeroed in on his face showing red earnest eyes, and his frown. All fake of course. Then, in a shaking voice that made chills rush over my arms, he said, “Em, I love you. If you can hear me, come home.” He shook his head, acting as if he was suddenly too choked up to talk and leaned forward. In a whisper soft voice, he said, “Please help me bring my girlfriend home. Thank you.”

I don’t know why I’m surprised he’s free and not being treated as a suspect in my disappearance since blood was all over the crime scene. And nothing’s been mentioned about his twisted and demented proclivities either. His father must have thrown his money around and paid everyone to keep quiet like I feared he would. It was the reason I didn’t go to the authorities in the first place. Warner always bragged how his father was untouchable; he had cops, lawyers, and even a judge in his pocket.

The last thing I need is someone recognizing me and calling the cops.

There’s not a warrant out for my arrest. But I am wanted for questioning regarding the fire. Although that may be just a ruse to get me to turn myself in so they can turn around and lock me away or hand me back to Warner. And if Warner gets a hold of me, there’s no doubt in my mind, I’ll pay dearly for burning down his house, and putting a spotlight on him and his father.

I exhale and tuck my hair behind my ear.

Ironically, selling myself isn’t a far cry from what he put me through. One big difference is I’ll walk away with money for being used instead of sore limbs, marks, and bruises.

Even in my own head, it sounds so callous. Is that who I am now? A callous, bitter girl? Is that who he made me into? Someone who no longer cares about love or dreams about being with one man who will love me for me for the rest of my life? It’s what I used to dream. Before Warner.

“Excuse me, sweetie. Do you mind?”

I spin and find a woman curiously watching me. The woman is stunning. She wears minimal make-up and has pretty, blue eyes and Angelina lips. She’s somewhat of a cross between a beauty queen and a rock groupie with the most amazing chestnut-colored hair. It’s beautiful, thick, and shiny like hair on those hair product commercials. She’s dressed to the nines in designer skinny jeans, black kick-ass heels, and a red and black shirt showing off her ample cleavage.

I’m instantly envious of her natural beauty and clean, trendy clothing because clearly, this woman isn’t scraping by like I am. For the millionth time I wonder what it would be like to not constantly be aware of the lack of money in my pocket.

Slowly but surely, I beat back the green monster rising inside me. I hate jealousy. I hate seeing it and I hate feeling it. It’s like a disease that festers if you feed it, so I don’t. I learned long ago I needed to appreciate me for me, and not make myself sick envying others.

A hard feat when you consider I grew up with Sundown who looks like a modern day version of Pocahontas with blue eyes.

“Do ya mind if I just . . . reach past you, pumpkin?” The woman gives me a warm smile and gestures forward.

“Pumpkin?”

She points to my right hand.

“Oh, right,” I say.

After a couple of seconds of awkward silence, she motions toward my hand again. “Cute. For your daughter?”

For some reason I can’t explain, I hide the necklace behind me. “No. I-It’s for me.”

Her smile fades a bit as if she can sense the lie. She adjusts her purse over her shoulder and her gaze roams over me. Our eyes meet again, as she asks, “Are you okay?”

This time I want to tell her the truth. But I don’t. I nod and say, “Yeah, I’m fine.” Then realizing I’m still standing in her way, I sidestep. “Sorry . . . I’ll just—”

She waves me off. “No worries.”

She steps up and scans the condoms. Like a homing beacon, my gaze zeroes in on the boxes her hand hovers over, and then nearly pop out of their sockets as she drops not one or two, but five large boxes of condoms into her basket.

Different kinds and sizes.

My throat thickens up as if filled with cotton.

Seeing my face she explains, “Um . . . they’re not all for me. My uh . . . friends wanted me to grab them some too.”

“Oh. Right.” But even I can hear the doubt in my voice.

After a long pause during which she studies me, she hikes her thumb over her shoulder. “Well, I guess I better get going.”

“Sure, me too.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

I nod.

Then I just stand there and watch her leave. At the end of the aisle, she turns back, graces me again with her smile, and gives a somewhat hesitant wave.

After she’s gone, I sigh, and trudge off in the opposite direction.

For a moment, I’m caught up in the ‘what if’s’. What if my mother hadn’t left? What if Sundown had been able to support Will by herself? What if I’d finished school? What if I hadn’t been so desperate for help? Would I have fallen for Warner? Or was this always my path?

I don’t regret Will for a second, I’m happy to be a part of her life. I take pride in the fact I helped raise her. Supported her. Hell for a long while there, I’d been acting as her mother. But I still wonder if things could’ve been different? Did I make a wrong decision somewhere?

I hear static first, a split second before I run smack dab into a beefy chest. My eyes travel up over a black uniform, a fit torso and I quickly survey the badges and the patches on his arm.

Fear rushes through me like a freight train.

A cop. A city cop. But a cop nonetheless.

For a few seconds I’m paralyzed.

“Whoa, pretty thing. Look where you’re going. You could’ve hurt somebody.” I meet his eyes briefly, which are focused on my face. The side of his mouth is kicked up in a polite smile.

His nametag reads, “Officer Davis.” He has mouse brown hair cut in a flat top, and his ears stick out a bit. He looks like a drill sergeant. He’s not handsome per se, but not unpleasant looking either. His uniform is impeccably ironed. I’m close enough that I can smell the starch on his shirt.

Or at least I am until he bends down and reaches out. He stands and holds out a box of condoms to me. It’s not until then that I realize I dropped them.

“Uh . . . thanks.” I quickly grab the box and hide it behind my back. I attempt to scurry past him, but he catches my arm at my elbow and stops me.

A spike of fear runs my body. No. Please no.

My eyes slide over his utility belt and land on his handcuffs. Memories like on a film reel flash through my mind. It took hours to get out of the last set of cuffs that were around my wrists. I doubt I can do that again.

“You look familiar. Do I know you?” He examines my face.

My breakfast threatens to make a reappearance.

Stop looking at him I scold myself. I need him to forget about me after this moment. Not haul me off or remember my face. Looking down, I say, “No, I don’t think so.”

Heels click on the vinyl flooring.

“There you are. I figured I’d find you on this aisle.” The rocker groupie chick threads her arm around mine and pulls me close to her and away from the cop.

Huh? I blink at her.

I get the feeling she’s trying to say something with only expressive eyes and a tight smile. But I have no idea what.

Then her gaze shifts to the cop. “Davis. What are you doing here? Why are you bothering my cousin?” Her words reek of annoyance.

“Lily . . . been a while.”

Putting her other hand on her hip, she says, “You didn’t answer my question.”

He shrugs, “No law against grocery shopping. At least not that I’m aware of.” He reaches out, grabs a box of medicine from the shelf, and holds it up for her to see. “But since I ran into you . . . I might as well ask . . . You change your mind?”

She inhales a long breath and slowly shakes her head a few times. “Nope. And I won’t. But I’ll let the club know we ran into each other. Here of all places. Goose will be real interested to know you’re still tailing me. Still harassing me.”

“Lucky coincidence is all.”

“I’m sure,” she replies saucily.

Popping his chin in my direction, he asks, “Cousin, huh?” He eyes her skeptically.

Without looking at me, she responds, “Yeah. This is Pumpkin. She’s visiting from Georgia.” I try not to cringe at the name Pumpkin and go along with the lie she’s given him.

Hooking his thumbs into his waistband, he asks, “Really . . . ? And you’re picking her up at a grocery store?”

“How do you know I’m picking her up here if you’re not following me?”

“Good guess.” He grins and winks at me.

She gives my arm a little tug. “Come on, Pumpkin. We gotta get going. I told Goose I’d be back to the clubhouse in an hour. I can’t wait to introduce you to the guys. Davis, let’s not meet like this again.”

We’re halfway down the aisle when he calls after me. “Hey, Pumpkin?” We both tense. I pinch my eyes shut, but I know it’s not a figment of my imagination. He repeats the nickname. “It was Pumpkin, right?”

My heartbeat speeds up. My hands begin to shake.

I swivel around. “Yeah. Got the name because of the hair.” I tuck a loose strand behind my ear.

His dark eyes narrow on my face. “Next time, watch where you’re going, all right? We don’t want anyone getting hurt, do we?” I don’t miss the change in his tone or the way his right hand rests on his gun. His smile has changed from cocky to cunning.

Lily’s arm tightens around mine and she pulls me down the aisle. “Corrupt asshole,” she murmurs under her breath as we put some distance between the cop and us.

I’m fighting back a dizzy spell and the rising nausea. I need to go somewhere quiet where I can pull myself together.

After a couple seconds, I rasp out, “I need to find a bathroom. I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Okay, honey. It’s right there.” She points off to the right. A sign hangs from the ceiling, confirming that’s where I need to go. “I’m gonna find my friend Rigor. He’ll make sure Officer Davis keeps his distance. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She holds out her hand. “Here, give me those and I’ll get them.”

I shove the items in my hands at her and turn, but she stops me by placing a hand on my arm. “Look, if you need a ride, or maybe a place to stay for a little while, I can take you somewhere Davis can’t bother you.” I nod vigorously. She looks over at the long lines behind the cash registers, frowns, and says. “I may be a bit, but I’ll come find you soon okay?”

I flee to the bathroom.

After slapping open the restroom door, I bolt for the nearest stall, making it just in time. My knees skid on the cold hard tile, my face hovers over the porcelain bowl for only a moment before I retch. I palm the wall for some stability, though honestly, right now, I have none.

Too close.

That was too goddamn close. And not just my mad dash to the toilet.

The look on Officer Davis’s face. He recognized me. Maybe he hasn’t put two and two together yet, but I have no doubt he will . . . in time.

I heave numerous times trying to get rid of the nausea and images inside my head. Me, shackled in handcuffs. Me, looking out from behind bars. Me, wearing an orange jumpsuit.

My freedom gone. My secret garden replaced by an iron cage for God knows how long.

I breathe deeply and force myself to calm down enough to stop the retching. Then grab some toilet paper and wipe my face.

At the row of sinks, I choose the last one and splash cool water over my face. It helps. A little. I watch in the mirror as the drops fall from my chin. My eyes shift to the closed door and a knot forms in my stomach. The bathroom suddenly feels smaller, the beige walls closer, and the closed metal door gets larger than it was a moment ago. I squeeze my eyes shut. Don’t think about it.

When I reopen them, I don’t focus on the room. Instead, I gaze down at the gnarly scars on my wrists. They’re jagged and though caused by the same thing, they’re different. A small sign of the damage Warner inflicted.

The door squeaks open behind me. The noises of a busy grocery store file in. Shifting my eyes, I look past my reflection. Chills skate up my spine and every muscle in my body goes stiff.

“Ember Dee Pierce.” My name falls from Officer Davis’ lips. The one on my birth certificate. The click of the lock sounds like a gun going off as he flips it in place, followed by the thud of his boots on the tile floor as he strides toward me.

I scan my surroundings. My senses wake up and instantly search for a way to escape or hide. Only there’s nowhere to go. Being locked in a small space, cornered, as a predator bears down on me, is not something I ever wanted to experience again.

In no time at all, he’s standing behind me, his hazel eyes locked with mine through the mirror. The light above the mirror illuminates the sweat just under his hairline on his forehead.

“San Diego Police Department has been looking for you for quite a while. I’m sure they’d be happy to know you’re alive and living with Lily and her gang of criminals.”

I clench my jaw shut and grip the edge of the counter like my life depends on it. I could run, but I’d never make it. I’m fast. But I’m not that fast.

The way he snarled the last part makes me think maybe he has some beef with the men Lily’s associated with. Disassociating myself might be the smartest thing to do.

“I-I’m not her cousin. I just met her. I’m not connected with her or them.”

He scrutinizes my face. “Is she coming back for you?”

I swallow down my panic. I don’t understand what this has to do with her. “She said she would.” Then I ask the all-important question. “A-are you going to arrest me?”

It feels like forever before he responds. “Maybe we can work out some kind of deal.”

The tiny hairs on my neck prickle. “What do you mean?” Lines appear around his mouth as he smiles and a shudder rakes over me. A large knot forms in my belly. “What, sex?”

He shakes his head. The corner of his mouth lifts in a malicious smirk. “Not that I’m not tempted, but I need something more than a blow job or a quick fuck, sweetheart.”

A wave of relief washes over me. Then I realize I have nothing else to give him and tell him so. “I don’t have anything else to give you.”

“Not necessarily true. If Lily takes you with her, you might be very useful to me.”

I’m lost on his meaning. “Where is it you think she’s taking me?”

“Ever heard of the Harbingers of Chaos?”

“Where?” I ask.

“Not a where, a who.” He sweeps my hair off my shoulder and I flinch away from his touch. “They’re a motorcycle club. Their hangout’s not too far from here.” He gestures toward the door. “Lily’s boyfriend’s a member. A real piece of work, like the rest of ’em. We’re talking murderers, drug dealers, and gunrunners. They launder money through the local casino. You name it, and if it’s illegal, they have their hands in it. They think they own everything and everyone. And they trample over the people who get in their way.” A muscle in his jaw ticks.

Dread falls like a heavy weight to the pit of my stomach. “What does that have to do with me?”

“I need you to get me something I can use to put these guys away for good.”

It sinks in. What he’s asking me to do. “How—”

“You make nice. Do what you gotta do. Get them to let you stay at the clubhouse, then you keep your ears open and you supply me with anything and everything you hear that I can use.”

Do what you gotta do? Aka . . . let one of them, or all of them, fuck me? Become his snitch? On. A. Motorcycle. Club.

Is he insane?

No. No freaking way.

“I have no doubt those dirty fuckers are going to love you.” He brushes his fingers over my arm and I pull away.

“What if they don’t want me there?”

“Then I guess we’ll be seeing a whole lot more of each other while we wait for the San Diego PD to come collect you. But don’t you worry. I can think of so many things we can do to pass the time. I’d hate to see a pretty thing like you get locked away though. And you know arson’s a pretty fucking serious crime. What do you think that will get you? Ten, fifteen, twenty years?”

If I hadn’t already thrown up, I’d be doing so now.

I’m not a stranger to motorcycle clubs. I mean, I’m not an expert either. I don’t know the ins and outs of what they’re all about, but I know enough. I know to keep my distance. I know they’re trouble, the worst kind of trouble. I know most of the guys are scary as hell and revel in riding on two wheels, banging massive amounts of women, alcohol, drugs, partying, and pretty much anything and everything that allows them to partake in those things as much as possible.

They’re like the poster boys for the seven deadly sins.

However, I’ve only had an up close and personal experience with one particular biker. Needless to say, he left a lasting impression. Left me with a healthy dose of fear too. It’s the second time today I’ve thought about him.

“The Crow,” as my sister dubbed him, had visited our house around the time I was seven and then stopped around four years later. He had long, black hair, which he wore in a braid that went to the middle of his back. He was dark-skinned and had strong features. Features I only later realized were Native American. Usually, I was sent to the neighbor’s during his visits, or hurriedly stashed in a closet, so I only caught small glimpses of him through the crack of the closet door. But I was a curious child, and he was an interesting character. Not like my mother’s other fly by, tree hugging boyfriends. Even as little as I was, it seemed to me The Crow was more interested in my sister than my strawberry blonde-haired mother. His presence in our home had always been somewhat of a puzzle. Not only because Sundown withdrew into herself for days after his visits, but also because he had a habit of leaving an envelope full of money on the table.

I learned not to ask Sunny about him. It never went well. It wasn’t until later that I came to my own conclusions and thought it best to act as if he didn’t exist.

The only other interactions I’ve had since then with bikers were with members of a notorious motorcycle club who had a clubhouse a few blocks from the apartment complex I grew up in. Nothing crazy, just run-in’s at the grocery store, or walking on the sidewalk. Passed while on the highway. For the most part, they did their thing and let me do mine.

My mother’s advice, “If you don’t bother them, they won’t bother you. A lot like a nest of killer bees.”

What I do know for a fact is they’re not a group of individuals you trifle with.

I want to tell Officer Davis to go screw himself. I’m not going to make an enemy out of a group of thugs. I’m on the verge of doing just that. But I hold my tongue. If I do, I have no doubt that he’ll handcuff me right here and take me away. If I go along with his plan, or at least act like I am for now, maybe I can buy myself some time to figure out a way out of this.

His hand grips my shoulder. “What’s it going to be?”

I sigh out, “They’re not just going to spill their secrets because I’m putting out.”

His hand moves to the left and he grips the back of my neck, pushes me forward until my face is pressed against the mirror. He growls, “Suck it, or fuck it out of them if you have to. I don’t give a fuck. But you had better find a way to get me what I need, or you’ll be the one behind bars, not those filthy sons of bitches, you hear me? And I want something good. Not some shit gossip about them cheating on their wives, or old ladies, or whatever the fuck they call them these days. I want to know about their business dealings, their runs, their business contacts, the other clubs they’re involved with, shipments, the drugs. You got it?

“Don’t even think of trying to cross me. You fill them in on our little deal, I’ll lock you up so fast your head will spin. You try to skip town, I’ll tell some tales that’ll have your face plastered in every police station, every TV and every newspaper. There won’t be a place you can go where someone won’t recognize you and turn you in.”

Son of a . . . Heat spirals up my neck and face. Rage boils up inside me.

“Is twenty years of your life not worth screwing some biker’s brains out?”

Between clenched teeth, I grate out, “Fine. I’ll do it.”

He smashes my face to the glass harder. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“I said, ‘I’ll do it.’”

His hand immediately falls away.

“Good girl.”

I scowl at his reflection. “They aren’t just going to trust me overnight.”

He smirks. “I’ll give you two weeks. Two weeks of freedom for every good piece of intel you give me. You have a pussy. I suggest you use it and use it well.”

Did he seriously just say that? Christ, what kind of cop is this guy?

Sauntering away, he unlocks the door, peeks out, and leaves me alone in the bathroom.

I push off from the sink and rage coils through me. “Goddamn it!” I punch out and cry out when my knuckles hit glass. It doesn’t shatter but a stinging pain shoots up from my knuckles to my forearm. “Ow! Crap! Shit!”

I cradle my hand.

A few minutes later, the door swings open again. This time I see Lily’s reflection in the doorway. “You still want to come with me?”

I don’t. But the choice is no longer mine to make.