“Alicia, isn’t it?” he queries in his deep voice. “Slide off the bike, honey, so Grumbler can park it.”
Gently, I try to loosen the death grip she’s got around my waist. “Just stay with Niran for a moment, baby,” I encourage her.
It takes a minute, but then her hands loosen. Sensing she doesn’t want him to touch her, Niran steps back, and lets her slide off. Once I’m alone on the bike, I paddle walk it backwards, park, and dismount.
As soon as I’m off the bike, she flings herself into my arms, sobs coming again.
“Come on, let’s go find you some tissues and mop those tears up. Then you can tell me what happened.”
She’s pliant as I move her around so I can put my arm around her and lead her into the clubhouse.
“Why’s Wrangler so worried about losing his patch… oh.” Salem’s voice cuts off abruptly.
“Here are tissues.” Niran presents me with a box.
A bit uncertain what to do next, I take one, then a couple more and hand them to her. Walking her over to a couch, hoping it’d dried off from being in use last night, I press on her shoulders. When she sits, I crouch in front of her.
“I’ll call your mom.”
“No. Please, no.” She looks horrified and scared.
My eyes flick to Niran, then Salem for help, but they’ve not yet procreated, and clearly, like me, have no idea how to handle her.
“I’ll call Eva,” Niran suggests.
Well, that’s a start. Get a woman here to talk to her. In the meantime, what do I do? Eva lives in Escondido and will take a while to get here.
“She want a soda or something?” Salem suggests, trying to be helpful, but Alicia shakes her head.
I reach up my hand and catch a tear that’s escaping. “Who hurt you, sweetheart?” That’s the information I need—someone to focus my suppressed rage on.
“Man put his hands where he shouldn’t?” Salem growls loudly, making her jump and me to shush him.
Alicia sobs, and just when I think she’s not going to confirm anything, she gives a little nod.
“Who?” the enforcer snarls just as I’m about to ask the question.
“It wasn’t what you’re thinking,” she cries out. “It was my fault.”
“No.” Now it’s me who’s growling. “If a man has done something you didn’t want, there’s no way you’re to blame.”
Her red eyes come to meet mine, then she looks away. “I’ve been so stupid, Grumbler.”
My eyes narrow, but I try to keep my anger in check. “Why don’t you tell me what happened, Alicia, and let me be the judge of that?”
Her head drops again, and I don’t think she’s going to say anything. Niran and Salem take places behind the couch, and I don’t think she knows they’re still listening.
Wrangler appears, his footsteps hesitant. As if trying to make up for his error of judgement earlier, he holds a bottle of water at arm’s length. I take it, shooting him a look that tells him it will take a whole lot more before I even think of forgiving him. The jerk of my head tells him to make himself scarce. As he does, I unscrew the top, and hold it out to her.
Discarding another used tissue on top of the growing pile beside her, she takes a much-needed drink of water to rehydrate.
“I was supposed to be a Marisa’s last night,” she starts, in a soft, quivering voice. “I left my phone there, so that’s where Mom would think I was.”
That explains why Mary’s not blowing up my phone trying to find her. While she should be grounded for trying to deceive her mother, that discussion’s for later.
“Where were you?” It’s a battle to keep my voice level.
“With Owen.”
That motherfucker. I should have fucking guessed. Swallowing rapidly in an attempt to remain calm, I ask the question to which I believe I already have the answer. “He the one who hurt you?”
“Yes, no.”
Salem makes a cutting motion across his throat. It tells me two things. One, Owen is soon going to be six feet under, and secondly, to go easy on her.
“Tell me everything, Alicia. You went to his place?” If yes, we know where to find him.
“No.” Her lips press together. “I didn’t tell Mom, but I’ve been talking to him for weeks—ever since the day of the shoot, with your bike, Grumbler.”
I nod, showing I remember. It’s another thing she’s been lying to her mom about. Oh, I know Mary knew they’d been in contact, but not that they seem to have become more than friends.
“Last weekend. You thought I was in bed when you were talking to Mom, but I wasn’t. I was listening. I heard you planning to trick him, so I told him all about it. How Dusty wasn’t really a model, and you were setting him up.”
Jesus. Closing my eyes, I roll back my head. We knew she wouldn’t go along with it had we admitted what we were doing, hence we thought we’d been clever. I’d never dreamed she’d been eavesdropping.
Swallowing a couple of times, I look back down. “What was his reaction?”
“He told me what a wonderful person I was to tell him. He said I was beautiful inside and out. He told me he was falling in love with me and wanted to take our relationship further.”
“You met him again before last night?”
She sniffs, then nods. “Marisa’s been covering for me.”
Perhaps Marisa should have a visit from us—another thing to leave until later. I don’t tell Alicia how stupid she’s been, that’s a job for her mom. But judging by her condition, she’s already regretting it enough herself.
“So, last night?” I prompt her, while mentally sitting on my hands to stop myself from shaking the truth out of her. I have to remember, right now, I’m not the sergeant-at-arms.
“I was going to… I’d decided…” She goes bright red and buys herself time while noisily blowing her nose. “Owen rented
