Chasing Claire (Hells Saints Motorcycle Club) (2 page)

Funny thing, that trip down memory lane. For some, it was a leisurely Sunday morning drive coasting down a pretty, tree-lined avenue.

For others, it was a high-speed midnight chase along a dry, cracked highway.

For me, it was the highway.

Definitely the highway.

Growing up in a house with a dead mother and a perpetually grieving father hadn’t exactly been a recipe for happiness. Add to that pot of sorrow one cupful of loaded guns and a sprinkle of getaway cash, and there you had it. A heaping helping of danger—my childhood.

By the time my sister was twelve years old, she ran our household. Raine had cooked, cleaned, done the laundry, and set the alarm for school each morning.

Raine Winston had taken care of business.

Everything had fallen on my older sister, because in all the ways that mattered to two little girls, our father had been a useless drunk.

I blamed my mother. She should have known better.

Jesus, even at four and a half years old, I had seen that one coming. But, out of some sort of misguided bullshit, Maggie, Magaskawee, my mother, had condemned us to that life.

At eighteen years old, my mother had found herself in the unenviable position of choosing between the two outlaw men who loved her.

She chose the wrong one.

Our father, Jack, had been a weak man, made weaker by his dependency on the love of a woman who would not live to see her thirtieth birthday. Our mother had been the love of Prosper’s life. Prosper was Jack’s best friend. When my mother died, he had been our only hope. Prosper had whisked us away one warm summer night, and had given us the outlaw-biker version of normal. Because that version had come with a sunny house by the lake, a funny, loving woman named Pinky, clean sheets, and plenty to eat; I had loved that normal. I had thrived on that normal. And when I heard my eight-year-old sister laugh, for what seemed to be the first time, I knew that we were where we belonged.

Then Jack had come for us.

First just for a visit. Then for longer visits.

Our father came back to us with his clear blue eyes filled with uncertainty and something that looked like love. My child’s heart had opened wide to let that in. But it had turned out to be a big mistake to trust Jackie-boy. Because he didn’t have it in him. He just couldn’t do it. He could not be what two little girls needed.

The thing that I remembered most about the subsequent years of my childhood was the deep sense of underlying fear. Because my father spent most of his days in an alcohol- or drug-induced stupor, nothing ever felt solid or safe in our world. Even though Raine was no more than a child herself, she had tried hard to give me the sense of security that I craved. In the chill of the night, my big sister would snuggle tight with me under the blankets, and whisper soft words about a magical safe place where we could go if things ever got too bad.

I knew that Raine had meant for those words to comfort me. But, there were times when I would lie in bed and wonder just how
bad things would have to get before we could Houdini our way out of this world and into that one. I learned, frustratingly early on, that big sister’s ideas of “when things got too bad” and mine were worlds apart.

But, I also knew that things could have been a lot worse for us. Thanks to Raine’s diligence, we were never the dirty kids or the stupid kids.

Thanks to Jack’s apathy, we were also never the kids whose parent showed up drunk at school events.

Those kids had been Clay and Della Jenkins.

To this day, I can still remember their horrified little faces every time they watched their mother arrive shit-faced at all the important elementary school events. Even now, almost twenty years later, I can still recall the mean-spirited laughter that had echoed through the hallways.

No, we were not those kids.

We were the kids who had stood with Clay and Della, solemnly slipping our small hands into theirs, in solidarity and understanding.

We were the kids who signed our father’s name on permission slips and report cards.

We were the kids with the perfect attendance, because school was the only place we felt safe.

We were the invisible kids.

CHAPTER 3

A
gray storm cloud gathered up ahead. I felt a rush of cool air dance through the open car window and tug at my hair. The intermittent rays cast by the sun peeked through the lush, green foliage. The shadows splayed against my windshield like black confetti.

A sign of trouble yet to come.

I pushed the thought away and pressed down on the accelerator. Speeding up quickly to get past the darkening shadows and into the light of the lowering sun, I saw my sister’s happy little home come into view.

I smiled at the sight.

Raine and Diego currently lived in an eyesore of a double-wide on the edge of a grassy knoll. The ugly trailer sat at odds with every bit of natural beauty that the property had to offer. However, the unit was a temporary and necessary measure while Diego worked with Crow, one of the brothers in the Hells Saints MC, to build Raine’s dream home.

As my car crested the hill, I could see the smooth gray cement of the foundation and the sturdy straight angles and outlines of wall joists, studs, and beams. The shell of the house had begun to take shape. To my unending surprise, the Hells Saints brothers rocked the whole craftsman thing. They had descended upon the property with an impressive amount of trade skill. In the rare instance that one of them couldn’t plumb it, wire it, or frame it, they knew
someone who could. With their do-or-die approach to things, I honestly had no doubt that the house would be perfect. It wouldn’t dare to be anything less.

Rattling in protest, my small, rusty, tin can of a car sputtered, heaved, and spit out a few billows of exhaust before it finally came to rest at the top of the hill. Tired old girl, and I knew exactly how she felt.

Gathering up an armload of presents, I headed toward the sound of celebration. I walked through the door to find Prosper holding the gurgling baby in his big, strong arms. Willow and her grandpa were engaged in a tug of war, the prize being a favorite blanket. Willow pulled and waited in gleeful anticipation for Prosper to pull it back. This seemed to be the funniest thing in the world to the baby girl, and she laughed out loud. Every time she let out that giggle, the rough, hardened outlaw smiled at the baby with such devotion that I could feel his love fill the room. Her eyes were the color of rich, round blueberries, her tiny mouth was cotton-candy pink, and she had a small smattering of dark hair that Raine insisted on gathering on the top of the baby’s head in funny little bows. Despite all of the girly trappings, Willow grinned up at her grandfather with that same intensity as Prosper.

She squirmed and wiggled in her grandfather’s arms. With every move, there came the soft, swooshing sound of a little bum covered in padding. Pulling and tugging and determined to triumph, Willow’s chubby baby hands gathered up the soft cotton blanket. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind who the winner was going to be. Prosper was putty in Willow’s hands. All the little sweetheart had to do was to gurgle and point to have her every wish granted.

We all knew that the relentless spoiling had to stop at some point, but for now it was all good. We were good.

Prosper’s wife, Pinky, stood close by his side. Dolly, Pinky’s sister-in-law and best friend, sat at the kitchen table and smiled at
the scene before her. Diego leaned back into the deep cushions of the couch with his arm casually draped around his pretty wife. The proud papa looked relaxed and content.

I thought for the millionth time that my sister had never looked more beautiful. Motherhood had turned my sister’s thin frame into something lush and womanly. Raine’s naturally slender hips had grown slightly wider and her breasts were still round and full. An air of peace and contentment radiated from her these days. I was eternally thankful the burden that my sister had carried for so long had been replaced with the comfort and ease that comes from being well loved.

And so it begins
, I thought to myself.
The next chapter.

Hearing the screen door slam behind me, I felt a whoosh of air and saw flashes of white-blond hair and elegant long limbs enter the circle of admirers. As Glory rushed past me, I stepped back and exchanged a look with my sister. Raine smiled—we all loved Glory—but I saw the familiar lines of worry crease Raine’s brow as my sister looked down at my belted jeans. The slight straightening of her spine told me that Raine had missed nothing. I knew it was just a matter of time before she would demand the conversation that I was unwilling to have.

Sighing, I turned my gaze once again to the precious baby girl and gave silent thanks that it had all worked out the way it had.

It had seemed like forever that Raine and I had been hanging on to the tail end of a very long shit storm. But, thank you Jesus, we had finally gotten through the other side of it. And, if being on the other side of it brought this happy place of grinning fools and gurgling babies, then I was good with the events that led us here.

Almost.

I was almost good with it.

I just wished the nightmares would stop.

Because that not-sleeping-well thing was really beginning to take its toll.

The minute my head hit the pillow,
it
was there.

It was still there.

I could see
it.

Hear
it
.

Smell
it.

The sick thud of metal meeting tree. The ping of bullets shot too close to my head. The smell of burning oil, burning leather, burning flesh. The sights, smells, and sounds of death and destruction permeating right through to my soul.

And it hadn’t even been my first trip down the fright-fest highway.

Not by a long shot.

But, this time I was stuck.

And unlike ever,
ever
before, I was trapped in that place all alone.

CHAPTER 4

R
aine watched as Claire moved toward the door of the crowded little trailer. Apparently, Glory had found a new online store, and together the two roommates had bought everything in pink that the shop had to offer. Claire was going out to Glory’s car to bring in the rest of the gifts.

As she heard the door slam behind her younger sister, Raine let out a worried sigh.

Raine was happier than she had ever thought possible. Her life with Diego and their child was more than she had ever dared to hope for. Life was damn near perfect for her.

But she knew that it wasn’t that way for Claire. Life was far from perfect for Claire.

Raine was worried about her.

And not just a little.

In the past months, that worry had moved from a general concern for her sister’s well-being, to a deep and growing suspicion that something was very wrong.

Ever vigilant, Raine had watched Claire, and what she saw scared the hell right out of her.

She knew that something dark was sitting heavy in her sister’s heart. And she knew that whatever it was, it was pushing her into a state of isolating despair.

Whatever it was that was lurking deep in the dark recesses of Claire’s mind, she wasn’t talking about it.

Whatever
it
was, Raine was watching it eat her little sister alive.

Sighing deeply, she stood and stared at the doorway. Glory’s eyes met Dolly’s from across the room. Diego immediately got up and wrapped his arms around his wife. The scowl on Prosper’s face gave way to the worry that he felt in his heart.

“She’ll be okay, Babe,” Diego said softly to her.

Raine wasn’t so sure.

“Does Claire ever sleep?” She turned to Glory. Glory hesitated, then looked at the sea of faces now staring back at her. “Some. She’s sleeping some.”

“Bullshit,” snarled Prosper.

Sensing the shift in tension, Willow began to fuss and reach for her mother. After he placed a soft kiss on her forehead, Prosper relinquished Willow to Raine’s arms. The walls of the small trailer seemed to shake as the big man’s voice hit every corner of the room.

“The girl looks like the fucking walking dead. She’s back to skinny, and those circles under her eyes . . . goddammit.”

He paused, then asked, “Christ, she ain’t using, is she?”

Raine felt herself wince.

“No!” A chorus of women’s voices let out a loud protest.

“Jesus, Prosper,” Pinky hissed at her big husband. “Don’t you dare go there.”

“Woman, you know better than to talk to me about how to handle my girls.” He arched an eyebrow at her and glared.

Pinky, undeterred, glared right back at her husband. She put her hand on his arm and shook her head slightly in warning.

Prosper ignored that warning.

“Goddammit. Somebody’s got to go there. I am sick of pussyfooting around this bullshit. She needs to talk it out. Whatever it is. This shit needs to come out before it swallows her whole.”

Raine felt a sudden shiver move right through her.

Someone has just walked over my grave
, her mother used to say.

She felt Diego’s muscled arms move tighter around her, warming her. Frowning deeply, she leaned in against her husband. Then Raine turned to Prosper. Her worried eyes met his determined ones. Prosper was not asking for anyone’s permission, but with a slight nod she gave it to him anyway.

He was not wrong.

And if anyone could get to the bottom of whatever was causing the change in her funny, caring, loving little sister, Prosper was the man for the job. No doubt about it.

CHAPTER 5

W
hat did I miss?”

I had heard them through the screen door—those badass women protesting. Prosper made his way toward me. His big body cast a shadow against the wall.

“Claire, honey, you don’t look so good. I know you ain’t been sleeping. Can’t help but wonder if you’ve been putting powder anywhere but on that pretty face of yours?”

And there it was.

“Christ,” I heard Diego mutter under his breath.

My sister stood beside Diego, suddenly very busy with a drowsy Willow.