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CHAPTER ONE
Rook
“Where you been?” Raff asked as I walked in the door of The Bog.
It was busier than usual for a Tuesday night. But the past few months had been bogged down with developers, land use town meetings, and crews of out-of-state professionals who walked around in their hard hats and reflective vests, squinting and pointing at the open landscape. While the men they were working for had dollar signs in their eyes.
What they saw in a little prison town on the border of the Death Valley mountains was beyond all of us.
Shady Valley had been a manufacturing town once upon a time. Then the plant closed, the town collapsed, and most of the locals moved out.
The construction of the prison had brought some life and jobs back to the area. There was a small suburb now and two relatively full apartment buildings. But, in general, the only people who wanted to live near a prison were those who either worked there or were married to someone who worked there.
This led us to conclude that the town meetings were likely about building more industrial buildings, not housing development.
But all the out of towners lingering around meant that all our local joints were more bustling than usual. And Shady Valley had exactly three establishments to hang out in—a diner, a pool hall, and the bar.
“I was coming out the door, and fucking Nancy was on her way up the stairs.”
“She just did a search three days ago,” Colter said, turning his empty beer bottle in a circle on the top of the bar.
“Yeah, she says that she catches guys more this way,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“I’m constantly thankful I got Mick instead of Nancy,” Colter said, shaking his head.
Of course he would be. Mick Ellers was four times divorced with four kids and struggling to pay alimony, child support, and college tuition on his parole officer salary. As such, the man was more than happy to take a handful of cash to mind his own damn business when it came to his parolees.
Nancy, a woman with a vendetta and no personal life, seemed to love nothing more than fucking with hers. Me included. Hell, sometimes it felt like it was me most of all, that I was just her pet project.
I almost hoped that was the case. Because if she gave all of her parolees the same attention she gave me, the woman must never have time to sleep, let alone have a hobby, family, friends, or community connections.
“Must be nice,” I mumbled, already deep in my own well of self-pity.
“Lemme guess,” Raff said, leaning forward to be seen past Colter’s hulking frame as I sat down at the bar. “She said she still won’t let you go see your mom.”
“I haven’t ‘proven myself trustworthy’ yet.”
“She’s never caught you doing anything wrong,” Colter said.
“She ‘has a bad feeling’ about me.”
“To be fair, you are part of an arms-dealing biker club and are hacking all the time at the martial arts studio,” Raff said.
“Yeah, but she’s found no proof of that, so she’s just being a pain in the ass,” Colter said, shrugging. “I guess on the positive side, you will get off parole eventually.”
That was true.
But it didn’t exactly help the situation.
I didn’t give a shit about the house searches or housing restrictions and whatever else Nancy wanted to put me through. All I wanted was for her to approve my request to go visit my mom at the psychiatric hospital she’d been in since I’d been locked up.
I had no idea how she was doing, if she knew I was out, if she thought I’d fucking abandoned her in her time of need.
I’d even had the hospital write Nancy a letter saying that my presence might actually help my mother improve.
Nancy denied it.
Which was how you knew that she was doing what she did out of revenge because some guy on probation once beat up her husband, not because it was better for the greater good or whatever else she might want to believe.
“Sounds like you need a drink,” Raff said, pushing a beer toward me.
Normally, I had to be careful with alcohol. Even though my previous conviction had nothing at all to do with alcohol or drugs, Nancy Bird had taken it upon herself to forbid drinking during my parole.
But I’d watched her drive out of town twenty minutes before. And given how flat this part of the state was, I could see her for many miles off.
She wasn’t coming back.
I could have a drink or two, maybe even spend the night at the clubhouse. Preferably with a woman who would make me forget all about my parole officer.
“Why aren’t we all back at the clubhouse right now?” I asked.
It was late enough in the evening that the guys should have been able to find some women to bring home and party with.
“Competition is stiffer than usual,” Raff said, swiveling on his stool to look out at the bar where, yeah, several pretty women were being chatted up by the strangers in town.
“Well, when the guys try to bring them back to Jake’s shoddy motel, they’ll come running back to us,” Coach said, moving up beside me. “Nancy?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, tipping back my beer.
“Will be doing yoga and meditation with Vienna and Everleigh in the morning, if you need some peace.”
“Looking for a different kind of peace tonight,” I said, nodding my chin over toward a group of women who’d just walked in. All high heels and skintight dresses. Shady Valley didn’t have a club, so they had to wear their partying dresses here at the understated Irish mafia pub.
“Gotta respect that too,” Coach said with a smile as he moved away from the bar to approach the group of women.
“Lula! My heart! The most beautiful woman in any room.” Raff was laying it on thick. And Lula, as always, was rolling her eyes but smiling.
To be fair, Lula was a complete smoke show. She was all soft in face and body, with high cheekbones, a delicate jaw, big light brown eyes, curves in all the right places, and dark, flawless skin that looked edited even in real life.
This week, she had her long black hair in passion twists.
“Hey, Raff. Here again?” she asked, seeming surprised as she moved around, making herself a drink. Of the nonalcoholic variety.
“I’m grounded.”
“Got yourself into trouble in Miami?” Lula asked.
“Oh, just a little mishap with a megayacht.”
“Wait, seriously?” Lula asked, turning with her drink in her hand.
“The Coast Guard had their panties in a twist,” Raff said. “It was just a little—“
“International incident,” Colter said, lips twitching.
“So, what I’m hearing is you are only here because you got in trouble, not because you want to impregnate me with your babies as you are always claiming you want.”
“Darlin’,” Raff said, resting his arms on the counter and leaning forward. “I got free time right now. You’ve got an office back there, right? The door lock?”
“There’s the silly little horn dog I know and… tolerate,” Lula said, giving him a warm smile before turning and walking back to her office.
“Hey, what are the rules at the psychiatric hospital for family members?” Colter asked, looking over at me.
“What?”
“Could other family members of yours visit your mom?”
“I don’t have any other family.” It had always just been the two of us.
“But what if you did?”
“I don’t. They know that.”
“But you could.”
“What? A long-lost brother I never mentioned before?”
“A wife.”
“A wife,” I said, choking on my beer. “You want me to pretend to get married?”
“I was thinking more that you should actually do it.”
“Why the fuck would I do that?” I had a million problems already. I didn’t need a wife on top of that.
“I think Nancy would suss out if it was a fake marriage. Then she’d probably find some way to get you sent back to prison. For lying to her or something like that. But if your wedding was legit…”
“Colter, man, I’m not dating anyone. I’m not even fucking anyone casually.”
“So, you make an arrangement with someone.”
“Who would want to do that? Marry me just to go visit my mom for me?”
“I dunno. Money. A place to live.”
“Colt, man, how much have you had to drink?” I teased, shaking my head at him. “However much it is, I think it’s too much.”
“Just something to consider. You got a bit to go on your parole. It’s eating you up not knowing how your ma is doing. If you had eyes and ears in there, I think you’d feel better. Plus, it might help with Nancy.”
“How would that help with her?”
“Dunno. Maybe it would soften her to you. Make her see you as less of a criminal if you were married and happy. Maybe planning on babies…”
“Now I’m having babies too?”
“Well, planning doesn’t mean having them. But maybe she wouldn’t be rifling through your shit if you had cute baby onesies and rattles and shit lying around.”
“It sounds like maybe you want to be getting married.”
“Been there,” Colter said, sighing hard as he tipped up a beer. “Done that.”
Colter’s marriage was what sent him to prison in the first place. While he was off fighting for his country, his wife and best friend were fooling around behind his back.
He beat the shit out of the friend, then filed for divorce from jail.
But all that being said, the guy was a diehard fucking romantic. I saw the way he was looking at the couples around the clubhouse, the babies they were popping out. He wanted that.
And maybe he was projecting some of that onto me with his asinine idea.
“These ladies were just saying they’d love to get out of here,” Coach said as he walked up, arms thrown over the shoulders of two sparkly-dressed women.
There were six of them.
And only four of us.
I liked those odds.
“Not to be cheesy,” Raff said, looking at the girls. “But I haven’t seen you around here.”
“We’re visiting our friend for her twenty-fifth,” the redhead of the group—and judging by the freckles and blue eyes, she was a natural—said.
“Until she ditched us for her boyfriend,” one of the two blondes piped in.
“So, now we’re looking for some fun,” one of the brunettes said.
“Fun, we can do,” Raff said, slipping cash across the bar, then moving toward the group. “Who wants to take a ride on my motorcycle?”
Three of the girls went with the guys with bikes, leaving me to wait with the remaining girls for a ride-share.
“Wait. Hold up!” a woman called, rushing past me to climb in the front seat, showing me nothing but a flash of aquamarine hair as she slipped into the car without an invitation.
Well then.
I liked those odds even more.