Page 90 of Caution to the Wind

I shook my head. “I know H.R. was attacked once, but what happened to Cleo…it’s different. It’s like what happened to her mum. I don’t think…” I sucked in a deep breath through my teeth, warrin’ with the impotent rage and agony in my chest. “I don’t think a person ever comes back from that in a way that makes them feel safe to fall in love like that again. I hope to fuck I’m wrong, but she’s already sayin’ the Kay women got some kinda curse.”

The silence that blanketed the table was punctuated only by the sounds of the brothers in the main room.

“Maybe,” Zeus agreed, mouth pressed tight in an unhappy line. “But let’s hope not, for Cleo’s sake. She’s got a whole family’a badasses at her back, and she always will. Hopefully, that gives her the shield she needs to feel safe again.”

“Eventually,” Bat agreed with his own wry grin.

“How’re you doin’? How’re the boys?” Z asked.

The Prophet had murdered Bat’s wife, Amelia, leavin’ their twin boys without a mother.

Bat scrubbed a hand over through his black hair and loosed a long, windin’ sigh. “Let’s just say, thank fuckin’ Christ for Tempest and Dane.”

“Who would’a thought one of the biker groupies would make such a good nanny?” Z chuckled.

Bat did not.

With a glower, he said, “Tempest was never a fuckin’ groupie. She was just a girl in a tough spot. Trust me, she’s saved us more than we ever saved her.”

Z held up a hand in surrender. “No offense meant, brother. She’s a good woman.”

When Bat levelled that glare at me, I only smirked. “Got nothin’ but good to say about her, man. I’m guessin’ Dane is with her and the boys, now?”

A grimace contracted his face for a second before he could smooth it out. “Yeah, they get along well, and the boys love ’em.”

Z and I locked eyes for a second, both wonderin’ how Bat would take it if his best friend ended up with his nanny.

I didn’t have all day to shoot the shit like the rest of the brothers out in the clubhouse, though. Pushin’ outta my chair, I leaned on the table and knocked my knuckles against it in farewell.

“Where’re ya goin’ now?” Z asked. “Thought we’d go over some numbers this mornin’.”

“Later. We want the low-down on Jiang Kuan before the meet tomorrow, I got someone I need to talk to.”

MEI

Purgatory Motel wasa hellhole painted all in pink.

The neon sign teetered on its metal pole over the cracked asphalt parking lot, pink light flickering on a dingy once-white background. It announced there was no vacancy, but it was obvious just looking at the place that it had never been fully booked in its entire existence. The long, low building was shaped like an L and tucked into the back of the lot on the side of the Sea to Sky Highway. The doors were painted the same obnoxious pink as the trim, the walls a paler shade like the inside of an unclean mouth. There was a rust-sided Harley-Davidson in one parking spot and an ancient Caravan with yellowed curtains in the windows in another.

A total dump.

I loved it.

I’d grown up staying with my parents in Fairmonts, Four Seasons, and Dogwoods. Hotels with sleekly appointed bellhops and impeccably turned-out reception staff.

The pot-bellied man sitting behind the desk at Purgatory Motel wore a thin white tank top through which I could see his profusion of thick, grey chest hair and a heavy chain that dug into the thick rolls of his neck. When I checked in, he didn’t greet me by name or expand on the wonders of the local culture or activities.

He grunted at me and handed over an old-fashioned key without even asking my name, only extending his opened fist for the cash I offered.

Room 7 was on the second and highest floor at the end of the L. It was hard to get to, for anyone who might want to get to me, but it was also hard to escape. I tested the security of the iron railing and judged the distance to the ground floor. If I eased myself over the railing slowly, I’d be able to make the leap with no problem.

I had to shove my shoulder into the door to get it to budge open, scraping back over pink shag carpet that carried the smell of cigarette and musk. There were two double beds, a single nightstand and set of drawers, and a small boxy television with actual bunny ear antennae I’d only seen in old movies.

I laughed as I dumped my duffel bag on one bed and did my walk through the space, checking for hidden cameras and anything particularly disgusting. Other than the pink bathtub and the stained towels in the bathroom, it was clean in the sense there were no bugs.

When I sat on the bed and a little dust cloud exploded, I laughed again and bounced a little on the creaky box spring.

“Yeah, this seems right,” I muttered, falling back to stare at the popcorn ceiling.