Rough Ride Page 9

  She said nothing, just studied me.

  “A really nice new one,” I went on.

  “I’m not sure what you want me to say,” she replied.

  “Did he do that for me or for him?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, honeypot. I’ve never met him.”

  Knowing Snap, it was for me, and him getting something out of it was ancillary.

  “They repainted,” I declared.

  “I could tell,” she said.

  “He has other properties,” I informed her.

  “Okay.” She got closer. “Rosalie, why are you freaked?”

  “Because he keeps getting better and better and I can’t have him.”

  She got even closer and coaxed gently, “Explain again why you can’t have him.”

  “Chaos is in a mess right now.”

  “Messes get cleaned up.”

  “This one is messier than most.”

  “Rosalie—”

  She stopped talking when we both heard the front door open.

  I got tense.

  Mom got tense along with me.

  That could be anyone. Snapper. A random Bounty who’d miraculously made bail and followed us there. A serial killer who happened onto a perfect opportunity.

  “Yo!” a man’s voice yelled.

  I didn’t think a serial killer or a random Bounty with revenge on his mind would shout “Yo.”

  Though I didn’t know who that “Yo” belonged to, except it didn’t belong to Snapper.

  I relaxed.

  Mom grabbed my hand, led me out to the bedroom, and preceded me down the winding stairs.

  As we went around the curves, standing inside the front door we saw a pretty woman with a mass of goldish-brown curly hair holding a huge vase arranged with roses and berries and branches with leaves on them dripping with some kind of small citrus fruit.

  With her was a Chaos man in his cut with a toddler attached to his hip, and dangling from his free hand were about five plastic grocery bags.

  “Hi!” the woman cried. “You must be Rosalie and Renae.”

  “Gah, goo, gee!” the toddler shrieked right before he punched his biker in his bearded jaw and carried on, “Joe-joe-kah!”

  With obvious practice withstanding the blows, the Chaos brother didn’t even flinch after he got struck by the baby. He just watched us alight from the foot of the stairs.

  “Yes, this is Rosalie and I’m her mom, Renae,” Mom introduced, moving toward them.

  “I’m Carissa, and this is Joker and Travis, Joker being the big boy, Travis the little one,” the woman replied.

  Joe-joe-kah.

  Adorable.

  My heart hurt.

  “Hi, Carissa,” Mom said.

  “Yes, hi, Carissa,” I chimed in. I looked to the brother. “Joker.”

  “Yo,” he grunted.

  “Snapper told us you were moving in today so we ran to LeLane’s to get you some stuff so you’d feel welcome and are all good to settle in without having to run any errands or anything,” Carissa explained, lifting up the arrangement. “We have more in the car. We’ll just get it in, put it away, and get out of your hair.”

  “No,” I said swiftly, touched in a totally blown-away sense that they’d do this.

  I mean, I liked shopping but not the grocery kind, and I’d never seen anything like that arrangement. It was phenomenal.

  Not to mention, they’d gone to LeLane’s, which was insanely expensive.

  “You should stay for a drink or something.” I shot her a smile. “I mean, you can hang with Mom while I pop out to grab some beverages and then you can stay for a drink.”

  “You’re Snap’s so bought beer,” Joker declared.

  I felt my eyes get big at his short declaration that was still uttered like he was reciting what was carved into stone as I heard Mom emit a strangled giggle.

  “And I’m a girl and I know not all girls drink beer, so I got you some diet pop and wine,” Carissa put in.

  “That’s perfect!” Mom exclaimed excitedly, a biker babe of the highest order, in other words, always up for company, and taking that further, if any form of alcohol was available, making “company” into a party.

  But I was watching Joker and Travis, the former of whom had shifted to look out the windowed front door, the latter of whom was bouncing on his biker’s hip, clapping clumsily and squealing, “Hi-ha-hi-ha-hi-ha!”

  This was explained when Joker shifted further, getting out of the way of the door just in time for me to see High, another Chaos brother (this one I knew) reaching out to open it. He then came through it trailed by a curvy brunette in a fabulous sweater dress that made me decide I needed a sweater dress (or seven), even more fabulous high-heeled boots, and a gorgeously tailored long wool coat.

  I was stunned speechless due to the fact High was carrying an enormous white and black striped bag with tufts of red tissue paper coming out of the top of it.

  One of my favorite sights in all the world…carried in by a burly biker.

  A Sephora bag.

  With reaching arms, Travis grunted his desire to be turned over to High.

  With easy expertise, High took the toddler at the same time he kept hold of whatever heaven was in that black and white striped bag.

  “Oh no,” the brunette said through this. “We’re too late to leave our surprise for you.”

  “Rosalie,” High rumbled.

  “Hey, High,” I greeted. “This is my mom, Renae.”

  He dipped his chin to Mom and she said, “Hey.”

  He then grunted, “My woman, Millie.”

  How long had it been since Neanderthal times?

  A week?

  “Hey there,” Millie called.

  Mom and I said our return heys.

  “Gonna put this shit in the kitchen,” Joker mumbled.

  “Carson!” for some reason Carissa snapped, walking toward my coffee table to put down the vase but doing it glaring at her man.

  He looked down at the child High was carrying while still moving toward the kitchen.

  “Do you know what ‘shit’ means?” he asked.

  “Goo-dee-la-la-kee-la-gee-jah,” the kid answered.

  Joker looked to Carissa. “That means no.”

  Carissa turned to Millie and rolled her eyes.

  Mom started giggling again.

  “How you doin’?” High boomed and suddenly the slightly warm, slightly awkward impromptu welcome wagon party changed to just awkward.

  “I’m good, High, thanks,” I replied.

  His eyes narrowed on my face, taking in the still-angry marks on my brow and jaw and the still-taped nose and he gave clear indication he did not agree with my assessment.

  “Let’s drink wine,” my mother suggested. “Did you girls bring Rosalie’s wineglasses over?”

  “Of course. We took everything but the asshole’s stuff,” Millie declared then said quickly toward Carissa, “I mean, the a-hole’s stuff.”

  She turned back to me as she got close to her man and took the Sephora bag from him.

  And it was just what I didn’t want to know about Chaos. Precisely the fact that the brothers in it wouldn’t even allow their women to carry Sephora bags, even big ones like that.

  Once she’d nabbed it, she lifted it up my way and said, “We girls got together and got you a bunch of housewarming goodies. Have you tried the Moroccanoil line?”

  And there it was.

  Indication that the old ladies in Chaos understood what “housewarming” meant and it didn’t have to do with buying someone a plant.

  “No,” I told her.

  “Oh my God,” she rhapsodized. “It’s amazing. We got you the body gel and the body soufflé and the shimmering body oil. Then we got you the Fresh sugar face polish and rose face mask and hydration cream in case you want to do a facial. It’s sublime. And—”

  “Babe, just hand her the bag,” High interrupted, having straightened from putting Travis on the floor.

/>   Her head swung High’s direction and she gave him a pointy look. “Don’t interrupt me while I’m talking about Sephora purchases,” she snapped.

  High totally ignored her, but did it appearing faintly amused, and looked to me. “You in or you got shit you need to carry in?”

  “We just did the walk through so—” I started.

  “Right, keys,” he ordered, lifting a hand toward me.

  “Still got groceries out there,” Joker muttered, strolling through the living room toward the front door, glancing down at the baby who was hightailing it to the kitchen, diapered booty wriggling, likely to crawl around the kitchen like he’d do at any trusted friend’s house.

  Oh man.

  “I’ll get Rosie’s stuff upstairs then help you, Joke,” High muttered back as I grabbed my car keys from where I’d tossed them on a table they’d put by the door (that used to be in my foyer in my apartment, but looked so much better by that door) and gave them to High.

  “Think I can get it all with this go,” Joker replied.

  He thought?

  How many groceries did they buy me?

  High took off after Joker before I could ask.

  Millie handed me the Sephora bag and prompted on a big smile, “Dig in. Hope you enjoy,” before she moved toward the kitchen, Carissa, and rustling grocery bags.

  “Gee, tee, dee, la?” Travis asked, and I looked that way to see Mom somehow had hold of him and he was asking her questions.

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “But wanna go see the office space?”

  “Dee la!” he agreed enthusiastically.

  Watching her wander off with Travis, my heart started hurting again.

  “Isn’t this place so neat?” Carissa called from the kitchen. “Joker told me that Snapper did the whole design for the reno, though I think that he asked Tyra to help with the fittings. She told me about the awesome tub upstairs and when I saw it the other day when we were moving you in, I swear, I almost ordered everyone out so I could take a bath.”

  “I have the coolest house on the planet but after I saw that tub, I told Logan we’re yanking out ours and getting a soaking one,” Millie said.

  I watched them putting away groceries.

  Then I got out of the path of Joker bringing more in and High carrying my suitcases upstairs.

  Mom wandered back in, carrying on a full-blown conversation with Travis.

  “Is there any special place you want the bread, Rosalie?” Carissa called and I started out of the frozen trance I seemed to have fallen into.

  “I should help you,” I replied, beginning to move that way.

  “No,” Millie denied. “Take a load off and go through your Sephora stash.”

  “Can I take Travis upstairs?” Mom asked Carissa. “Give him the full tour.”

  “He was here when we moved Rosalie in, but he loved it upstairs, so absolutely,” Carissa answered.

  I felt the strings of the Sephora bag I was holding give way from my fingers and I turned to see a returned High setting it on the table by the door.

  “Need a word, darlin’,” he said.

  I looked up at him and nodded.

  He put a hand to the small of my back and oddly led me down the hall-type area to the French doors to the courtyard.

  Once there, he led me out of them.

  It was Denver. It was February. It could be below freezing. There could be a blizzard.

  Or it could be like it was that day. Fifty-three degrees.

  I still shivered a little bit when High closed the door on us, giving us privacy.

  I wasn’t sure what was happening out in the courtyard with High.

  What I was sure of was that I was freaking out.

  Snapper owned this crazy-awesome little house.

  He’d also apparently fixed it up before he’d had it painted prior to moving me in.

  Further, he’d bought me a bed.

  But my furniture looked awesome there, like it was bought to be just there.

  Not to mention his family had not only moved me in, they got me groceries and a Sephora bag full of happy surprises.

  After my father died, I had been looking for something that he’d given me all my life and it wasn’t just the stability of his love and pride.

  It was his capacity to judge a person’s character and his utter refusal to allow anyone in his life, or his girls’ lives, who he didn’t deem deserved their place there.

  He’d been devastated when, back in the day, Chaos had gone from running a garage and growing and selling (then illegal) pot to transporting drugs and firearms through town and pimping women.

  He’d been thrilled when the Club had ousted Crank, someone Dad had always hated (and he wasn’t a hater, if he didn’t like you, he just didn’t like you, he didn’t detest you—but he’d detested Crank) and Tack had taken his place and cleaned up the Club.

  And now here this all was, in my new house where I hadn’t even sat my ass down on the couch. Goodness, the kind that Dad had always given me, and more, Dad would always want for me.

  Goodness that it was now Snapper who was giving it to me.

  “Rosalie,” High called my attention to him.

  “Yeah?” I asked absently.

  He was watching me closely. “You good?”

  I shook my head, not in the negative, to pull myself together. “Yes, yeah. I…it’s just that a lot is happening.”

  “Then I’ll get this over with, get you inside so you can have a drink, get warm and start settlin’ in.”

  Okay, now I was focused on why High and I were weirdly out in the courtyard for privacy.

  “Uh…” I mumbled.

  “It was me,” he stated. “Snap wanted on you. He wanted to meet face to face. I fucked up. Made a piss-poor call. I was worried that he was meetin’ face to face with you because he was into you, which he was and is, but you had a man so I thought he’d get his heart broke. I also worried that Bounty was entering territory they weren’t used to dealin’ with. I provided security back in the day when Chaos did stupid shit, and when I did, I’d keep an eye on everything. Even old ladies. I thought he’d get caught with you or someone would see you together and inform on you, and I thought you’d be safer, communications were not in person, but he’d also be safer, not fallin’ deeper into it spending time with you.”

  I had to admit, it was good to know why that had happened.

  And I didn’t want to admit, but I had to do it, that having High confirm what Snapper had already made very clear, that he’d been into me a long time, was more than good.

  But now that I knew why, and the why was that why, it didn’t matter.

  More, I didn’t like the idea that these guys were kicking themselves about something that, bottom line, wasn’t their fault.

  Yes, they’d promised to protect me.

  But I had to pull my head out of my ass and get over the fact that what happened was not about them not doing that.

  It was about the choices I made, the choices Beck made, and the choices Bounty made.

  The Chaos brothers did the best they could do.

  The rest was not on them.

  “It wasn’t you who beat the hell out of me, High. You didn’t fuck up.”

  “Snap woulda kept a closer eye on you if I hadn’t warned him off.”

  “He couldn’t be with me twenty-four, seven and have the job get done,” I pointed out. “None of you could.”

  “We fucked up,” he reiterated.

  “You didn’t fuck up.”

  “You were at work and Speck was on you and we covered you in transit or when you were at your ma’s or shoppin’ or shit like that. We also kept an eye on Bounty to be sure they weren’t making you. We couldn’t be on you when you were with Throttle because eventually, he’d see. But Speck was supposed to do drive-bys of the restaurant and since the bust went down and you didn’t get outed, he thought you were safe so he went and got himself some tail from a girl he’s seein’ and didn’t
stay on you or alternately keep tabs on Throttle. He thought you were at the restaurant, you’d be safe, and he knew when your shift ended and he’d see you home. We also had no warning Bounty clued in on what you’d been doin’.”

  “High, seriously, this isn’t on you. It’s not on Speck. It’s not on Roscoe. It’s not on Snap. Being with Throttle, you couldn’t keep an eye on me every second of every day and I knew that. I also knew the risks I was taking and I got caught. I informed on an MC to what is now a rival MC. The cops were involved. This is not okay in the world I was living in and I knew that. I still did it, I understood what I was doing, and I knew if I was found out I’d have to deal with some unhappy bikers.”

  “We were supposed to have you covered.”

  “That was an impossible task.”

  I barely got that out before the door opened and we both looked that way, me with my heart shooting straight up in my throat and lodging there because I thought it would be Snapper.

  But it was Tack’s head that was through the door.

  “All good here?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I answered quickly and firmly before High could say anything.

  Tack looked from me to High to me and back to High.

  “Tyra and Lanie are here and they’re not feelin’ wine, they’re feelin’ cosmos. Joke and Carissa didn’t get the shit for that, or any tequila, and Hop doesn’t drink the kind of beer they got so I’m doin’ a run. You two want anything?”

  Tyra, Hop, and Lanie were there too.

  And Tack was doing a liquor run.

  “What kinda beer did Joke get?” High asked before I could process the idea that apparently, Chaos was throwing me a spontaneous housewarming party.

  “Fat Tire,” Tack answered.

  “Coors,” High grunted.

  “Right,” Tack said then looked at me. “Rosie?”

  “I, uh…”

  “Memory serves, you’re a Corona Light girl,” Tack noted.

  His memory served correctly.

  But a profound hugeness started weighing on me that he remembered at all.

  “That or Blue Moon,” I whispered.

  “Get both,” he muttered. “Later.”

  With that his head disappeared.

  I stared at the pretty French doors that led to the pretty mini-den in a pretty house where I was now living that was currently filled with a lot of really good people.