“He’s your prez?” When I nod, she continues, “He doesn’t look particularly scary.”
Emitting a soft chuckle, I agree. “He’s not. But don’t underestimate him. If something needs doing, he gets it done.” Whether that’s keeping our businesses running, or dispatching men to meet Satan.
Though the day is warm, Alicia suddenly shivers as though a cloud has come over the sun. Her hand moves to her forehead, then down to her cheek as an errant tear slips from her eye.
I don’t know what to say to take the pain away and wish Mary would get here soon and relieve me of the burden. What do I know about parenting? Or how to comfort a young girl? Or even a woman, come to that. Apart from the club girls and one-night stands, I’ve never had a woman I needed to understand. What words could I use to repair the devastation in this kid’s life? All I can do is promise to kill the man who misled and deceived her.
“I promise, Alicia. That film will be destroyed. You won’t have it hanging over your head.”
Hurt eyes meet mine. “He used me. He made me believe I was special. I thought I loved him, Grumbler. I thought I was the one.”
She’s not the first and won’t be the last—not by a long shot. But those wouldn’t be comforting words.
I’ve never been with a virgin, never wanted the responsibility of initiating a woman, and certainly not a young girl. It’s not something I’ve particularly prized or thought special. To a man, getting your first time over and done without embarrassing yourself is probably more to the point. To a girl? Done right, it means the whole world. Though the hearts and flowers version is not, in reality, one that I’ve heard.
The sound of a car approaching reaches my ears. My phone vibrates, and I take it out.
“Yeah. Let her in,” I say into the device, then, ending the call, raise my eyes. “Your mom’s here.”
“Oh God.” Alicia drops her head into her hands. “I can’t, Grumbler. I just can’t.”
“You want me to speak to her first?”
Grateful, but tearful eyes meet mine, and the accompanying nod and silent plea confirms, for no fault of my own, I’m about to break a woman’s heart.
Chapter Seventeen
Mary
Knowing how teenage girls sleep late, I hadn’t been expecting Alicia home before noon. I had checked her phone when I’d woken, of course, to find her where I expected, still at Marisa’s.
Having a morning of peace stretching ahead, I’d made a start on my normal task for a Saturday—the housework that I’d neglected to do all week. I’d been in the process of cleaning the bathroom when Grumbler had called.
My mouth had dropped open when I’d listened to what he had to say, or more, what he hadn’t. Alicia had tracked him down to his compound, but he wouldn’t explain why over the phone.
The traffic in San Diego was infuriating—every car, every traffic light seemed to exist just to impede my progress. I forced myself to drive carefully. It wouldn’t help Alicia if I crashed or was pulled over, and it wouldn’t get me to her any sooner.
Questions raced through my head. Why had she gone to him of all people? If she had a problem, why hadn’t she come to me instead? If she’s hurt, why go to Grumbler? Surely, her mom would always be best.
At last my GPS tells me I’m in the general area, and I follow Grumbler’s instructions, turning off on a side road that appears to lead into nowhere, until a gate appears ahead. There’s a man who’s standing by it. He’s wearing a leather vest like Grumbler’s, though when, after asking what I wanted, he turns to make a phone call, instead of the club patches, the one on his back simply reads Prospect.
I bang my palms against the steering wheel as I wait for permission to enter, then, as the gates open at last, I drive through as the prospect had instructed. As soon as I near what must be the clubhouse itself, I spy Alicia and Grumbler seated at a picnic table.
I pull the car up, apply the brake and cut the engine. Opening the door, I see my daughter is seated with shoulders hunched. An immediate appraisal from a distance, I can see no visible injuries.
As I start to approach her, Grumbler stands and walks toward me, halting my progress. He holds up one hand in my direction and says back over his shoulder, “Give us a moment, kid. Go inside and find Eva.”
Alicia jumps up, one quick glance is my direction, then with head down, she scuttles away.
“Alicia?” I call, but she ignores me. “What the hell, Grumbler?” I round on the man in front of me now. “What’s she done? What’s happened?” There was guilt in that one look she sent me. My mom’s instinct knows she’s done something that I won’t like. “Let me go to her.” And who the hell is Eva?
“Sit.” Grumbler’s tone has my eyes snapping to him. It’s an instruction voiced in a way I can’t ignore. “You’re not going to like this, and you need time to process how to approach it with her. If you go after her now, you’ll do more harm than good.”
“I’m her mother,” I point out.
“Yeah.” His tone softens, and his hands wipe over his face. He looks drawn, and I wonder how much of it is down to Alicia. “Sit down and listen to me, Mary, please?”
“Has she brought trouble here?” I ask him, finally doing as he says, sitting down at the picnic bench. I don’t know what I expected from a biker compound, but it wasn’t that it would be in such a scenic position as this.
“Trouble we’ll take on gladly.” He answers my question in a growl.
His face is so serious, my worries multiply. “Just tell me, Grumbler.”
Reaching into his pocket, Grumbler extracts a pack
