Deceptions: A Cainsville Novel (28 page)

I heard Gabriel sigh. This was going to be a long conversation.

W
e didn’t get anything more from Patrick. Nothing useful, at least. He suggested I begin with the Cwn Annwn. Not that he had any reason to actually suspect them, but it was a place to start. Except, you know, I shouldn’t actually attempt to contact them, because that wouldn’t be wise.

“We
will
have to speak to one of the Huntsmen,” I said to Gabriel as we left Patrick’s.

“I would agree.”

“They’ve invited me to make contact, but they haven’t exactly left a cell number.” I took the boar’s tusk from my pocket, rubbed it, and squeezed my eyes shut. “I’d like to speak to the guy in charge.” I opened my eyes and looked around. “Nope, that’s not it.”

Gabriel’s lips twitched in a smile. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I hope so.”

—

After that, I talked to Larry. He hoped I’d “work out whatever I needed to work out” and come back to Cainsville. I didn’t say much to that. I couldn’t.

Gabriel and I detoured to the prison to get my car. We also tried again to see Todd. Nothing had changed. If some branch of the fae Mafia was blocking me, it was doing so at a level high enough that I couldn’t dodge around it.

I’d just made it to my car when Ricky called. I put him on speaker and followed Gabriel’s car from the lot.

“I want to see you tonight,” he said as I drove.

“Um, good, considering that’s what we had planned.”

Two seconds of silence told me those plans had changed.

“Club business?” I asked.

“Yeah. Just a private meeting with my dad. Stuff we can’t discuss on the phone. He needs me to come by at nine, which is going to totally fuck up our evening. Unless I can convince you to come with.”

“To the clubhouse?”

A shuffle in the background. I could hear the distant murmur of voices. Still at school, then, taking a moment between classes.

He continued. “We discussed you making an appearance at the club, just coming by, hanging out, showing the guys . . . you know.”

“That I don’t think I’m too good for them.”

“Mmm, yeah.”

What I’d just learned from Patrick was huge. Overwhelming, too. I needed time to clear my head so I could work it through. Spending the evening in a biker clubhouse was pretty much guaranteed to be all the distraction I needed.

“I’ll come tonight.”

“Thank you.”

—

The Saints aren’t your typical biker gang. Ricky downplays the differences, because he doesn’t want them to seem like justifications. Running a successful criminal operation means you do make choices, and some the Saints make may seem ethical, but it’s more about profit and self-protection. If you stick within certain lines of the law, you can skirt the notice of the law.

Within the club, the rules are equally strict, but again each one has a purpose. A biker gang is not a democracy. There’s a guy in charge, and he owns your ass, and that’s okay, because it’s a way of life that the guys in a gang understand. Give them democracy and they’d smell weakness, toss your ass overboard, and seize control for themselves.

Yet as progressive as Don was, equality for women didn’t rank high on his reform list, because the gang wanted it about as much as they wanted democracy, which was to say, not at all. This was one reason Ricky hadn’t been rushing me out for an evening at the clubhouse. If there was a drop of sexism in Ricky, I hadn’t seen it. He didn’t go out of his way to treat me as an equal, because to him, I just was. Now he had to ask me, for an evening, to accept an inferior role. I’d never seen Ricky so uncomfortable as when he had to lay out those expectations before our visit.

“It’s okay,” I said as we talked at his place. “I get it. You’re not asking me to dress in micro shorts and serve them beer before the wet T-shirt contest. The rules are simple enough. One, treat you with respect, which I hope I always do.”

“You do.”

“Two, don’t pay too much attention to other guys, because it could be taken the wrong way. Wallace and CJ will be there, and when you’re gone, they’re in charge of me, so I’m to focus on them. No one will misinterpret, because you put them in charge of me.”

He exhaled. “That sounds so bad.”

“Let me rephrase, then. In your absence, they will be my genteel hosts. So those are the rules. Respect you. Don’t pay too much attention to other men. Act like I think you’re brilliant, gorgeous, charming, and I’m crazy about you. All of which is easy to do because it’s true. And you’re especially gorgeous when you blush.”

He chuckled. “Thank you.”

“What matters is how
you
treat
me
, and there are no issues there. As for putting up with culturally ingrained sexism, you do remember where I grew up, right? You want equal rights? Don’t go to the biker club
or
the country club. Now, if you can excuse me for twenty minutes . . .” I lifted a shopping bag. “I brought wardrobe.”

He grinned. “Micro shorts and a white T-shirt?”

“Sadly, no, but if you’d like that for a private evening at home, we can talk.”

—

Styling my hair didn’t take more than a few minutes. I’d cut it shoulder length when I was trying to hide from the media. It was growing, but it was taking its time. The fake color had long since washed out, leaving me my usual ash-blond.

Next came the outfit. I could say my jeans were snugger than I usually wear, but that’d be a lie. For a shirt, I’d gone uptown. Button-down, classic oxford. Designer label. It seemed more insulting to Ricky’s friends if I dressed in Walmart fashion, as if that’s what I expected would fit in.

I will say that I got the shirt on sale. I can’t claim the same for the Louboutin boots. They were my first real indulgence since leaving my parents’ home, and I wasn’t going to regret it. Besides, they looked killer with the jeans.

When I walked into the living room, Ricky’s look agreed one hundred percent. He checked his watch.

“No time,” I said.

He laughed and kissed my cheek. “I’m that transparent, huh?”

“Yep. I’ll claim my bouquet later.”

“Bouquet?”

“In recognition of an acting job well done, delivered
after
the performance. Now let’s go so I can earn it.”

I started to walk away. He caught my hand. When I looked at him, the smile had vanished and he looked as nervous as a boy about to meet his girlfriend’s parents.

“Speaking of bouquets,” he said. “I mentioned before that I’m not very good at romantic gifts.”

“You got me a switchblade. I think that was very romantic.”

“Yeah, I’m much better at giving weapons than . . .” He took a box from his pocket and opened it. Inside was a silver chain. He swore. “See? I can’t even manage the presentation properly. Damn thing slid . . .” He fished the chain out, pendant popping from inside the box. He caught it, hand closing around the necklace before I could see what it was. “I wanted to say thanks for tonight.”

He held out the necklace. It was white gold. The pendant was a crescent moon, filigreed and inlaid with clear, sparkling gemstones that I was damn sure weren’t cubic zirconia.

As I stared, he pulled his hand back. “I overdid it, didn’t I? Shit, shit, shit—”

My arms went around his neck, kissing away that doubt; then I disentangled myself and opened his hand to look at the necklace.

“It’s gorgeous. If you think you don’t have great taste in jewelry, you could not be more wrong.”

I turned around and lifted my hair. He put the chain on and kissed the back of my neck.

“I’ll model it properly for you later,” I said. “With less clothing in the way.”

“And by moonlight?”

“Of course.” I fingered the pendant. “That’s only fitting.”

T
he clubhouse was a half mile down a dirt road and surrounded by woods. That might look as if the Saints are hiding. They aren’t, because the clubhouse is exactly what it purports to be—a private social club for motorcycle enthusiasts. They might talk business in the back room, but they aren’t stupid enough to keep drugs, guns, or any other product on the property.

The secluded location is an aspect of being a good neighbor, and not the only one they try to fulfill. If one of their neighbors is putting up a fence or hauling a tractor out of the mud, Don sends a few guys to help out. An elderly couple lives down the road, the old woman caring for her Alzheimer’s-stricken husband. Don has someone check in with them twice a week to bring hot food and see if they need anything done around the house. That’s not because he’s a misunderstood nice guy—it’s because he knows the wisdom of being a good neighbor.

At eight on a Tuesday evening, the place wasn’t exactly hopping. Don, Wallace, and a few others were drinking beer, talking “shop”—for the auto shops they run, that is. Ricky joined in as I nursed my beer and listened.

As the clock closed in on nine, more guys began trickling in. Some girls, too. Well, women more than girls. The only one under thirty was Lily, whom I’d met the first time I was here.

The women, including Lily’s mother, were hard, passed from guy to guy, desperate for attention or protection or something life hadn’t otherwise given them. I wanted to take nineteen-year-old Lily aside and have a chat about life choices. But I’ve worked long enough in shelters to know that impulse was wasted on someone like her. At least it was if it came from someone like me.

The fact she had the hots for Ricky really didn’t help. He knew it and had made it very, very clear that she didn’t have a hope in hell of climbing on his bike. It was the same attitude he extended to all the women: respectful and polite but distant. Don was that way, too, and Wallace from the interactions I saw. It was a subtle hint for the women to take their hopes and dreams elsewhere, with the knowledge that “elsewhere” probably only meant a gang that wouldn’t treat them as well, and in light of that, maybe it was best not to make them feel too unwelcome.

CJ showed up right before nine. When Ricky had said he’d be leaving me with CJ and Wallace, I’d thought he meant informally. But no, there was an actual handoff. He made it as casual as possible—“You guys keep Liv entertained while I’m gone?”—but it was a clear message for everyone to hear. Then Ricky took my beer can and murmured to CJ, “Get her something from the cabinet, and don’t let her tell you she’s fine with beer.”

“What’ll you have?” CJ asked when Ricky was gone.

“Tequila?”

“Got it. How about entertainment? You’re not going to want to spend the next hour talking to two old coots, so pick your poison. Darts, poker, pool . . .”

“I’m okay at poker. Better at darts. I think I’ve played pool twice in my life, and both times I was drunk. It didn’t help my aim. I would love to learn someday, but I won’t make you give lessons.”

“Happy to. Your choice, then.” He motioned at the dartboard. “Play to your strengths. Or learn something new and risk making a fool of yourself.”

“Well, if you put it that way . . .” I walked over and picked up a pool cue.

CJ grinned. Wallace only shook his head.

“You rack them up. I’ll get the drinks.” CJ glanced at me. “You know how to rack them up?”

“Nine balls and a convenient triangle to place them in.”

“Good girl.” He walked to the bar and held up two bottles for me to choose from. When I did, he said, “You like power over price tag, huh, Livy?”

“It’s Liv,” Wallace rumbled, his first words since Ricky had left.

I shrugged. “Liv, Livy, Olivia . . . whatever works.”

“How about Eden?” said a voice from across the room.

We all turned. The guy who’d spoken sat at one of the tables, with Lily on his knee. He wasn’t anyone I’d noticed before—maybe late twenties, making him one of the younger guys in the room. Dark-haired. Smirking.

“What’d you say?” CJ delivered my tequila shot and kept walking, advancing on the guy.

“I asked if she ever goes by Eden. Valid question.”

Lily snickered. She stopped at dual looks—one from CJ and one from her mother—and she slid off the guy’s lap.

“Yeah?” CJ said. “Here’s a
valid question
. What the fuck is
your
name? ’Cause I don’t think you’ve been here long enough for me to remember it. Which means you haven’t been here long enough to open your mouth. Especially if you’re going to ask stupid
, invalid
questions.”

The guy lifted his hands. “Sorry. I was just teasing the girl.”

“The girl?” CJ stopped behind the guy, who had the sense to rise and face him, his posture submissive—shoulders down, gaze lowered, a dumbass smile on his face. “Who is
the girl
? And be very, very careful how you answer that.”

“She’s, um, Ricky’s old lady.”

“And who is Ricky?”

The guy paused, and I sensed disrespect in that pause. After a moment he said, “He’s the road captain, right?” A self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry, I guess I’m not ready for the membership exam, huh? I’m still getting used to the titles.”

He babbled on for another few minutes, until CJ silenced him with, “You ever want to have a chance of becoming a prospect, boy? You’ll learn to keep your mouth shut. It’s not one of the official rules, but for some people, it ought to be.”

To join the Saints, you first had to get to know guys from the club. If they approved, you could hang around while they vetted you. If they liked what they saw, you became a prospect and got to wear part of the colors while the club put you through your paces—a process that could last years. Only then did you become a patched member.

While Ricky was old enough to have his patch, he was young for road captain. But it was a message from Don.
My kid is on the succession track. He’s going to prove to you that he can handle it, but if you don’t like the idea, the door is over there.

CJ left the guy alone after that and gave me a pool lesson as he downed two beers. Wallace watched and drank nothing. When we started a game, CJ invited Wallace to join in, but he only grunted, arms crossed, looking as if he could think up a hundred and one better ways to spend his evening.

“We’ll play,” someone called.

It was the guy from earlier, sauntering over with his arm around Lily.

“Sit the fuck back down,” CJ said.

“No,” Wallace said. “That’s up to Ms. Jones.”

I snuck a look at Wallace. Did he expect me to stand firm and refuse to play with people who’d mocked me? Or rise above the insults?

“It’s fine,” I said.

Wallace’s expression didn’t change, and I got the feeling there was no right answer. He just wanted to see which I’d pick.

The game went fine for about fifteen minutes. I’ll flatter myself and say that I did reasonably well, considering my inexperience, but that didn’t keep Lily and her new beau—conveniently named Beau—from smirking and sharing eye rolls every time I missed a shot.

Finally, Lily said, “You don’t belong here, you know.”

CJ started to answer, but a look from Wallace stopped him.

“I know,” I said. “I’m going to need a lot more practice.”

“I mean
here
,” she said. “In the club. With Ricky.”

“He seems to think otherwise.”

I said it calmly, but as I reached to line up for my shot, Lily suddenly took hers, the ball cracking hard against my hand.

“Whoops,” she said.

“Lily . . .” CJ warned under his breath.

I turned to her. “I’m not in your way.”

“Huh?”

I met her gaze. “It wasn’t happening, even without me here.”

I was trying to convey the message as obliquely as possible, but when I went to line up my shot again, another ball smacked into my knuckles.

“Let me put that more bluntly,” I said, setting down my cue. “I’m not stopping you from getting Ricky.”

Her cheeks reddened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My mistake. If you’ll just play pool, then so will I.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

CJ cut in. “That if you don’t shut your mouth, neither will she, and I don’t think you’re going to like what she has to say, Lily-girl.”

I lined up my shot. She brought her cue down hard on my hand. CJ grabbed it from her, but a look from Wallace warned him to stay out of it.

“Okay, let’s clear the air,” I said. “The day I walked in here, you were no closer to having Ricky than the first time you laid eyes on him. That’s no insult to you. You just aren’t his type. You could dance naked on the table and pour tequila down his throat, and you still wouldn’t—”

She flew across the table at me. Or she tried to. It isn’t a maneuver to be attempted by anyone without gymnastics training. So it was more of a “scramble onto the table and crawl over” at me.

I grabbed her by the arm and threw her down. Then I planted one boot on her stomach and leaned in. “Maybe it would make you feel better to knock me around, but you don’t seem to be very good at it. So I’m going to take my foot off you, and we’ll retreat to our respective corners and call it a draw.”

This seemed a perfectly reasonable solution. But as soon as I stepped off, she went for me again. CJ grabbed her from behind and looked at Beau, who backed away, hands up.

“Meribeth?” CJ called to Lily’s mother. “Take your girl out of here. I don’t want to see her back for a month.”

Lily howled. Meribeth tried to wheedle the suspension down to a week. I glanced at Wallace, but he shook his head, telling me not to interfere. Then he picked up a pool cue and motioned for the game to resume.