Page 105 of Not So Goode

And suddenly I was so tired I couldn’t see straight.

“I need to sleep.” I smiled tiredly at Lucas. “Thank you, Lucas. You don’t know how much I needed good food. I’ve lived off fast food for the last week, and it’s making my face break out. And my ass is probably five times bigger than it was.”

“The last thing you need to worry about is the size of your ass, Charlie,” Mom said. “Skip a meal or two and let Lucas cook for you, and you’ll be back down to size in no time. But don’t stress—worrying and obsessing over it only makes it worse.”

Crow would probably say the same thing, and add something along the lines of liking my ass a little juicier.

How I knew what he’d say, I couldn’t have told you.

Mom saw my mood shift. “Who hurt you, darling?”

I shook my head. “He didn’t hurt me. If anything, I hurt him.”

“This isn’t Glen we’re talking about, I assume,” Mom said.

“Twinkle Mouse? No. Hell no.”

Mom snickered. “Who let that nickname out of the bag? I warned the girls not to let you hear them call him that while you were seeing him, or it would start world war three.”

“Lex,” I said.

Mom patted me on the shoulder. “Just rest, honey. There’s time enough to tell me everything after you’ve slept.”

I sagged against her. “He was amazing. But too wild. And I just…I think I made a mistake, Mom. What if it could have been the best thing that ever happened to me?” I felt myself word-vomiting, and couldn’t stop it. “He killed a man right in front of me. In a fight. Over me. And he was in jail for something very similar. But…you wouldn’t think it, when he’s being the kind, amazing, crazy, wild man I…” I trailed off.

“You love.” Mom finished it for me. “You felt safe with him?”

“Yes.”

“Was it malicious? Or self-defense?”

“There were eleven of them, and just him. They had his motorcycle surrounded.” I swallowed. “He ahh…had this baton, and he just…he was a one-man wrecking machine.”

“Eleven?” Lucas said, whistling in amazement. “And he came out on top?”

“He took a beating. The leader of them came after him with a knife, and he got cut on the ribs, but not, like, a mortal wound. He wouldn’t get stitches, just duct taped his shirt to it, and we rode away.”

“Sounds like a hell of a hard-case.”

“He was the son of the founder of a motorcycle club.”

“Which one? I used to be a regular at a bar back down in Oklahoma, knew quite a few of the bigger outfits.”

“The AzTex.”

His eyes widened. “He’s ol’ Coyote Crow’s boy? Hell, Coyote and his crew used to swing through that bar every few months. They had a…umm…business connection over in New Orleans, I think.”

“I know exactly what kind of business they were into,” I said.

“Ahh.” He nodded. “Coyote was a scary customer, no doubt. His brother Snake frightened me plumb silly, and I ain’t ashamed to admit it.”

I shook my head. “Seems like everyone knew Coyote Crow.”

He nodded. “Oh, yeah. Anyone in the biker and underworld sorta circles knew him. And they were scared of him.” He scratched his jaw. “Matter of fact, I think I ‘member reading about what happened with Crow, back in the early aughts. That business with the bar fight.”

I stopped breathing. “What did you hear?”

“He shoulda never been served to begin with. He walked into that bar pissed off his rocker, so all-fired drunk and crazy with grief that he wasn’t even barely coherent. That dumbass bartender oughta been the one who went to jail, not that poor boy. Lost his folks, his uncle—half the club was his family—all in one day. That there was a hell of a thing. Like something out of a Hollywood movie. Thirty-two people dead, an entire MC nearly wiped out, but they took the other guys out totally. Pyrrhic victory, I guess. Then, later, his own fiancé, pregnant, was murdered in front of him. He just went haywire, according to the stories. Went on a drinking spree across five states, looking for the man responsible for calling the hit. Never hurt anyone, till that dick at the Arizona bar picked a fight with him.”