I haven’t heard more than one pair of footsteps above me since I moved in a week ago, so I think it’s time to track down one of my neighbor’s friends so they can come check in on him. Those big patches on the back of his leather cut are probably the best place to start. It won’t take more than a quick search online to track down more members of the Dirty Aces MC.
By lunchtime the next morning, I’m parallel parking my purple Prius into an open spot in front of The Aces Pool Hall beside a yellow and black motorcycle. The neon sign isn’t on yet, but my internet search said they’re supposed to be opening any second.
Right on schedule, the lights inside flip on, and then I spot a man with shoulder-length brown hair behind the glass doors turn on the open sign and unlock the doors. I’ve just climbed out of my car with my cotton satchel thrown over my shoulder when the same man steps outside. He has dark ink up and down his bare arms and is wearing a black leather vest identical to my neighbor’s. He shoves a pair of dark sunglasses on his face as he looks down the street as if waiting for someone.
Shutting my car door, I head over to him. “Excuse me,” I say in greeting. “Are you a member of the Dirty Aces?”
His head turns in my direction for no longer than a few seconds before looking back down the street. “Who’s asking?” is his gruff response. Okay, so he’s not exactly warm and welcoming, but what did I expect from an outlaw biker?
“I’m Lucy, and I just moved into the Seaside Apartments over on Ocean Boulevard.”
“Good for you,” he mutters, crossing his thick, tattooed arms over his chest.
“One of your friends is my neighbor. I think his name is Nash…”
That finally gets the man’s attention. He turns toward me just enough that I spot the “President” patch on his chest.
“Get to the point, girl scout. I ain’t got all fucking day,” he says impatiently and with such venom in his voice that I hesitate to continue.
Steeling my spine, I finally reach into my purse and pull out a plastic bag containing the gun, grip, and bullets I removed from the chamber. Gathering up my nerve, I walk over to hand it over.
“What the hell is this?” he asks when he holds up the bag in front of his face and studies the contents.
“What’s left of the gun that Nash was holding and dropped while he was standing on the roof of the apartment building last night.”
“Is this some kind of sick joke?” he grumbles just as an older car pulls up into the parking spot in front of mine. “Shit. Hold that thought.”
He goes over and opens the door to the pool hall to toss the plastic bag inside just as a pretty blonde with short hair gets out of the driver side to grab something from the backseat. My heart skips a beat when she retrieves a baby in a pink and white polka dot dress. She’s so cute and tiny with chubby cheeks and a halo of pale blonde hair that it makes my throat burn. I’m so consumed by the infant that I almost miss the woman staring me down and then lifting a questioning eyebrow at the man without having to say a word.
“This is Lucy, and she’s apparently here to talk to me about Nash,” he informs her while holding out his arms for her to hand over the baby, making him look slightly less threatening. I’m surprised he remembered my name since he acted so aloof when I was speaking to him.
“What about Nash?” the woman asks me, then glances at the gruff man.
He gives her some sort of tilt of his head with a nod of his chin like he’s communicating to her telepathically before he finally speaks aloud again. “It’s hot as shit out here. Let’s discuss this inside.”
It is already a balmy ninety degrees, so when he turns around with the baby resting on his chest and strolls inside, I follow him with the woman behind me.
“I love your purse,” she says once we’re all in the pool hall.
“Thanks,” I reply.
“Oh, crap! That reminds me, I left mine in the car!” she suddenly says before she disappears back out the door, leaving me alone with the biker and baby.
“Cute kid,” I say to fill the silence.
“She gets her good looks from her mother,” he mutters while placing a soft kiss on the top of her head.
From my perspective, her daddy isn’t bad to look at either.
“I’m Malcolm,” he finally says. “But something tells me you already knew that.”
I lift one shoulder as if to say maybe so, but don’t elaborate. Of course I did my research before coming here, but I didn’t want to show my hand and freak him out.
“Sorry,” his wife or girlfriend says when she returns with her leather purse over her shoulder. “What did I miss?”
“Lucy here says Nash was on the roof of his apartment building last night,” he fills her in as he removes his glasses with his free hand and hangs them from the pocket of his leather vest. “Now start from the beginning.”
“I, ah, I couldn’t sleep, so around midnight I decided to go up to the roof since the view from my first-floor apartment is pretty shitty. I had just walked out when I saw him standing there up on the wall ledge. He looked like…well, he looked like he was thinking about jumping,” I tell them. “And he had a gun.”
The woman gasps and slaps her palm to her mouth as she looks to Malcolm.
“He dropped a bottle of beer and the gun when I startled him, then he got down, yelled at me and stumbled off back inside.”
“And you’re sure it was Nash?” Malcolm asks me through narrowed eyes.
“Yes! He has a leather jacket thing like yours,” I say, gesturing to his leather vest.
“You think he would do something crazy like that?” the woman asks Malcolm.
“He’s been through some tough shit lately,” he responds. “I never thought it was that fucking bad, though. He hasn’t come in to work in two weeks or to any meetings. I thought he just needed some time to clear his head…”
“Well, you should probably go check on him,” I insist.
“She’s right, Malcolm. You need to go talk to Nash and make sure he’s okay.”
“Yeah, yeah, I will,” he agrees with his brow furrowed. “I appreciate the heads-up.”
“Sure,” I reply with a nod. When no one says anything else, I start toward the door. “So, I guess I’ll leave you to it.”
“Thanks, Lucy,” the woman whose name I don’t even know says to me.
“You’re welcome,” I reply before I head outside, glad that he’s someone else’s problem now because this is all too much for me to handle on my own.
Chapter Three
Nash
* * *
A loud banging causes the pulsing of my headache to double, and it takes me a few seconds to realize it’s coming from my apartment door.
Fuck it. Fuck them. I’m not expecting anyone. Eventually they’ll give up and go away.
Or so I thought before I hear the key in the lock turning. From my prone position stretched out on the sofa, I watch as the door flies open and then Malcolm is filling it.
“Sort of regretting giving you a spare key,” I mutter.