Grounds for Divorce (2 page)

“We’ll take her,” Booker decided, his gaze lingering. “But you still owe twenty grand, understood?”

“Yes. Of course. Thank you…”

The lilting strains of a guitar bled through the PA system, the intro to Lou’s performance. It was more country than Middle Eastern.

In a state of stupor, Kayla watched the men rise. She saw herself kicking Booker in the shin and making a run for it. She pictured her hands wrapped around Zach’s throat as he struggled for breath. All tempting fantasies, but sixteen years of being on her own had taught her not to bite the hand that feeds.

She knew how these deals were made. Booker, with his dark eyes and his square jaw, would take everything Zach offered and
still
stomp all over him.

Kayla was merely the starter.

“Looks like a party over there,” Booker mused. “Think we’ll go see the show. Drinks on the house, right?” He towered over them both, but the question was meant for Zach. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he glanced at Kayla. “I’ll see
you
later, sweetheart.”

The three-headed hound snarled from the back of his leather kutte as he stalked away,
Hell Hounds
emblazoned in white underneath.

Kayla tore free of her boyfriend’s arms. “What the
fuck
?”

“Don’t start.” Zach raked both hands through his thinning blond hair.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind? You’re
selling
me?” She knew that things hadn’t been right between them for a while, but Zach had never pulled anything like this before. “Look at me,” Kayla gritted out, grabbing for his chin.

He slapped her hand away like batting at a fly. “You want ‘em to shut us down? That’s what they’ll do if we don’t pay up, Kay. Or do you want ‘em to come in here, take whatever they want…
whoever
they want.” Zach stood up. He didn’t need to tower over Kayla to make her feel small. He continued, his voice low and dangerous, “You don’t want to do this? Fine. They’ll just come back for Lou and Francine and the others—”

“Ain’t my fault they’re here to begin with!”

Zach’s eyes flashed. For a second, Kayla thought he’d strike her. He hadn’t raised a hand to her before in anger, but they seemed to be nearing that line. She didn’t know what she’d do when they crossed it.

“These ones ain’t local,” Zach told her. “They came down from Nevada, across state lines… They’ll be gone before you know it.” He pressed his hands together. “Look, this isn’t for me. It’s for the club and the girls—”

Kayla sucked her lips into her mouth, tasting the waxy flavor of her lipstick. “You’re a piece of work. You know that?”

“I know… I’m not perfect. I make mistakes. But you’ll do this, right?” Zach gazed at her with watery eyes. “You’ll help us out?”

Kayla glanced toward the front of the club. She loved this place. It was the closest thing to salvation she’d ever found. A whole month’s worth of bookkeeping awaited in the office. She had orders to get ready so they wouldn’t run out of liquor by the end of the week.

On stage Lou swayed her hips tantalizingly to her version of the Dance of the Seven Veils.

The bikers seemed to be enjoying themselves, elbowing each other like schoolboys as they waved bills at her perfectly flat midriff.

Without meaning to, Kayla sought Booker among the group. He was there, all right. But he wasn’t leering at the stage. He caught Kayla’s eye across the stretch of empty chairs and raised his beer in a silent toast. A thick curl of ink adorned his biceps, just beneath a burn mark. Kayla pursed her lips.

She loved this place enough to keep it in business, but Zach was out of his mind if he thought she was sleeping with
that.

* * * *

“You all alone, baby?”

The catcall came from high altitude. Two boys lounged on the ruin of a dilapidated brick wall, a third pitching pebbles at the crows that picked at refuse by the side of the road.

Kayla kept her gaze trained dead ahead and spurred her feet. She’d been down this road before. She knew these boys or others like them—their battered jeans sagging low on narrow hips, their hair long, too long, lips busted open by sharp knuckles.

She knew the dark alleys, the risky spots. In her haste, she’d left her car keys in the office and hadn’t dared go back into the Grounds to get them.

Those Harleys lined up in the parking lot might’ve had something do with her sudden onset cowardice.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” the boys wheedled. Rubble shifted as the bolder of the trio scrabbled down from his perch. “Hey, you sellin’?”

Offense was hard to muster after so many years. Kayla scoffed under her breath—quiet, but not so quiet that the sound didn’t carry.

“Something funny, bitch? Hey, I’m talkin’ at you!” He made to grab for her, short fuse sparking like a gunshot in the night.

Kayla wrenched free and shoved him back. “Get your hands off me, you little shit!”

The click of a switchblade snagging loose curbed the flush of righteous indignation.

“What, you’re all Miss Precious now? We seen you before,” the boy snarled. He was too young to have been one of her clients, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a daddy or a brother who’d passed along the fond memories. People talked. Hackby was the kind of town where mistakes festered and bad seeds sprouted the strongest roots.

Kayla held up her hands in a pacifying gesture. “Here, you want money? I got…” She hadn’t earned anything in tips today. Her paycheck didn’t come in until the end of the week. What she had was an unregistered a gun in her purse. If she could get to it, that might put an end to this nonsense. “I don’t got a lot, but—”

“Fuck your charity, bitch.” The kid took a step closer.

Kayla retreated by the same amount of inches, heart lodging in her throat.

Like sharks smelling blood, the other two wannabes landed on their feet on the crumbling sidewalk, flanking their friend.

“I got a better idea,” the leader snarled. His blade gleamed in the sullen glare of the nearest streetlight. “We take the money
and
whatever else you got worth sellin’, and you just shut your pretty little…”

The thunderous roar of a diesel engine drowned the next words out of his mouth. The boy froze mid-sentence, squinting into the shadows down the street where no light shone.

Half a dozen headlights switched on, blindingly bright. Kayla shielded her eyes with a hand.

“Holy shit.” The thug stumbled back, into his buddies. The three of them wore sibling expressions of genuine dread.

Kayla couldn’t figure out why until the hogs were level. Until they went no further. The scent of burnt rubber and hot metal hit her like a physical blow.

Her late night Romeos were already beating a swift retreat, torn-up sneakers eating up the concrete like the Devil himself was hot on their trails. Kayla considered ditching the heels and scrabbling to make her escape barefoot, but with all the broken bottles and used needles sprinkled down the sidewalk, she doubted she’d make it far.

It was a foregone conclusion once the nearest biker doffed his helmet. Kayla recognized him at once.

“You left without sayin’ goodbye,” Booker volleyed, probably his idea of a joke.

Kayla’s stomach plummeted into her shoes. She was outnumbered, six to one. Even if she hadn’t been, she would’ve been hard-pressed to think of a snappy retort that wouldn’t see her dead in a ditch come morning.

Booker furrowed his thick eyebrows. “You all right?”

“Hey, Book, you want us to cut ’em off?” asked another biker. He was a heavyset guy, angry-looking. The light was too low to tell and he looked different wearing his helmet, but Kayla guessed it was the one who’d wanted to see more of her routine.

Booker searched her gaze. “They do anything to you?”

Kayla shook her head. Hassling didn’t count. She’d been dealing with catcalls since she’d turned thirteen. As long as a guy didn’t lay a hand on her, she’d learned it didn’t count—and even then, it depended on the guy.

“You live ‘round here?” Booker wanted to know.

She nodded.

“Shit, sweetheart…you a mute or something?”

“Think you’re makin’ her nervous, Book!”

The men laughed. All but Booker.

Kayla sucked in a deep breath, ribcage expanding against her forearm. “What do you want?” The intensity of his focus was making her queasy. She didn’t know him, but she didn’t need a formal introduction to guess that he was bad news.

Those scars on his face alone told a story.

“Right now? Reckon you could use a ride home. Streets ain’t safe for a woman on her own.”

What would you know about that?
When Booker rolled up with his posse, vermin scattered.

“I’m fine,” Kayla answered. “Thanks.”

Booker scowled at the dusty, deserted ribbon of the street, the on-off flicker of streetlights. There were no cars at this hour, no neighbors walking dogs. People didn’t feel safe strolling around after dark in Hackby unless they were looking to score.

“Lot more where those clowns came from… Judging by the state of that lip, you know that better than most.”

Kayla shifted her weight, itching to cover her mouth—Zach’s gift from a few nights back. She didn’t want Booker mistaking her for an easy target.

“Come on,” he pressed. “We’ll drive you, make sure you get home okay. I won’t take no for an answer.”

Kayla believed him. The path of minimal resistance had seen her true before.

Reluctantly, she took the helmet he held out and fastened the straps under her chin. She settled a hand on Booker’s flank, over the leather kutte, then slapped the other down much faster once the engine revved beneath her.

“Ever ridden one of these before?” Booker shot back over his shoulder. His voice was a deep rumble, gravelly without being rough.

“Never.”

“Put your feet on the exhaust,” he told her, leaning back to gesture to the long, silver cylinders on either side of the rear tire. His fingers brushed her bare knee but didn’t linger. “Good girl. You might wanna hang tighter than that.”

She didn’t get the chance to ask why before they pulled away from the curb, six bikes roaring away in unison.

It wasn’t the speed that had her grabbing hold of Booker, but the vibration of the Harley between her legs and the knowledge that if she fell off, there would be nothing to cushion her landing. She hoped Booker couldn’t feel her heart pound riotously against her ribs—that he couldn’t read her exhilaration.

Chapter
Two

“Is that your car?” Tamra asked, peering out of the kitchen window. “Looks like your car.”

Spatula in hand, Kayla squinted through the blinds. Sure enough, the black Mercedes idling in the driveway was very much hers. It would’ve been too much to hope it had made its way home alone.

Zach’s silhouette was just about visible behind the windshield, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

Kayla let the aluminum blinds fall back into place. “Shit… I’ll make you breakfast to go.”

“He can come in,” Tamra offered, already helping herself to the toast. “It’s not like I don’t know you two are—”

“It’s complicated,” Kayla snapped and winced at the vague dismissal. It was everything she’d tried to avoid since she’d started dating again. Kids needed stability, structure—a father figure.

Zach was none of those things, but he was the only man in Kayla’s life who’d been willing to hang around for more than a few days.

Tamra blew her bangs out of her eyes. She liked to wear them long, like a young Cher. She straightened them every morning, fussing in the bathroom for a good hour before she declared herself ready to face the world.

“Go on,” Kayla encouraged. “Don’t wanna miss your bus.” She pressed a bagged lunch into her daughter’s hands and kissed her temple. Anywhere else might ruin all the styling and trigger a minor conniption.

“Bye, Mom.” The front door clicked open. “Hey, Zach.”

Behind the wheel, Zach flicked up a hand in greeting.

Kayla watched from the kitchen window until Tamra disappeared from view in her brown-and-white uniform, then she wrenched open the door.

“What do
you
want?”

They had few rules in their relationship, but among them was an unequivocal injunction against Zach ever coming to the house. They met at his place or the club. They didn’t play happy families with Tamra. And yet here Zach was, looking haggard and hollow-eyed, still wearing last night’s clothes.

“You left your car,” he said, stepping out. “Thought you might need it.”

Kayla said nothing, annoyance simmering in her gut.
You waited a whole night to check on me?

Her silence only served to embolden Zach. He sidled closer in skinny jeans, shifting his weight from one foot to the other with each ponderous step. “So, uh… How did it go?”

“How did
what
go?”

“You know… With the Hounds.”

“They gave me a ride home. That’s it.”

Zach’s face fell. “But I thought…”

“What, that I fucked him for the greater good?” The morning was cool and bright, but Kayla was boiling in her own flesh. “I can’t believe you came here to badger me with that shit—”

“I came to make sure you were okay,” Zach insisted. He caught her by the elbows, his fingers pale against her dusky skin. “Honey, I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t a last resort. I offered them everything I could—I said I’d take a beating if that’s what it took to make this right…” The despair in his gaze plucked at the cords inside her chest. “You have to go to him.”

“Are you serious?”

“He’ll probably be drunk and half asleep. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner they’ll be out of our hair.”

Kayla pulled free of his grasp, blood pounding in her temples. “And the other twenty K? Who’re you gonna sell for that?”

“No one!” Zach tugged a hand through his hair. “Why do you always do this? I’m trying to make things right and you’re just shitting over everything like it don’t even matter.”

“It matters.”

“Really? ’Cause all I’m hearing is how you feel betrayed—like you think this is easy for me. You’re my girlfriend, Kay. You think I
want
to see you with other men?” He held her gaze, so painfully earnest, so defeated.