Page 11 of Enforce This

“So, I see,” I absently nodded, never really understanding the whole deal between Mark and Janice. “Listen, I’m going to get a drink. Are you thirsty?”

I pointed past her, drawing her attention to the small kitchenette that was attached to the main room as I started toward it.

“Is…?” Her voice broke and she paused.

There was something about the sound of a woman’s tears that always fucked with me. I couldn’t help but stop and look back at her.

“Is my mother really gone?”

She implored me with her big, brown eyes. Her hair was piled on her head like all the preppy girls seemed to sport it these days, but she still reached up like there was something to smooth back.

“Janice Miller Briggs was shot to death outside Daisy’s Mane Attraction this morning.”

Her breath hitched several times, and she brought her hand to her mouth. I really couldn’t handle tears right now, so I moved into the kitchen and grabbed two beers from the fridge. I twisted the lid off one and swigged from it, holding the other toward her expectantly.

She stared at it with open disgust and blinked her wet lashes before focusing on my face, “I can’t.”

“Oh, shit…” I quickly brought the bottle back toward my body. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Mark didn’t tell me.”

“Tell you what?” She huffed and an unamused laugh escaped her.

I froze and we locked eyes again.

“You know…” I glanced down at her belly.

“I’m not pregnant, you douchebag. I’m just not old enough to drink.”

Her tears dried with each ounce of contempt she found for me. I could deal with contempt; I’d been swallowing it most of my life.

“He didn’t tell me you were a snarky, little bitch.”

Her gaze narrowed and her fingers curled into a fist.

“You want to hit me again? Go ahead, you swing about as well as you ride.” I laughed. “How the fuck are you a Biker Princess, and you’ve never been on a bike?”

I knew how, but I wanted to keep her pissed off, so she wasn’t drowning in grief. Mark and Janice had a messy divorce. He lost custody of Trista in exchange for keeping Makaveli, and visitation was a joke after Janice married that rich prick from Rochester.

Her jaw set and she swallowed, before looking me dead in the eye. “I don’t know, why don’t we talk about you. How do you convince someone to trust you with a patch when you’ve already dishonored a uniform?” She causally reached out and flicked my Enforcer patch.

She might as well have gutted me. She didn’t know her brother’s road name, but she knew that I had been dishonorably discharged from the marines?

Our staredown went ten rounds, before the back screen door creaked and I jerked my attention toward it. I raised my gun toward the heavy wooden door and looked toward the handle, ready to squeeze the moment it turned.

“It’s me,” Crystal’s familiar voice called. “Your brother sent me.”

“Fucking hell,” I growled, and rushed forward to jerk the door open.

Trista watched on as I motioned for my brother’s old lady to get her tiny ass inside. I saw her eyes widen when Crystal finally pressed past me and stepped toward the ice box. I couldn’t blame her. Anthony’s old lady was a goddess as far as biker gash went.

She only came to my chest with her stilettos on. Her hair was long with big, blonde curls that would have made a porn star jealous. She had fake tits that were a little too full if you asked me, and a narrow waist that gave way to a currently leather-clad ass.

I locked the door and turned toward the refrigerator, saluting Crystal with my chin, “What’s up?”

“Big Vick is dead.” She slowly drawled, clearly intended to give it to me like I was one of her girlfriends.

“No shit, Crystal. I was there. How is Mark? How is Mak? Did Anthony say anything about the sedan? What are the fucking cops saying and doing?”

Crystal blinked, clearly unimpressed by my attitude.

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