Текст книги "Fire Me Up"
Автор книги: Rachael Johns
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
“I could fucking skin him,” Ajax snarled.
“But with half our guys gone and the other traitors now wrapped up in the Ministry, we can’t take them on our own,” Blue pointed out, his whole stance tense and angry. He wasn’t one who liked to admit defeat. Travis knew his brothers weren’t scared; they just weren’t stupid, either. They were all good fighters, but you didn’t need to be a mathematician to know the three of them couldn’t win up against the whole fucking Ministry. They needed to be smarter than that, use their brains and gather their forces again.
“We need evidence to take to the cops,” Travis said.
“The cops? And what the fuck are they going to do?” Ajax threw his hands in the air. “They’re too damn scared of the Ministry—just like they were of the Deacons—to do anything but turn a blind eye.”
“Let’s worry about that when we have the evidence.”
“Right. And how the fuck are we gonna get that? Walk into their clubhouse and ask for a confession, start throwing around accusations?”
“No.” Travis shook his head. “I’m going to do some more digging. Sophie gave me that list of Priest’s business affiliates. I’m gonna hack into their computers, their bank records, but I’m also going to do the same to every last Ministry motherfucker. You’d be amazed what the old paper trail can uncover.”
“Let’s hope so,” Ajax growled, “because I’m sick of sitting on our fucking hands. I want revenge for Priest, closure for Sophie, for all of us.”
The three men nodded in agreement and Travis felt something shift inside him. For the time being, he was no longer alone. He wasn’t back, not for good, but while he was in NOLA he was fucking going to be a biker again. And he was going to get to the bottom of Priest’s death even if it killed him; because, for all his faults, Priest had also done a hell of a lot of good and Travis had never wished him dead.
Chapter 9
Leaving Rolley in charge of the gallery, Billie hopped on her bicycle and rode the short distance to Lorna’s house, Baxter trotting alongside her. Her fingers gripped the handlebars harder than they ever had before—not because she was scared of falling off, but because her whole body was tense with fury. And perhaps a smidgen of fear.
She still couldn’t believe the way Travis had turned from an easygoing, bloody good kisser into a near psychopath in a matter of minutes. She’d easily have believed that of the man she’d met three days ago, but not of the man who’d been almost sweet in Café Du Monde and then made her scream in ecstasy half the night. A traitorous shiver of pleasure zapped through her at the thought.
She had the worst taste in men, from the control freak of her ex to the bloodthirsty, vengeful reaction Travis had just displayed. What had she been thinking? Or rather what had her hormones been thinking? The wanton hussies had no scruples.
For a moment back there, she’d actually thought Travis was going to hit his mother. Of course at that stage she hadn’t known the familial connection—Lorna had never mentioned a son—but, whatever his reasons, his aggression had scared her. It had been so unexpected after the night they’d shared and the sweetness he’d shown her when he’d let down his guard.
She honestly didn’t know which side of Travis Sinclair was the true one. Was he a mean, emotionally messed-up loose cannon? Or was the Travis she’d slept with—the one he hid from the world—the real him? There was the distinct possibility he’d put on that sweet act simply to get inside her pants.
Argh. Her head ached from the confusion and she wanted to scream.
Part of her wanted to go after him and make him talk, demand he tell her why he’d lost it in her gallery, but another part of her didn’t think she should push him too far. He wasn’t the chatty type and after all, he did own her building. She needed to think about her business. No matter how she felt inside, she couldn’t afford to risk everything she’d built up here.
Hoping time and space would give Travis a chance to cool down, she’d chosen the safer option, a visit to Lorna instead. The woman had left without her money; Billie wanted to give it to her and also make sure that Lorna would continue exhibiting with her in spite of what had happened with Travis.
She propped her bike up against Lorna’s front fence and paused a moment to admire the elaborate designs and motifs that made the ironwork fence a thing of beauty. Honestly, until she’d come to New Orleans, she’d thought the fanciest fences were white picket, but they had nothing on the designs of the French Quarter. And it wasn’t just fences. The local architecture fascinated her. Lorna’s Creole cottage with its bright blue doors, orange window shutters and the jungle of mismatched flower baskets hanging from the roof awnings might not be as magnificent as some of the Quarter’s finer houses, but it made her heart glow just looking at it.
You could tell two artists lived here, and Billie had felt right at home the two times she’d visited before.
But admiring the aesthetics was not why she’d come here. Baxter joyfully went ahead of her up the short path and pushed open the screen door with his snout, not bothering to wait for Billie to knock, but she hung back, something akin to guilt making her a little queasy. What would Travis think if he knew she was with his mother right now? Her heart felt heavy at the thought, but then…
“Lorna, are you in there?” Billie hurried after the dog and called into the house. No man was going to control her anymore and if Travis had a problem with her doing business with one of her artists, well, that was his problem. He shouldn’t have stormed off.
Within a few seconds the older woman appeared. Her eyes were red and her cheeks blotchy; she’d obviously been crying. In fact as she came closer, Billie could still see dampness on her eyelashes. No matter that she’d been an addict, no matter what kind of mother she’d been to her son, her pain and remorse right now was obvious.
“Billie.” Lorna attempted a smile as she held the door open. “I’m so sorry for what happened in the gallery.”
Billie frowned. “Don’t be silly. You’re not the one who needs to apologize. I just came to check you’re okay.”
Lorna cocked her head to one side. “Do you know my son well?”
Heat flared within at just how well she knew Travis, but that wasn’t what Lorna meant. “No. I’ve known him all of three days. He told me he didn’t have any family and I never knew you had children, so…”
“You’d better come inside. I’ll make us some coffee.” Lorna smiled down at Baxter. “Come on, little guy.”
Billie wavered a moment. She’d only come to give Lorna her money, but she couldn’t leave the woman in such obvious distress. Together, Baxter and Billie followed Lorna down the hallway into a very homey kitchen. The last time Billie had been here, she’d admired the eclectic collection of art and other odds and ends that lined Lorna and her partner’s walls and every available surface. The house could have been an art gallery. It was a rainbow of color, and although none of the furniture matched, it worked so well and suited its owners down to a T. At the same time it felt like home, so much more so than her family’s posh, immaculately kept house in Claremont had ever felt.
“Take a seat.” Lorna gestured to the table as she started making the drinks.
Baxter, always happy to lounge, slumped onto the floor—his short, stumpy legs meant it wasn’t much of an effort—and Billie pulled a seat from under the table. As she sat, she noticed a few old Polaroid photos on the table. Without thinking, she reached out to pick one up and glanced down at the bright-eyed, cheeky-grinned, blond baby. Was this Travis? Hard to reconcile the baby with the dark-haired, dark-souled man he was today, but both her brothers had been fair-haired as babies and now boasted near-black mops of hair.
Lorna crossed to the table with two big mugs of steaming coffee. She gave Billie one shaped like a unicorn, with an actual horn sticking out the side, and despite the situation, it made Billie smile.
“He was a cutie,” Lorna said, and Billie realized she’d been caught with the photos.
“Travis?” Billie clarified, looking up to meet her gaze.
Lorna nodded, a sad smile haunting her lips. She wrapped her hands around her mug—it had hand-painted tiny cats all over—but didn’t lift it to drink. “I’m sorry to bring that bad feeling into your beautiful gallery today. If I’d known, I’d never…”
Billie cut her off and without thinking, reached across the table to take her hand. “Hey, you don’t need to apologize. Travis was out of line.” No matter how her hormones felt about him, the ruckus he’d caused in her gallery was unacceptable. “He had no right.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Lorna looked into Billie’s eyes, her own welling with tears. “He had every right.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t talk about this ever because I’m so ashamed, so sad, and I worry that if I start dwelling on it I’ll need something to get me through the pain, and I’m done with those addictions. At least I hope I am. It’s an ongoing uphill battle, but I don’t want to be that woman ever again.”
Billie nodded, letting Lorna know she understood.
“But that woman is the one Travis knows, and I’m going to tell you what happened because I don’t want you to think badly of my boy. He’s always meant well, was always a good son, despite his temper, despite what you saw today.”
Thinking of the way he’d waltzed into her home and threatened to kick her out, of the undesirables he associated with, of the way he’d first treated her, Billie bit her tongue and tried not to raise her eyebrows. He was definitely “good” in bed, but after today, once again she wasn’t sure about the rest.
“Whereas me?” Lorna continued. “I’m not a good person. And I was a terrible mother.”
Billie fought the urge to argue this point. The Lorna she knew had been nothing but kind and generous and good, even though she’d admitted to a difficult past.
Lorna rubbed her lips one over the other and then sighed. “I had Travis at seventeen, and by then I was already on a path of self-destruction. His dad could have been one of about ten guys I was sleeping with at the time and none of them were father material, so I decided to go it alone. Truthfully I probably would have had an abortion, but I thought my lifestyle would do it for me and by the time I realized that wasn’t going to happen, it was too late. And I was strangely attached. The baby kind of symbolized hope for me. Every night I’d promise myself that the next day I’d clean up my act, get help and become the kind of woman who’d be a really good mom.”
Baxter stirred on the floor and Billie put her foot out to stroke him, not wanting him to distract Lorna from her story.
“But I never seemed to manage it. I had Travis and fell immediately in love with him, but it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. I had no support and although I’m not using that as an excuse, it was a factor. He was an unsettled baby, would scream and cry all night, and drugs or alcohol helped me through. I convinced myself I was better for Travis when I was using, because I felt better.” Lorna paused and sniffed as if this confession was taking a lot out of her. “I tried to do the good mom thing; we went to parks and I’d tell him stories of the local folklore. He especially loved tales about witches and zombies and ghosts. We got by until he went to school, and then things started to get more intense. I needed more money to look after him, and I’ll admit, to feed my habit. I started sleeping with men for cash or drugs. After a while I wasn’t buying food for my son, because I needed that money for my habit.”
Billie felt her throat choking up at Lorna’s sad words. She was both angry and heartsick at the situation.
“Often I had to take Travis with me, and he’d sit in one room drawing or doing math games—he always loved numbers—while I did what needed to be done in the room next door.” Lorna had been staring into her coffee while she told this story, but she looked up at Billie now. “See? I haven’t even told you everything and already you’ve probably changed your opinion of me.”
“No.” Billie tried to shake her head, but she feared her answer didn’t sound convincing. Truth was, she was looking at Lorna a little differently. It was hard to reconcile the woman sitting in front of her with the woman she spoke about, and her story did make Travis’s actions this morning a whole lot more understandable. However Billie felt about her own parents, at least they’d always tried their best.
“Well, I wouldn’t blame you if you had,” Lorna said with a sad sigh. “Somehow, despite my downfalls, and there were many, Travis did well at school. And he looked out for me. When I was really high or passed out, he’d watch over me and try and cook for me when I was alert again. He saw so much more than a little boy and then a teenager ever should, but he never stopped being there for me. Until the worst came when he was seventeen.”
Billie was on the edge of her seat, wondering what could be worse than a little boy having to look after his drug-fucked mother.
“Travis came home one night…” Lorna’s voice drifted off and she turned pale. Finally, she spoke again. “He found my dealer trying to rape me and he lost it. He beat that loser to a pulp, ignoring my pleas and screams for him to stop. If Danny was dead, where would I get my drugs? And then when the police came after him, I didn’t defend Travis. I didn’t corroborate his story of why he did it because Danny hadn’t died, so I was scared.”
Silent tears were streaming down Lorna’s face now and Billie was only just containing her own. She felt for Lorna, but everything inside her ached for Travis. “What happened to him? To Travis?”
Lorna’s chest rose up and down slowly as she took deep breaths. “He went to jail.”
Billie gasped, her hand rushing to cover her mouth.
“And that was the last time I saw him. I didn’t have the funds to bail him out, and so I just left him there and went on with my self-destruction. What kind of mother doesn’t stand up for her child?” Lorna asked rhetorically. “It got worse after that, though. I tried to kill myself a number of times and that last time was when I met Felicity. She found me. As you know, I’ve turned a corner since then. I’ve achieved what I thought was impossible and rebirthed myself into a better person, someone I actually like, someone who gets high on life and art rather than things that will destroy me. But there’s one thing I can’t fix, and that is my relationship with my son. For that I’ll always hate myself.”
Billie didn’t know what to say. Her thoughts were still on Travis being thrown into jail for protecting his mother.
“How’s he doing now?” Lorna finally asked. “I could barely believe my eyes when I saw him this morning. Last I heard he was riding with the Deacons—Lord knows I blamed myself for him getting in with that crowd—but then Katrina happened and I never heard of him again. I thought the worst, but I never stopped wondering.”
“He seems to be doing well for himself,” Billie said, her heart aching with sadness for Travis. So many things suddenly made sense—not the least his explosion when he’d first laid eyes on Lorna. “He’s a security analyst now, he has his own business in…” She was about to say Tallahassee, but realized it wasn’t her place to share such details. She felt torn—half of her wanted to help this poor woman, to give her something to hold onto, to let her know that despite his past, her son had turned out okay, but she found her loyalties had well and truly switched back to Travis. She didn’t hate Lorna, and she still admired the woman’s transformation and commitment to fight her addictions, but she also understood where Travis was coming from.
He might have a tough outer shell, but she guessed inside he was still reeling from his mother’s betrayal. How did a son recover from the knowledge his own mother had chosen her rapist drug dealer over him? Billie wished she could somehow help him heal.
Lorna smiled. “That’s amazing. I’m so happy for him. Can you tell me anything else? What’s he doing back in the French Quarter?”
Lorna spoke with such enthusiasm, and Billie could tell she would do anything to rewrite the past. She didn’t know if Travis would ever soften enough to forgive his mom, or even talk to her, but what harm would it do to give Lorna a little of what she wanted?
“The leader of the Deacons died recently. I guess Travis came back to pay his respects, attend the funeral, and then he found out he’d inherited some property from the man. Travis owns my gallery; he and his friends are my new landlords.”
“Sheesh.” Lorna raised her eyebrows. “I’d forgotten your place used to be a biker clubhouse. Do you know what they plan to do with it?”
“Travis wants to sell it and leave town again.” At the reminder that her livelihood was in jeopardy, a cold feeling washed over Billie.
Lorna nodded sadly, her lips pursed tight. “I guess there’s nothing for him here.” Silence reigned for a few moments, and then Lorna reached across the table and grabbed Billie’s hand. Their gazes met and Lorna looked pleadingly into Billie’s eyes. “I know it’s a long shot, but if you have any chance to put in a good word for me—” She stopped abruptly and shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m dreaming, I’m being ridiculous—of course there’s nothing anyone can say that will fix the past no matter how much I wish it would, and I shouldn’t ask you to try and influence your landlord when you must be beside yourself about the uncertain future of the gallery.”
Lorna wiped her eyes and Billie felt her heart squeeze. This woman was utterly repentant, but she would never be able to forgive herself. And her son, the impenetrable Travis Sinclair, housed so much hurt and anger inside him, he’d never be able to live a full life either.
It was overwhelmingly sad. Billie wished there were something she could do to help both of them. Lorna was right—she was worried about her business, but in the end, her business and the gallery were only things, whereas Lorna and Travis were real people. Whether or not she should, Billie cared about them.
“I’ll do my best,” she couldn’t help promising. Although she guessed she probably didn’t have any more influence over Travis than Lorna did, she couldn’t let these two broken people go on as they were without at least trying to help.
“Thank you.” Lorna’s words were barely more than a whisper, but her gratitude was written all over her face.
–
Billie marched back into the gallery, her stomach a maelstrom of emotions—the anger that had filled her when Travis stormed out that morning had vanished, leaving in its wake anxiety and compassion. What would things be like between her and Travis now? She needed somehow to calm the waters without alerting him to the fact that she knew about his past. It didn’t take a PhD to know that he wouldn’t like that she’d been talking to Lorna about him. She hoped to gain his trust somehow and make him feel comfortable enough to tell her his whole story himself.
“Hey, Rolley,” she said as she approached her artist friend. His brow was furrowed and his tongue sticking out, indicating he was deeply engrossed in his current piece, but he looked up and grinned at her.
“Hello, my sweet. Did you do what you needed to do?”
“Yep. Thanks.” After Lorna and Travis had vacated the gallery, Billie had called Rolley and asked if he’d mind coming in and watching over everything for a couple of hours. Of course he’d obliged, and she felt a smidgen of guilt knowing he’d done so because he had a thing for her. But she didn’t have the time, or energy, to worry about that now.
Baxter trotted into the house and Billie glanced after him. “Have you seen Travis?”
Rolley glowered. “Yep. He came in about an hour ago, glared at me, went inside, grabbed his bag and then left. He was wearing biker gear and looked like he was ready to kill someone. Good riddance and all that.”
Billie’s heart clenched. “His bag?”
Rolley smiled as he nodded. “Guess we’ve seen the last of him.”
What only yesterday morning would have been good news now made her insides twist and a cold sweat erupt on her palms.
“You okay?” Rolley asked, looking at her strangely. “I thought you’d be happy about this.”
“I am,” she lied quickly. Then, “You okay out here for a few moments? I have a couple of things I need to do inside.”
“Sure.” He grinned happily and waved his hand telling her to go, before turning back to focus on his art.
Billie hurried inside after Baxter and found him a few moments later sitting on the floor in Travis’s room, looking up glumly at the bed where Billie had watched him sprawled in apparent slumber only a few days earlier. An illicit thrill shot through her body, leaving goose bumps on her skin at that recollection, but then she saw that Rolley was right. Travis had taken his bag. He’d even made the damned bed. She sniffed, trying to catch the scent of him, hoping it lingered in the air, but there was nothing. It was as if he’d never been here in the first place.
He’d really gone. Her knees trembled and she slumped down on the bed before they failed her. How could this feel like such a calamity—as if she’d lost both her legs, rather than just an unwanted houseguest—when she’d only known him a couple of days? Had he merely left her or had he left town? He wouldn’t have gone after Lorna, would he? But even worse than that possibility was the thought of never seeing him again, of never having his hands on her body making her feel things she hadn’t thought possible. No! She sat bolt upright. She couldn’t just let him walk out of her life like that. Quite aside from the fact that she wanted him again badly, he needed her just as much. Even if he didn’t know it.
Scrambling off the bed, she hurried out of the bedroom, down the corridor and into the courtyard, Baxter struggling to keep up.
“Back in five,” she called to Rolley, holding up all the fingers on one hand as she ran out onto Bourbon Street, almost took out a woman strolling past, apologized and then headed for The Priory. Last time she’d stepped foot inside this building, her heart had been filled with anxiety and anger over Travis and possible eviction, and now it was racing with another kind of trepidation. What would she do if he wasn’t here?
Oblivious to the people drinking and enjoying late lunches, Billie rushed inside, not caring when Baxter followed her. She headed straight for the bar and breathed a tiny sigh of relief when she saw Sophie without her scary boyfriend.
“Hey,” Sophie said, looking up from the magazine she was flicking through. “What can I get you?”
“Is Travis here?”
For a second Sophie looked confused and then said, “Oh, right, Cash. No.” She shook her head as a slow smile appeared on her lips. “He’s gone for a ride with the others. Is something going on with you two?”
Billie was helpless to stop her cheeks from flushing. They burned as if she’d dipped her face in an open fire. “No,” she squeaked.
Sophie laughed. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a hopeless liar?”
Billie sighed and eyed the bottles of hard liquor lined up behind the bar. For the first time in her life—she’d never been much of a drinker—she felt like she could do with a shot of something potent.
As if she were a mind reader, Sophie turned around and fixed Billie a drink. She slapped it down on the bar in front of her. “It’s on the house. Truthfully, I didn’t think Cash was your type.”
Billie took a large gulp of the drink, wincing as it burned her throat going down. “Neither did I,” she admitted, although now that she’d been with Travis she honestly couldn’t imagine ever wanting anyone else. What a goddamn mess. She’d come here to heal her heart, to find herself, not fall for a tortured bad boy.
“Can I give you a bit of advice?” Sophie asked, cocking her head to one side and eyeing Billie as if she were a strange exhibit in the zoo.
“Please do.”
“Run. I predict the shit is going to hit the fan around here soon and it’s going to get ugly, if not deadly.”
“Because of your dad?”
Sophie looked surprised. “He told you?”
Billie nodded, although technically she’d initially got her information by eavesdropping and Travis had shut her down in the shower when she’d asked questions. Oh…A wave of heat flooded through her at the recollection of the shower.
“Well, either he’s lost his head out in the big bad world or you’re something special to him, because bikers don’t generally talk to their bitches about this kind of shit.”
“So, run?” Billie asked, realizing she desperately wanted to mean something to Travis, no matter the consequences. “Is there another option?”
Sophie raised an eyebrow. “You want Cash? Then you give as good as he does. He’ll probably try to push you away, but being a biker’s old lady is a powerful thing. You need to earn that respect, that position.”
“Old lady?” Billie dared to ask. She’d heard the term before of course, but Sophie saying it made it real. Was that what she wanted? Hell, three days ago she’d been spouting about never being shackled to a man again, and here she was considering getting serious with her scary-ass landlord. Maybe she truly had lost her mind, the great sex messing with her common sense.
“Yes. If you’re not from our world, it’s hard to understand, but it’s not a derogatory term. Anything but, in fact. When you’re a brother’s old lady, his property, you’re important not just to him but to the club.”
“I see. Has Travis had an old lady before?”
“I can’t speak for what happened in Tallahassee, but not as far as I know. And no offense, but I can’t see him changing his loner ways for someone like you.” Sophie glanced up and down Billie’s body, giving her the once-over. “I’m guessing the sex was fucking great and that’s made you a little delusional.” She grinned. “Lord knows good sex can do that to a girl, but…”
Billie didn’t hear the rest of Sophie’s sentence. She was too busy thinking about the sex. Yes, it had been off-the-Richter-scale fantastic, but it wasn’t simply her awakened libido that wanted Travis. There was just something about him. Something breathtaking and addictive. Something had shifted inside her since meeting him. In the café last night and during those tender moments post-sex, she’d seen a glimpse of who she believed he really was and she’d felt more herself than she ever had in her life. She wanted to get to know the real man better.
She wanted to be his first “old lady,” however insane that made her.
“Thanks,” she told Sophie as she slid off the bar stool and then downed the rest of her drink.
“Goodbye, Billie.”
“No.” Billie shook her head. “I’ll be back later, but don’t tell Cash. I want to surprise him.”
