“Mace, don’t think that way.” Her voice, like her touch, is calming. “Lizard once told me, I shouldn’t borrow trouble. He was right. You’ve just got to take it day by day. Doctors can work miracles these days, and even if he comes out the other side not the same as he was, you and your brothers will deal. One thing I’ve learned while I’ve been here is the love you all have for each other.”
She’s right. If he can’t ride his bike, he can’t be a member of the club, but that’s just semantics. Not one of us would abandon a brother in need.
“He’s a good man,” she tells me, her hands never stop moving. “Another tattoo artist wouldn’t have cared how Major had marked me.”
“Property patches mean something to us, darlin’,” I explain. “Part of his concern was blowback on the club.”
I feel her shrug. “He cares for you, his brothers. But whatever you say or how you try to justify it, he’s been good to me.” Her hands lift away. “Why don’t you lie down, on your front?”
That she’s confident enough to suggest it warms me even though my thoughts are chilling. I do as she suggests, and feel her straddle me, her hands now massaging my shoulders and back, stopping just above my ass.
“You’re good at this,” I tell her, feeling myself relax.
“I work with heavy shit,” she says. “Sometimes I overdo it or have to stretch in unfamiliar ways to get to part of an engine. I discovered this great massage parlour and often went there to get my aches soothed away. I’m just trying to do what they did to me.”
“You’re doing great.”
For a moment we’re quiet, me starting to feel like I could drift away and doze off.
“Has Lizard got any family?”
Now isn’t that the million-dollar question? “His mom died, his dad couldn’t cope. Lost himself in the bottle. Lizard was taken away and entered the system. Went through various foster homes and then joined the Marines. I don’t think his dad is still breathing, but Lizard wouldn’t want anything to do with him anyway.” I offer her what truth I can, keeping the rest to myself.
My mind goes to Cas. If that kid doesn’t pull himself together, he could go the same way as his dad. Be taken away from his mom if social services think she’s not a good enough mother. Fuck, and I just sent her away. I’d been thinking of Liz. If, heaven forbid, he never recovers, wouldn’t he want someone to be there for his kid and his wife? I’d been trying to protect him, but what if I’ve made things worse?
“What’s the time, babe?”
“It’s okay, I’ve got an eye on the clock. You’ve still got twenty minutes before your meeting.”
“I meant to have a shower.”
“You want to go get one?”
“No.” It’s here I want to stay. Her touch, so soothing, so comforting, it’s helping me to come to terms with what’s happened today. I feel so fucking helpless. There’s nothing to fight, no one to question. This problem is one I can’t solve in any of my usual ways.
We’re quiet as she continues to work my muscles. When at last she says I should be on my way, I realise some of my inner strength has returned. While her administrations have done nothing to take my troubles away, somehow, I feel better able to face them.
When she stands, I roll onto my back, then curl my abs and sit up. She’s moved a few feet away.
I don’t approach, I make no move to touch her. I just say a heartfelt, “Thank you, babe.”
She offers a quick smile. “If there’s anything I can do to help, Mace…”
“Stay,” I tell her, then when she goes to protest, I tell her again, “Just stay here with us. Fuck knows how long Liz will be in the hospital, Shay. I don’t need to have to worry about where you are as well.”
“You’d worry about me?” She seems surprised.
“Every fuckin’ day.”
Her eyes widen, and her head tilts to one side. A whole minute passes before she speaks, as though she’s working things through in her head. “Okay,” she starts, slowly, the word coming as she breathes out. “I won’t make plans to move on until Liz is back home.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Shayla
I’d been a normal woman until Major had taken me. My life was predictable, I’d go to work, come home and then cook a meal for my boyfriend and clean up after him. I wasn’t sure I’d be staying with Rodger long-term, but the benefits of having someone there for company outweighed the disadvantages of being an unpaid servant. I wasn’t anything particularly special, so hadn’t set my hopes too high. In time I knew I wanted a family but wasn’t sure I was with the right man.
In my previous life, I’d never have entertained the idea that I’d end up where I am, in the clubhouse of an outlaw MC. I would never mix with these kinds of men, would never even dream of going to a business owned by them if I wanted a tattoo—not that I’d probably have gotten one in the first place, far too daring for a girl like me. Under the circumstances I found myself in, I needed to go somewhere where people maybe wouldn’t obey all the rules and would do the work on someone like Esme. Hence, I chose a tattoo parlour run by bikers.
I’d been wrong, they did run an honest business. But instead of turning me away, they’d offered me sanctuary, and I’ve ended up the one place I’d never imagined I’d be.
Of course, I never expected my life would be turned upside down in the way it had been. That fateful day carried no indication that anything out of the ordinary was going to happen. I had no premonition, no warning. A simple request to deliver paperwork at the accountant’s wasn’t strange or unusual at all. I’d agreed, then placed a quick phone call to Rodger saying I’d be late. It met with the reaction I could have predicted, the normal grumpy response that his dinner wouldn’t be on the table at the right time.
I’d driven into Vegas, wondering if perhaps it was now time for me and Rodger to part ways. I wasn’t even certain I loved him anymore, and sex had become something of an obligation, rather than an act I looked forward to with anticipation. Pleasant enough when we got down to it, but too much of a bother at times.
Rodger’s sex drive had also diminished over time, but I expect that’s what happens to most couples.
When the accountant had asked me to go for a drink, I’d accepted. Not because I fancied the man, and there was no attraction on his side either, but it had been a break from the monotony of my routine and, if I was honest, a welcome delay in going home to see the man who’d be holding a grudge that I’d left him to fend for himself. Not that he’d be violent, or even shout at me. His treatment would be the opposite, moody silence would be his weapon of choice.
The couple of drinks, one wine, one soda for me, had turned out to be enjoyable as we shared jokes and had a laugh, him relating tales of some of his clients, and me sharing stories of some of mine. He’d treated me as an equal, not as a woman but a person in my own right, just as I’d grown to expect while doing my job. I worked in a male-dominated environment, and one in which I’d grown comfortable. Sure, at times, there would be the odd innuendo or joke, but I’d made sure I’d gotten my own back with an equal quip. I was respected by the work I did, not the shapeliness of my legs.