I take Ziggy from his seat and he clings to me. “Will you stay with me, daddy?” he asks, and I kiss his head lightly.
“You bet,” I reassure him.
As we get to the door, the weasel looks up. “What?” he grunts. I ignore him and kick the door lightly with my boot because my hands are full with Ziggy. Weasel stands directly in front of me. “I asked you a question,” he hisses, and I raise an eyebrow. Ziggy clings tighter and buries his face in my neck.
“You didn’t ask me shit. Move,” I growl.
The front door opens, and a dishevelled-looking Michelle stands there. Her once bouncy blond curls hang limply, the shine long gone. Her bright blue eyes are dulled by the dark circles under them and her pale skin is almost translucent from lack of sunshine. “Ziggy,” she breathes, and I’m grateful she at least sounds happy to see him.
“Michelle,” I mutter, stepping around the weasel and heading inside after her. “Did you forget we were coming?” I ask, looking around the stacks of dirty dishes littering the kitchen worktops.
She runs a hand over her hair and smiles weakly. “How have you been, baby?” she asks, moving around my back and trying to catch a glimpse of Ziggy’s face. He presses it further into my neck. “Zig?” she whispers sadly.
“Come on, kiddo.” I sigh, lifting him so he can’t hide his face. “Give mommy a cuddle. She’s missed you.”
“It’s fine if he doesn’t want to,” she mutters, stepping away. “I get it. How’s he been?”
“Good,” I say. “School’s pleased with his progress. His teacher says he’s amazing.”
“That’s great, Zig,” she gushes, and he offers her a small smile. “I’m so proud.”
“Are you doing okay?” I ask, looking around at the mess. She does the same.
“Yah know,” she shrugs, “I have my good days and bad.”
“You need any money or anything? Have you got food?” I ask because, despite my hate for this woman, I can’t leave her short.
“I’ll be okay. Don’t give me cash,” she mutters, wincing. “Dave will take it and buy drugs.”
“The weasel?” I ask and she gives a small laugh and nods her head. “Do you want me to get rid of him?” I ask.
“No. I like him. He’s just got a bad habit is all.”
“Should you be around him when you’re trying to recover yourself?” I ask and she sighs. “I’m not getting at you, Shell. It can’t be easy staying clean if he’s not.”
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
“Because you know I won’t bring Ziggy if you’re using.”
“Yes,” she snaps. “I know that. Don’t nag.” The weasel stalks into the kitchen and looks back and forth between us. “Dave, that’s Ziggy, my boy.” She smiles.
“And him?” he grunts out, pointing at me.
“That’s Riggs, Ziggy’s dad.”
“A biker?” He sneers, and Michelle gives me a pleading look that says to leave it.
“Daddy, can we go please?” whispers Ziggy. I nod my head and he visibly relaxes.
“Why can’t you leave her kid here?” asks the weasel and I glare at Michelle. There’s only
so much I can take. “She’s his mom. He should be here with her,” he continues, swaying on his unsteady feet.
“I’ll let her fill you in on that,” I say dryly as I move to the door. “Next time we come, he won’t be here, Michelle,” I add firmly.
“You don’t call the shots in my house,” he suddenly yells.
I kiss Ziggy on the head and place him outside on the step. “Stay right here, Ziggs. Shout if you get worried, but I just need two seconds with mommy.” He nods his head and I turn back towards the kitchen. Michelle groans and buries her face in her hands. “I pay for this house. I pay for the food in it. I furnished it. I own it. I own her. I own that kid. So next time I come around here, you won’t be here,” I warn.
He squares his shoulders and cracks his neck from side to side. “She’s my woman,” he growls.
“Then start taking care of her. She’s a mess.”
“She’s exactly how I like her. Get the hell out of my house,” he yells.
I crack my fist into his face, feeling satisfied when his nose crunches. Michelle screams and I use my free hand to cover her mouth, tucking her against my side. “Don’t scare Ziggy,” I whisper calmly. My next hit to his stomach causes the weasel to double over coughing. “Now, don’t be a dick or I’ll make sure you disappear completely.” I pat him on the back and kiss Michelle on the cheek. “Stay clean.”
My mom eyes the blood splatter on my t-shirt. “Leia, take Ziggy and put him to bed for me, please,” she says, and my sister happily takes Ziggy from my arms. “Talk,” she says, pointing to my shirt.
“It was nothing. Some jumped-up asshole shooting his mouth off. Ziggy didn’t see a thing.”
“Good. He’s a sensitive kid. Not like you were at that age.” She smiles. “Your dad would have to chase you around the place before you’d listen to a word either of us said. You’d watch the fights break out in this club with a look of awe in your eyes. We knew you’d be just like your dad,” she says fondly. I smile. Being like my dad is the biggest compliment anyone could give me. He ran this club well for years until he finally passed from cancer a few years ago. “How was Michelle?” she asks, not bothering to hide the disdain when she says her name out loud.
“Not great. The place was a mess. Can you ask Coral to go over and clean? I’ll pay double.”
“Finn.” She sighs. “Stop doing things for her. You aren’t together. If she can’t keep her place clean, it’s
