She scowls at me. “People like you?”
“Ex-club girls. It’s like the prostitute working her corner and getting attacked, so she goes to the police station to file a report. How seriously do you think her report is taken? She sells her body, right? So why should they put police hours into finding the guy when all he did really, was get a freebie? They assume that’s why she’s pissed. They don’t see her as a valuable citizen anymore because value has always been decided for a woman by a man, and mostly based on her purity and her pedigree.”
She sighs, taking my hand with one of hers. “I know. Do it so you feel like you’re doing something. Feeling helpless and small is the worst feeling in the world. If you can take some of that power back, it may make getting through this a little easier. You’ve already admitted you have the deck stacked against you, so you gotta do what you can to feel strong again.”
Maybe she’s right. Ever since I left the club, I’ve been in a weird sort of limbo, going through the motions while trying to figure everything out. And yet here I am, months later, with no more clarity than I had before.
“Alright, I’ll talk to them. But I’m not pointing fingers at the MC without proof, and that’s not just because I’m protective of them. If I imply it could be one of them, the police won’t look anywhere else. You know how it goes. They’ll make sure all the evidence fits the scapegoat. Chances are it’s linked to my neighbor. The photos are in his place, after all. If it’s not him, then maybe he’s not working alone. I don’t have all the answers. I’m just not ready to assign blame.”
“I respect that. Trust me, there’s nothing worse than people making up their minds about you when you’ve done nothing to deserve their scorn.”
I squeeze her hand before standing up and placing the bunny on the bed. “I’m going to shower quickly and freshen up before they get here.”
“Alright, I’ll go make some coffee.” She heads for the door, pausing to look back at me, worry clear on her face. I’m thankful that something positive came out of this whole mess because I’m not sure I could do this without her.
“I’m okay, Del. I’ve survived worse, and I’ve got you, so I don’t feel like I’m facing this all alone. Thank you for everything.”
She waves me off. I’m used to it now, knowing she’s not great with affection. “Anyone would have done what I did.”
“No, they wouldn’t. But I’m fortunate that I stumbled upon your diner that day. It feels like a small world sometimes.”
“Girl, you have no idea.”
Del closes the door behind the cops and turns to look at me, her hands fisted at her sides. “Those motherfuckers.”
“It’s okay. I expected it.”
“That doesn’t make it okay. They treated you like it was your fault someone broke into your apartment and trashed it. They might as well have said you caused this because of the company you keep.”
“Maybe there’s some truth to that, at least if it’s linked to the MC in any way. I’ll always be a second-class citizen to the police. I’ve made peace with that. Those attitudes make people gravitate toward MCs in the first place because they offer a sense of belonging, but solidarity, too.”
She sits in the chair opposite me with a grunt. “Well fuck them. We don’t need them. I have a gun and know how to shoot. Just in case, I’ll start carrying while we’re at work.”
I bite my lip. “I don’t like the thought of bringing trouble to your door.”
“You didn’t. I had to practically drag you here, so it will be on me, not you if trouble arises. I’ll be fucking damned though, if you think I’d let you face this alone.”
“Hopefully, now that I’m not there, they’ll get bored and move on. I’ve had no issues at work so far. No familiar faces have come looking for me, and I don’t think they will. The time for that has passed.”
“Never underestimate a person’s actions when they’re desperate. Either way, I’ll feel better about protecting us both if I’m armed.”
I sigh but nod. “Okay.” I look around at the time and wince. “Do you want me to cook?”
“You can cook?”
I look at her and chuckle. “I get by.”
“I mean, I’m happy to order in, but if you want to cook, have at it. The fridge and cupboards are stocked. I’m going to take a shower and get changed.”
“Works for me. Anything you don’t like?”
“Cucumber. Otherwise, I’ll eat pretty much anything.”
“Perfect.”
I head to the kitchen as she walks off to take her shower. She wasn’t kidding when she said she was fully stocked. Given the time, I opt for something simple. I do twice-baked potatoes with sour cream, cheese, steak, and salad. I also whip up a quick dessert using store-bought meringue nests and the fresh strawberries that are calling my name.
I flip the radio on and lose myself. I’ve missed this. Cooking was part of my regular routine at the clubhouse, but it’s something I’ve not done much since I left. Cooking for one is not fun, and by the time I’m finished working, I’m exhausted.
