If I Should Die: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel (32 page)

I turn in her small, frail arms, and circle her waist with my arms before pulling her up to me. And when her face is close enough, I press my lips to hers and smile. “I like you being a good girl. Makes it easier on me.” I smirk at her after brushing her lips with mine.

When her little smart ass replies, “Makes what easier?” it stumps the fuck out of me.

“What?” I ask her again, stupidly. After shaking my head, I chuckle at her. Or hell, maybe myself. “Never mind. Let’s get your little ass packed. We’re running short on time, Vagabond.”

After my hand ricochets off her ass, I head towards her room and hear her head into her bathroom behind me as she books it into her closet.

And without much else said, me and Vagabond pack her shit.

Because this time when she comes home with me...she’s not gonna be coming back. Not for a long damn time. Not until this shit with her family is figured out. Not ‘til this shit with the no colors is figured out. And not until I find out exactly what the fuck Roxy Bell has to do with this. All of this. Because none of this shit is matching up so far. None of it.

***

When I hear my MC brothers begin pulling up in Eve’s driveway, I start making my way from the back of the house and into the living room. Earlier, after her bag was packed, and she and I didn’t have anything else to busy ourselves with, she headed into the kitchen from her room. And I kinda just felt it best if I kept my distance from her, so instead of following her, I headed out back and that’s where I’ve stayed. No need to have myself ten inches into something I’m not gonna want to get out of for some damn time after I sink back in when Dreads and them pulled up. I’m not fucking stupid. I may look it, but I can fucking promise you I’m not.

So when I hear them pull up and I head in, I’m rounding the corner, heading into the kitchen in search of her. And when I find her, my boots halt in their damn tracks. She has on some tight
as fuck
skinny jeans and a t-shirt, but I’m past what her t-shirt says. I’m past what she’s wearing on top. I can’t see around her ass as she bends over the stove and reaches into the microwave above it. When she turns around, she smiles when she sees me and heads in my direction. And that’s when I see she’s got a honey bun in her hands. “Hey, is that them who just pulled up?” she asks.

Then she brings the hand
not
holding the honey bun and starts licking the frosting from her fingers, and I
for the second time tonight,
damn near swallow my tongue. My eyes keep tied to her mouth, though. They never move the whole time. And once she finishes licking her thumb, she snaps her fingers.

“Hello? I said how are we going to get my bag on your bike? I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve never been on one, Jacques. So you’re gonna have to be patient. With me.” I catch her wince when the last part of her sentence is muttered out under her breath.

My heartstrings pull, and I move to walk towards her, but stop myself when someone knocks on her front door. Our eyes are still connected, though. And I question whether or not just a knock will break that. “Steady and straight, Vagabond. Remember?” I whisper across the small space between us, and reach out, linking our fingers, then I tug her towards me. “And I’ll be patient with you, baby. It may not always seem like you're witnessing patience, but I promise I’m doing my best to show you my side of Jobe. Deal?”

When the person on the other side of the door bangs again, her eyes break our binding stare and flicker to the door. “Deal, Jacques.” She looks back at me and swallows before licking her lips, then whispers, “You want to get that? I sent that text to Ty, by the way.” When she glances from the door again back to me after the third knock, she winks before smirking. “See? Still being a good girl.”

I wink back at her and have to fight the urge to swat her ass again like a damn caveman. Then I figure, fuck it, and swat it anyway as she passes me and opens the door. When I see Dreads across the threshold, I slide my hand from my side to the small of Pipsqueak’s back and guide her past him onto the front porch. After we’re on the front porch and I have Eve tucked in to me, I lock eyes with Dreads and nod towards the inside of Eve’s house. “Go through and do a quick double check. I couldn’t see any signs of recent forced entry. Other than the shit I’ve done.” I shrug. “Place surveillance throughout, too. I want this place watched...just in case.”

I motion for Eve to step forward, and slide my hand from the small of her back to around her waist when she stops me. “Pipsqueak, my bike’s—” And before I can finish what I’m saying, she’s turned towards Dreads with her hand out.

“Hey, I’m Eve O’Malley. Can you tell me...what the fuck is going on here? ‘Cause I’m not getting jackshit out of this one.” After she’s finished shaking his hand, she hooks her thumb towards me and I chuckle.

And this is about the time Dreads starts laughing too. “Dreads Burgh. Yeah—no.” Dreads chuckles before nodding towards me and shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “He said to let him deal with you. And I’m just an errand boy. I do what the boss tells me. And that’s it, missus.” He winks at her before looking back at me and raising his eyebrows. “This one ain’t like her momma, is she? She cuts straight through the bullshit. I gotta respect that.” He chuckles. “You two packed?” he asks as he steps into her house.

“Yeah, just gotta go strap this shit to the back of my bike. There an extra helmet in the back of one of the trucks?” I ask, letting my eyes follow the long line of chrome bikes and the few trucks sprinkled between. And the feeling in my chest swells to something that feels a lot like an ache. The brothers who are here to pay their respect. Because it’s protocol. A fucking protocol his own son isn’t abiding. “Any word on Ben?” I don’t mean for the questions to fall out in front of her. But I’m beyond that respect. If he can’t do the same and at least show his father respect by following procedure and protocol then I’ve got nothing for him.

And I don’t care if it’s known.

“Not a whole helluva lot, no. I’ll fill you in before we leave, though.” He nods at Eve before shaking his head. “I’m gonna go detail our security.” He turns and grabs something out of the house before tossing it—Eve’s bag—at me. “Here’s this. You two go get your bike situated.” He jerks his chin to where my bike still sits from earlier when I pulled up, pissed, and seven shades of it, but for completely different reasons.
Completely fucking different reasons,
I think as Pipsqueak and I make our way to my bike.

It was very moving to say the least. We’re somewhere along the stretch of highway in the Carolinas—I think the north one—cruising alongside the beach headed north on I-95. When he keeps downshifting the gears of the bike it interrupts the thoughts and poignant moments I remember seeing earlier in the Keys. Those rare and beautiful moments as I stood aside and witnessed Chase Cain’s ashes being released in the breeze amongst the biggest of beastly and burly men. Some stood dry-eyed, but stone-faced. And some stood there silently as a few tears fell from the corner of their eyes before running down and hiding in their beard. And some just stood with their eyes closed, as if they were in silent prayer.

I hear Jacques talk to someone on the CB in his helmet, but I can’t make out what he says when I notice how much we’ve slowed. “We stopping?” I ask, but he must not hear me. That, or he decides it isn’t time for that answer. And once he has the bike settled between his thighs, he turns the engine off before kicking out the kickstand. I glance around quickly and try to guess where I’m at.

“I’ve never been here, I don’t think,” I whisper as I pull the helmet off my head. I pinch my nose up before breathing the ocean air through the do rag across my face. “Same ocean, I can tell. Even with this on, it smells the same.” I laugh before trying to hop off the bike.

When Jacques is finished helping me from the top of the damn thing, I tug the bandana down from across the bridge of my nose and squint up at him, getting an even better fresh breath of air.

“Sorry we’re hitting it so hard.” His dark eyes glance down at mine. “I’ve got a timeline. And I’d kinda like stay on it too. I didn’t realize we were racing against the clock. I’m sorry I’m pushing you so hard. We usually break more often.”

When the sun reflecting off the chrome of his bike hits his eyes, it makes them look different, almost odd, especially as the light contrasts so starkly against the black and blue specks of his irises.

“It’s okay.” I smile up at him and whisper, “This is nothing compared to some of the cramped places I’ve had to ride in. Child of the system, lest you forget? Us vagabond orphans didn’t have badass things like motorcycles as our tight spaces to ride in. Or on.” The toe of my Chuck shoes tap his front tire as I eye the ground next to it. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. Riding bitch with you.” And it’s not. I chuckle at the face he makes as my words register.

Don’t get me wrong, I was pissed when I was lying there in the middle of my kitchen floor. For over two damn hours?
Oh, I was pissed.
Much more pissed than I was when I’d finally got myself onto my feet and started shuffling. My problem started when I only shuffled twice, though. Then after that the damn armchair flipped, and I went ass over tea kettle? Oh, it took a minute or two for the urge to pee to come back. It was so freaking embarrassing. Then having to ask to pee? The first words out of my mouth, and I couldn’t even tell you what they were, I was so pissed. Full of piss. I’m telling you. But better to be pissed full than pissed on, I guess.

“You okay?” Jacques’ dark, gentle voice asks, and when I hear the deep concern in his tone, I have to swallow the lump that lodges itself in my throat.

Once I’ve gained my composure, I answer, as truthfully as I can, “I don’t fucking know. Am I?” My eyes search for the answer in his. Every square centimeter of them. Then I glance back and forth between his dazzling blues and whisper, “I feel like I am. But I think that’s just because I’m numb. Either I’m numb, or I’m still feigning ignorance and the reality of the situation hasn’t struck me yet. Am I okay, Jacques?”

His earthy scent envelops me more and more the closer he gets. And when his warm, ink-covered arms circle my waist, he jerks until the front of me is flush with the front of him. “You’re gonna be okay, Vagabond. How many different ways do I gotta tell you that? As long as you’re with me, you’re considered mine—and as long as that’s happening, no one’s gonna fuck with you. I promise.” He links his pinkie with mine before kissing it and then settles our hands at our sides. “I even pinkie promise. And I don’t do that dumb shit. Usually.” He chuckles and then the damn butterflies take flight. And this time...there aren’t any anxious knots there to tie them up and strangle them with.
They just take flight as we kick off our shoes and step out onto the beach. And for the first time, in I can’t fucking tell you how long, I feel my heart mend...and this time it doesn’t ache.

***

We’ve been at the MC for less than thirty minutes when all hell breaks loose. And of course, I’m stuck all up in the middle of it. I’m stepping from the shower when Roxy’s evil, snide voice snaps across the small bathroom from the door coming from Jacques’ bedroom. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought—”

“Roxy? Right?” Without missing a beat, I hear her voice, make eye contact, and turn around before advancing towards her. And I don’t think she expects it. Because as I step forward, brightening the smile on my face before holding out my hand to shake hers, her confidence visibly wavers. And all the while keeping my other hand where my towel is hooked around me, I continue stepping towards her. “I thought I remembered you. I’m Eve. Eve O’Malley. We’ve met before, I’m not sure if you…” Her steps falter at the same time I see the recognition flash across her face. And I let my words trail off.

Once she’s finished looking me up and down, I figure the look across my face mimics the cat who ate the canary, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do to hide it now. “And you do.” I slide my hand into her weak hold, firmly grasp, then shake hands with her. “And the last time my sister was seen alive was with you? Correct?”