“What the fuck have you ever done for me?” Hunter asks, glancing nervously down at his text message thread with Juliette. They text each other non-stop when they’re apart from each other.
“This is serious,” Gideon says, eyeing the woman who called this meeting in the first place. Tamiya puts her hand on Gideon’s shoulder and his hand moves slowly around her hips.
She’s the one who picks up the explanation, although I don’t know what the hell they’re referring to in the slightest. “We can’t have folks running around the club slipping each other or our guests any pills.”
“Is that what happened?” Zayna Blackwood asks, pinching her husband Ruger so he pays attention to this Sinclair-Blackwood family meeting.
“Let’s get this meeting started then,” Tamiya says.
“We aren’t inviting Magnum, are we?” Hunter asks.
“Why wouldn’t we invite him?” Tamiya asks, sounding mighty frustrated with us in a way I don’t think she has a right to. Joslin speaks up, which surprises everyone, including me.
“I think we need to look for the motive.”
Everybody looks at her like the word “motive” is loaded in her mouth. My wife might be petite, dressed in a modest pair of navy blue pants with a thick cream colored turtleneck sweater on the top, never without the gold cross I got her for our anniversary, but just because of one small murder in her past, folks still tiptoe around her. Members of the club especially find it eerie that a woman so tiny and outwardly religious could have killed a man.
I wrap my arm around Joslin’s waist, fully understanding that her experiences shaped her into the person she is today, just the way mine shaped me. She allowed me room to grow and I continue to allow her grace for her so-called mistakes. Joslin did what any woman would do to get freedom.
“I can think of a motive,” Zayna says, visibly churning ideas around in her head. She’s smart, so I hang onto her words to hear what she says. “Money.”
She has a point. Money motivates several members of our organization, especially the gamblers and the investors. Same damn thing if you ask me. I’m glad the only thing that motivates me is my wife, Joslin.
“My sister didn’t do this,” Tamiya assures her, shaking her head as if the thought is too disruptive to properly engage with.
“I didn’t mean that,” Zayna says quickly, but it’s nearly impossible to avoid triggering Tamiya. That’s why she needs a man as crazy as Gideon Blackwood to tame her. Fortunately, all those spitfire in-laws mostly get along with each other, so tempers settle as quickly as they flare up.
“Then what did you mean?” Tamiya asks, aggression floating on her undertones but staying just beneath the surface. We’re all a bit tense here, so Zayna doesn’t take Tamiya’s tone personally.
She shrugs and continues theorizing. “Damara could be a pawn in someone else’s game to throw us off the case.”
“I think Oske did it,” Ruger says.
“That is so racist,” Zayna says. “Just because she’s Native American doesn’t mean she’s a thief.”
“Stealing has nothing to do with her skin color and everything to do with her culture,” Ruger says.
Hunter and I exchange glances. I hear a loud cracking sound as Zayna’s hand contacts Ruger’s face, interrupting our silent communication. Shit… It was only a matter of time before a fight broke out between a Blackwood and his spouse.
“Ow!” Ruger roars with embarrassment. “What the hell did I do now? You’re always slapping me aroundabusivelylike this.”
Given the immense size difference between the two and the fact that Ruger’s skin doesn’t even turn red, I’m certain his frustration stems more from public embarrassment than any legitimate threat.
“We talked about this, Ruger. Other cultures do notcausepeople to commit crimes.”
“I’m forgetful,” Ruger mutters. “Doesn’t mean I deserve to get slapped around.”
“Hateful people sometimes get slapped around. It’s not about deserving it.”
Red-faced, Ruger leans over and kisses her neck. They lean into each other and we all get the distinct sense that their strange manner of communicating and Zayna’s occasional slaps to the face keep them functional. I can’t imagine any living creature being nutty enough to slap a man like Ruger Blackwood, but Zayna appears to have the feral man-beast under her control.
“Do you have any reason to suspect Oske aside from racism?” Tamiya asks, apparently neutral towards Ruger’s social opinions, despite their past grievances. “I know she has caused a few problems before.”
“Deacon’s problems have everything to do with his dick and very little to do with Oske,” Hunter says, surprising all of us with a statement I’m sure he meant to mutter under his breath. A little liquor would do a lot of heavy lifting in relaxing him. His body is all stiff and tight. Christ, do I look like that?
Him, but grey. That’s how I look. Joslin kisses my cheek, reminding me that this family meeting has more to do with the family’s problems than my own. My life with Joslin remains blissful. She’s a good mother and has a hell of a lot more patience than I ever could with all the crying and fussing kids do.
I insist on changing all the diapers I can, unless I’m out of the house, which I think helps out quite a bit. But being up in the middle of the night all the time reminds me of prison, and I have a hard time dealing with that. Joslin is too patient.
