Page 16 of Lack of In-between
“How’d your ribs get broken like that?” His fingers skated along her side, something that should have been a tickle, but it was done with such care it felt comforting instead.
“IED on the other side of the truck. It blew the vehicle sideways and into me, knocking me about forty feet back. The impact was what injured me.”
“Quit the diner. Soon as you can.”
Rose blinked in confusion, unsure how he’d gotten to that conclusion from the conversation about her injuries. “What?” Unless he meant it because he felt she was unsafe? “Because of tonight? I get the sense that was more about his connection with your club than the diner. It’s not a dangerous place to work, Paul.”
“Rose, you’re meant to be a cop. Protect folks from bad guys. You’re wasting your talents slinging hash and coffee.” His brows drew together. “It should freak me out, suggesting you take on a job where you could be killed, but after seeing you in two different situations, I know deep in my gut you’ve got what it takes. Better’n me, so it’s a good thing I turned to workin’ on bikes instead of law.”
“Could I do it? Sure.” She rolled to face away from Paul, snuggling back against him as he wrapped his arms around her. “When I got out, though, the last thing I wanted to think about was being put back into a situation where I could fail someone. As a waitress, the worst I can do is fluff up someone’s order, and if I do, there’s always a chance for a take two. Or three, if it’s really an off day.” She adjusted against him again, smiling when he wedged a thick thigh between her legs. “Pretty blameless.”
“So for you, it was either all the responsibility or none?” Rose stiffened. She hadn’t thought about it like that. “Serious lack of in-between there, darlin’. Life and death, or eggs over easy instead of scrambled.”
She didn’t respond, and they lay like that, twined together in the middle of the bed until his breathing had slowed, deepening. Out of the darkness, his voice rumbled, vibrating against her back.
“So if not then, how about now? You got enough time between you and that shitstorm back in the sand to make a different pick?” His hand swept across until it settled on top of hers where she clutched the edge of the pillow. He cradled her hand in his, fingers threading between. “So fuckin’ smart and capable. You’re the whole goddamned package, Rose.”
“Go to sleep, honey.”
“Okay, but promise you’ll put some thought into it, yeah?”
She turned her head into the pillow to hide her smile even though he couldn’t see it.Persistent man.
“I promise.”
***
Wolf
“Brother.” Wolf’s extended hand was clasped tightly by Gibby, his whole body yanked forwards into a one-armed clinch. “Good to see you, man.”
“And you.” Gibby gave him a final thud against the patch on his back, then released him, tipping his head back and shouting through the clubhouse, “The Wolf-man is in the house, my brothers. It’s a rare occurrence these days.” Wolf shook his head with a grin as Gibby told the prospect behind the counter that served as a bar, “Shots, FNG. Line ’em up, man. Shots all around.”
That set the tone for the next handful of minutes, as men Wolf knew and trusted beyond breath clustered around him. They ribbed him about his absence, speculating amongst themselves for the reasons, each raunchier than the next. He held his peace throughout, because their words held respect for Rose without exception. After a second round of shots on his tab, he peeled away from most of the men, sidling up alongside Gibby where he stood next to the wall.
“Gibby, I wanted to talk to you.” One of the things he’d always liked about Gibby was how straight the man spoke, no beating around the bush or waffling, and he knew Gibby valued the same from his men. “In private, if you can give that to me.”
“You got it.” Easy as that, they were walking through the noisy clusters of men and into the office at the front of the building. Gibby swept an invitation with a wide-swung arm, then pulled the door shut behind them. “What’s up, Wolf-man?”
“Putnam talk to you about anything?” Gibby’s headshake wasn’t surprising, but it was disappointing. “Shit.”
“Don’t mean I haven’t activated other resources, brother.” Leaning far back in his chair, Gibby swung his legs up and propped his feet on the edge of the desk. “After the initial shoot-’em-up at the diner, I started asking around, dug up a little dirt on our former friends.”
Wolf knew it wasn’t worth his breath to ask why they hadn’t done that before things came to this pass, because he had been part of the officers meeting that changed the bylaws after their second run-in with the prospects-gone-wrong. Founded decades ago, the bylaws had reflected the mindset of the time. Now updated, hangarounds had to submit to a background check before things progressed from there, with each step along the way laid out in black and white. No more loopholes for FNGs to slip through.
“Do tell? I’d love to know more.” He tipped his beer up and took a sip, waiting.
“FNG in the wind is the stepbrother ofGregory Popova, mob boss in Birmingham. Word is Popova cut the asshole loose from any mob back up months ago, just about when he showed up on our patch. My understanding is when we branded those boys with our Fuck No, he went crying back home and got run out of town on a rail a second time.” Gibby was referencing a previous situation when the two former prospects had threatened Blade’s woman and had been caught and taught a painful lesson. They’d branded the men with the club’s initials followed by a circle with a slash across it. Not just a no, but a fuck no. An irrefutable way for other clubs to identify them as ill-fitting men for the life. “That’s when the FNGs decided to fast-track their trooper training. Three months instead of six, and fuck if I know how they managed that shit.” Gibby lifted the bottle in his hand and drained his beer in a few hard pulls. “For now, the one man is in custody and looks to be getting lost in a morass of red tape. They might never get him to trial for anything at this rate.”
Wolf sighed in frustration. “That shit. I wish I’d just fuckin’ killed him there in the diner.”
“Your woman was right to talk you into stopping, and you know it, man.” Gibby’s knowing eyes drilled into him, seeing far too much. “You and I both know it. Wouldn’t matter you killed him with your fists, all the prosecutor would have had to hear was what you did back in the day, and he’d be all over that shit.”
“If it drags out too long, do we have options?” Wolf finished his beer, setting the bottle on the desk next to Gibby’s empty. “Just askin’ what’s possible, you know?”
“Anything’s possible, if the pockets are deep enough.” Gibby grinned broadly. “I got deep pockets, my brother. We’ll deal with what needs dealt with.”
“Obliged, Prez.” He stood as Gibby did, rounding the desk and reaching out. This time he was the one who pulled Gibby into a clinch, and as he pounded the man’s back, he muttered, “Love you, man. Freaks forever.”
