Detective Mercer remained beside me, her expression unreadable. “You’ve been making regular deliveries there,” she stated. Not a question.
“Yes.” I watched Reeves toss delivery receipts onto the wet pavement. My stomach twisted. “Pretty sure I already said as much.”
Reeves eventually returned, empty-handed but clearlydisappointed by his lack of findings. “Nothing today,” he said to his partner. “But that doesn’t mean there won’t be something tomorrow.” The threat in his words was clear. He turned back to me. “You know what kind of people you’re dealing with, Ms. English? Murderers. Traffickers. Men who think they’re above the law.”
My mind flashed to Marcus in his garden, gently pruning herbs. To Hannah’s laughter. To the women at the compound who had welcomed me with open arms. I thought of Detective Reeves searching my vehicle without cause, threatening me without evidence. “I don’t deal with anyone, detective.” This was getting old and that bad vibe singing in my head was getting worse. “I get paid to do a job. That job involves delivering goods through a legitimate company to anyone who places an order through their app.”
Reeves stepped closer, invading my space. “We’ll be keeping an eye on you, Ms. English. The kind of people who run with that crowd tend to end up in one of two places. Prison or the morgue. You seem like a smart girl. Make better choices.” I lowered my gaze, hoping he took it as submissiveness, but said nothing. “You can go,” he finally said, stepping back. “Drive carefully. Wouldn’t want you running any more stop signs.”
I climbed back into my car. The sage plant had been knocked over, soil spilling onto the passenger seat. The bastard had likely done it on purpose to look for drugs or something. I righted the pot gently, brushing the dirt back into the pot.
In my rearview, I watched the two detectives return to their cruiser. They didn’t leave immediately. Instead, they sat there, headlights still on, watching me. I started the engine and pulled back onto the road, my heart still racing.
Only when I’d driven several blocks did their headlights finally disappear from my mirror. My breath came in shallow gasps, and I realized I’d been holding it. I wiped at my face,surprised to find it wet not just with rain but with tears I hadn’t realized I’d shed.
The interaction had left me feeling dirty somehow, violated in a way that had nothing to do with the physical search of my vehicle. My mind raced with questions. Why were they watching me? What did they want with the club? And what would happen if they decided to “find” something next time? For the first time since I’d started delivering to the compound, I wondered if I should have stayed away.
I drove in circles for twenty minutes before heading home. The rain intensified again, drumming on the roof of my car with a fury that matched my racing thoughts. Water streaked down my windshield faster than the wipers could clear it away.
Every pair of headlights sent a fresh spike of adrenaline through my system. Every police car made my stomach clench. I took side streets instead of main roads, changed lanes more often than necessary, and kept my speed exactly at the limit.
I stopped at a red light, the glow painting the raindrops crimson on my windshield. My phone sat in the cup holder, screen dark. I picked it up, found Marcus’s number, my thumb hovering over the call button.
What would I say? That I’d been pulled over? That a detective seemed to have a vendetta against the club? That I felt unsafe? Marcus had already told me he’d killed a man and gone to prison for it. He didn’t need me calling him with problems he already knew existed. Besides, I didn’t want to start this with drama. That’s what daytime television was for.
The light turned green. I put the phone down and drove on. The temptation to call persisted. I wanted to hear his voice, to be reassured. But what kind of foundation would that build? Running to him at the first sign of trouble when we’d shared all of two kisses and a conversation in the rain?
By the time I reached my apartment complex, the rainhad slowed to a drizzle again. I parked in my usual spot, grabbed the plant, and hurried inside, scanning the parking lot one last time before closing the building’s main door behind me.
My apartment was on the first floor. Nothing fancy. One bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen that opened into a small living area. I locked the door behind me, then locked the deadbolt and chain before setting the security alarm.
I placed the sage plant carefully on the kitchen counter, then headed for the bathroom. I turned on the water as hot as I could stand it before undressing. My damp clothes went straight into the laundry hamper. Steam filled the small bathroom as I stepped under the spray, letting it wash away the rain, the search, the feeling of Reeves’ eyes on me.
Under the hot water, my mind kept circling back to Marcus. Convention said I should be terrified of him. Honestly, though, despite his road name being Rancor, Marcus was a very quiet, kind individual. If someone had hurt a person I loved, would I have done any differently? I didn’t know. I’d never loved anyone enough to find out.
After my shower, wrapped in a threadbare towel, I found a place for the sage on my kitchen windowsill, the only spot in my apartment that got decent morning light. I arranged it carefully, my fingers lingering on the small leaves.
The contrast wasn’t lost on me. The club was basically a group of ex-cons, yet they had treated me with nothing but respect. They’d tipped generously. They’d welcomed me. They’d made me feel valued and appreciated for perhaps the first time in my life, even if they were paying me to come to them. And I had started coming to visit from time to time with the women.
I dried my hair with a towel, the rush of thoughts continuing. Maybe I romanticized the club. Maybe I was being naive. But I couldn’t deny the warmth I felt when I thought about the compound, about the women there, about Marcus andhis garden. Not to mention that every single person I’d met in that place treated me with kindness. The few children I’d seen there were happy and seemed well adjusted. And Haven. Every woman I’d had the privilege to meet who took shelter there said nothing but positive things about everyone. Kiss of Death guarded that place like Fort Knox and made it clear they would defend the women and children there to the death.
I pulled on an oversized T-shirt and climbed into bed, my body exhausted but my mind still racing. My phone sat on the nightstand, Marcus’s number just a tap away. I reached for it, then pulled back. Not tonight. Tonight, I needed to think. To consider whether the connection I felt was worth the complications it clearly brought.
I fell asleep with rain tapping against my window, the sage plant sitting in silent witness, and Detective Reeves’ warning echoing in my mind.
But it was Marcus’ face I saw as I drifted off. Marcus, with his gentle hands and careful, halting words. Marcus, who had held me in the rain and given me a piece of his heart in the form of a potted herb.
Whatever trouble came from it, I knew I would go back. I would see him again. Because for the first time in my entire life, someone made me feel like I belonged somewhere. And that feeling alone was worth the risk.
Chapter Six
Rancor
The old Harley’s carburetor currently lay in several pieces on my workbench. My work light over the table cast long shadows across the concrete floor. I didn’t need much light because there was no way I’d get much done on this thing. All I could concentrate on was Cora.
Three days since I’d seen her. Three days since she’d left with that fucking sage plant and an honest-to-God real-ass smile. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, real warmth spread through me like a spring thaw.
I’d texted her once, just to make sure she got home safe. She’d responded with a photo of the sage sitting in her kitchen window. Not much, but I didn’t like to talk much. Texting always proved to be a special kind of hell for me, but I’d do it for her.
