Ride Hard, page 8
“C’mere, Lil’ Lady.” I grip the back of her head with one hand and use my other to clean her face. She scrunches her nose and squirms, twisting from side to side doing her best to avoid the wet end of the paper towel. “There. Good as new.” I turn toward Pam and toss the paper towels in the trash. “You busy tonight?”
Her finger wags in my face. “Oh no, you aren’t putting your job off on me. It’s Friday night.”
“Come on. You know I don’t know shit about taking care of a sick kid.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Feed her. Give her water and the pink stuff as directed.” She smirks.
“I’ll owe you one.”
“Hmm.” Her black painted nail taps against her chin. “You’d owe me more than one.”
“I wanna stay with you, East,” Wylla Mae shouts and barrels into my side, surprising the fuck outta me.
“You heard the lady.” Pam winks at her and slides a grilled cheese sandwich onto a paper plate. “See you later, daddy.” She cackles going out the door, leaving me on my own with Wylla Mae.
Fucking great.
I cup the back of my neck and look down at the little girl. “How old are you anyway, kid?”
“Eight and a half.”
“Christ. You look six.”
“Do not,” she sasses then wheezes out a cough and rears her boot back kicking me in the shin.
“Ow shit. What’d you attack me for?”
“Momma says you shouldn’t say bad words. Now you owe me a quarter.” Her wrist flicks, palm turned upward.
“I didn’t. Never mind. You don’t go around kicking people. Get your food,” I growl at her.
Her bottom lip trembles but she doesn’t shed any tears. Those doe eyes hold me captive, and I realize I’m acting like a jerk. Wylla Mae is sick and stuck with strangers. Who knows what happened with her mom or when Murder will come to collect her? I can see it in her gaze. Fear. Sadness. But there is something else there. A glimmer of hope. My heart constricts in my chest.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you, but you don’t kick me. You don’t kick adults.”
“Okay.”
“All right. I’m gonna take you upstairs to a room where you can watch Tv or whatever.”
“Okay.” Her hand trembles as she grabs the paper plate.
“Christ. Let me have it.” I take it from her before she drops it, and she grasps my free hand wrapping her clammy fingers around mine, squeezing tight. My heart squeezes tighter. What the hell am I doing?
**
Upstairs, I pace the small room. I crash here sometimes when I’ve had too much to drink or simply don’t want to make the ride home. It’s not much but serves me when I need to scratch an itch or pass out. The space fits a full-sized bed, couch, small table, and a flat screen mounted on the wall over the dresser. Like I said it isn’t much.
Wylla Mae is sprawled out on my bed hugging her purple teddy bear. I turn on some channel that exclusively shows classic cartoons. She seems content and hasn’t even bothered to ask about her mother once. Not that I would have an answer for her. Hell, I don’t even know who her mom is.
“Hey.” I grab the remote control and press the button to turn the volume down on her show. “What’s your mom’s name?”
“Alexa.”
“You got a dad?” Her head moves side to side. “An aunt, uncle, cousin, grandma?” There’s gotta be someone else who can take her in until whatever is going on with her mom is settled.
“Just my mom.”
Great. Of course. “Okay.” I increase the volume on the Tv. I need a damn smoke. A tension headache throbs in my temples. Pulsing faster and harder with every passing second. My head is about split in two. I go over to the window and crack it then dig through the top drawer of the dresser for my emergency cigarettes stash. Bingo. At least one thing has gone my way tonight. Back at the window, I lean against the ledge. I light up my Marlboro and take a hard drag. Tobacco pulls through my lungs in a familiar burn that I’ve grown addicted to tasting.
“You shouldn’t be smoking in here.” Wylla Mae glares at me up on her knees in the center of the bed, lips jutted out and a hand on her hip. She looks ready to pop off like a little firecracker in her white tee with a sunflower ironed on the center and matching yellow sweatpants with a sunflower embroidered on the pocket. Little sassy assed brat is what she is. She looks like an angel till she opens that mouth. Kid was shy at first but now she won’t shut the hell up. She’s a damn motormouth.
“Why is that?”
“Because it’s bad for you. You could get cancer and die or worse.”
“What’s worse than death?”
“You’re exposing me to secondhand smoke and I’m just a kid.” She falls back on the covers and sighs with a hand to her forehead.
I chuckle, blowing my smoke out the window.
“Why are you laughing?”
“I’m not.”
“Are too,” she sasses.
My lips tug into a smile.
God this kid and her mouth. I pity the poor soul who marries her one day.
Chapter 2
“The fuck you mean I gotta keep watching her? You said you’d be back last night with ice cream. She won’t shut up about it. Goddamn.” I clutch my cell phone to my ear wanting to break the damn thing in half.
“You owe me another quarter,” Wylla Mae chants.
“Hush, brat. I’m on the phone.”
“I’m not a brat.”
“Are too,” I growl.
“Jesus. Are you two done?” Murder snarls in my ear. “Listen, some shit happened with her mom. It’ll be a couple more days. You can handle a kid, can’t you?”
“Christ. Days?” I hold my cell phone from my ear and glare at it. Putting it back to my ear I ask him again, “Days?”
“Take her to your place. I’ll be over Monday.”
“Monday,” I roar but the line is dead. He’s hung up already.
“Let me guess. You gotta keep watching me.” She blows out a breath that has her bangs flying up.
“Shut up and eat your eggs.” I slather butter on my toast as Pam shakes her head at us.
“Fatherhood looks nice on you, East.”
“I’m not her dad. For fuck’s sake.” Clang. I drop the butter knife to my plate.
“That’s another quarter,” Wylla Mae singsongs. Her voice is still raspy, but she has more color in her cheeks this morning.
“Yeah well, we’ll take it off my fees.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Nothing. Pam, you seen Grudge around?”
“No, why?”
“Need a helmet for the brat.”
“I’m not a brat. Yesterday you called me Lady.”
“Fine.” I blow on my coffee. “Lil’ Lady needs a helmet.”
“Stop calling me little.”
Fucking hell my head is splitting. Kid is driving me nuts.
“You’ve got your hands full. Never would have thought I’d see you handed your balls by an eight-year-old.”
I scowl at Pam and drink my coffee.
“East has balls? What kind of balls? I like to play with balls. Dodgeball is fun. I don’t like football or baseball. Soccer is okay. Mom wouldn’t let me play soccer. Said I’m too little, but I’m not even the shortest kid in my class. Bobby Miller is like this tall.” She holds a hand to her shoulder to demonstrate the Bobby kid’s height.
I look to Pam, massaging the rough pads of my fingers over my temple. “You got any aspirin?”
“Nope. Sorry.” She shrugs, loving every minute of my misery. I’m being punished. For what? Who the fuck knows? But I’ve somehow landed in hell.
I scarf down my toast, thankful that the clubhouse is quiet and most of my brothers are still in bed, so I don’t have to catch hell for having a kid with me even if it was Prez’s orders. “You done eating yet?” I look over to Wylla Mae who has egg yolk dripping down her chin. “Ever heard of a napkin?” I shake my head and hand her mine. “Can you keep an eye on her for like ten minutes?”
Pam rolls her eyes. “Ten minutes. That’s it, East. I mean it. You aren’t sticking me with your problems.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave her off. “I’ll be back.” I point at Wylla Mae and she shoots me a dirty look all pinched faced. “You better behave.”
“Where are you going? I don’t want to stay with her. She doesn’t even like me.”
“Neither do I,” I tell her gruffly and her face falls.
Her bottom lip juts out into a pout.
“Stop that. Shit doesn’t work on me.”
Those big doe eyes gaze up at me filled with unshed tears threatening to breach the brims. “Do you truly not like me, East?”
“Shit, kid. I was only kidding.”
“You owe me another quarter.”
I pull my wallet out of my back pocket. I thumb through the bills until I find the one I want. “Here.” I hand her a ten-dollar bill. “That should cover it.”
She smiles big eyeing the money. “Oooh. Can you take me shopping?” Those tears faded away awful fast. She’s a damn natural. Bet her mother taught her how to get what she wants.
“Shopping?” I grunt. “Hell no.”
She pouts again, but I’m not falling for that shit.
“I’ll be back. Listen to Pam and take your medicine.”
Wylla Mae’s lips part, her pink tongue darting out between them directed at me. Fucking brat. I shove off my stool and go in search of Grudge.
I find him outside tinkering with the driver’s side door of Pam’s car. It’s a four-door sedan that needs towed and turned into scrap metal. The bottom of the driver’s side door is rusting out. “Hey, man. You have a minute?”
“Just trying to unlock this piece of shit car for Pam. Locked the damn keys in it. What’d you need?”
“You still have that kid’s helmet you kept for Tempest?”
“Should be in the garage. What you want with it?”
“Fucking Murder gave me a babysitting detail. Got an eight-year-old by the name of Wylla Mae I’m charged with.”
Grudge strokes his chin, running his fingers over his graying beard. “Wylla Mae you say. That’s Alexa’s girl. Blonde hair. Pretty little thing.” His weathered face brightens.
“Smart mouth.”
He chuckles. “Shit. Alexa always was bad news. Yeah you can use it.”
“What’s your opinion about this Alexa?” I question, following him to the garage that sits behind the clubhouse.
“She was always best friends with Prez’s daughter.”
“Rochelle?” Her picture hangs in the clubhouse in the hallway by Prez’s office. Rochelle was a beautiful girl. Long light brown hair, big brown eyes. Freckles on the bridge of her nose. Bet I’ve looked at her photo a hundred times. Pass by it often enough. Such a shame a young life gone too soon.
“Yeah. God rest her soul. Alexa was with her. In the car with her. Nearly killed her too but she walked away. Murder’s always had a soft spot for her, but girl was always wild and needing him to come rescue her. Has a habit of getting with losers who show their love with their fists. Has issues. They call it survivor’s guilt.”
Fuck. “The kid ever get caught up in it?”
“Once. Murder threatens her. Says if she don’t get her shit together, he’ll take Wylla Mae away from her, but he never follows through with it. He goes over there and plays hero every damn time. Says Rochelle would want him to.”
I cup the back of my neck. Prez’s daughter died in high school. Got drunk and was driving too fast. That was before I lived around here. Grudge opens the garage and starts poking around in old boxes on one of the shelves against the back wall. “Eureka,” he shouts after a few minutes and produces a small black helmet with a pink skull on the back. “Should be about the right size.” He rubs an old rag over the top to get the dust off it.
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem. It don’t do nothing out here but collect dust now that Tempest is older and too cool to hang with grandpa.” He smiles but I can see this flash behind his smoky grey eyes that says he misses her.
“Think she’d want a job babysitting?”
He shakes his head. “It’s Saturday. She’s gone to her dad’s for the weekend. Won’t be home till tomorrow evening I’m afraid.”
“It was worth a shot.”
Grudge slaps my back. “Don’t worry. Alexa is a lot of things but she’s a good mom. She’ll be beating down your door for the kid soon enough.”
“Good. I’ll get this back to you whenever I’m done with it.”
I take the helmet and head back to the clubhouse to grab the kid. The clubhouse is no place for her to be hanging around. I sit the helmet on the seat of my bike and when I walk inside Devil’s Playground I have to blink because I don’t believe what I’m seeing. Wylla Mae is sitting on top of the bar and Roane, the club’s tattooist and a prospect has hold of her arm.
I stomp toward them my mood souring. I’m losing my goddamned mind. It looks like he’s putting a tattoo on her. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Look, East.” Wylla Mae snaps her head to me wearing a toothy grin and holds up her arm. “Roane gave me a tattoo of a sunflower.” Underneath the sunflower in cursive font is one word. Lady.
Fucking hell.
“Easy, man, it’s just a temp. It’ll wash off.”
I let out a breath. “You.” I point at her. “Get down from there.” I turn back to Roane. “Where’s Pam?”
“She’s um occupied. Link.” He chuckles. Link is Pam’s Ol’ Man. Link, Grudge, and Pam run the clubhouse better known as The Devil’s Playground.
“Hell, I don’t even want to know. You got your backpack? Medicine?”
“Yup. Do I get to ride on your motorcycle again?” Those warm brown eyes sparkle with hunger for adventure.
“Got you a helmet.”
“Cool.” She slides off the bar with help from Roane.
“See you later alligator,” he says holding his fist out for her to bump.
“After while crocodile,” she singsongs, skipping toward the exit, dragging her backpack on the floor.
“Cute kid. She wouldn’t shut up about you. Just be careful.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You’ve not been around in the past when Alexa starts her shit is all I’m saying. I was a few grades behind her in school. I know shit. Heard some things, but not my story to tell.”
“Wait. You know the kid and her mom?”
“You’ve got a lot to learn it seems.” He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s not my place to say shit. If Prez wants you to know he’ll tell you, but that kid, better protect her with your life. She’s important to Prez. Just file that away. Know what I mean?”
I give him a chin lift, but no I don’t know what the fuck he means.
“Come on, East,” Wylla Mae whines, trying to jerk the heavy door open.
Roane shoots me a look that says, ‘don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
**
“This is your house?” Wylla Mae spins around in the living room of my A-frame home.
“Yeah.”
“Did you build it yourself?” She plops her pink backpack down on the black leather couch.
“No.”
“Did you buy it?”
“No.”
Her eyes go big. “Did you steal it?”
“What? No. You can’t steal a house.”
Her brows knit together. “Then how did you get it?”
“It belonged to my father.”
“Did he build it?”
“No. I don’t know. You ask a lot of questions.”
“Are you married? You don’t look married. I don’t see any stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?” I look around my cabin wondering what she was expecting.
“You know. Girl stuff. Pretty pillows. Flowers. Candles that smell good.”
“Maybe I don’t like that stuff.”
“My mom likes girly stuff. When she feels happy, she lights candles and sprays stuff on the furniture to make it smell good. I bet she’d make this place look better.” She picks up a magazine and scrunches her nose as she gapes at the cover. “Ew.” She drops it as quickly as she found it and my jaw ticks.
Shit. A Playboy. But in my defense, I wasn’t expecting to be on brat duty.
“Stop being so damn nosy and put your medicine in the fridge.”
“Do you have a Tv?” her gaze darts around the room.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I like to read.”
“Read?”
“Yeah. Books Maybe you need to try it.” I sigh and grab the bottle of pink liquid from her backpack.
“I don’t see anything besides your nudie books.”
“Nudie books?” I chuckle.
“Maybe that’s why you don’t have a wife.”
Fucking hell this kid. I put her antibiotic in the fridge then open up my junk drawer and find what I’m looking for. “Here.” I hand Wylla Mae the pad of paper and an ink pen.
“What’s this for?”
“Go draw or write a letter to your best friend or some shit. I don’t know.”
“Do you have any games? I like games.”
“No.”
“I’m bored, East.”
“Christ on a cracker.” I huff.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Just sit on the couch. I’ll be back.” I grab my cigarettes and lighter off the kitchen counter wishing it wasn’t too damn early to crack open a beer. I walk outside and suck in a breath. This kid is going to be the death of me. She never shuts up. All night last night she chattered till my damn ears felt like they were going numb from the sound of her voice. I passed out sometime around one in the morning on the couch. The Tv was still on and that damn motormouth was still rambling. Swear my hand to God I could hear her talking in my damn sleep.
I take out a cigarette and light it up. I feel calmer the moment the familiar burn of smoke pulls through my lungs. I lean over the railing of the porch and stare out at the view of the river. The tranquil sound of the water moving against the bank usually settles my spirit. It’s going to be a long day and I already want a damn nap.
