Page 43 of Absolution

He sits quietly while he eats. No one stops by to speak to him or even acknowledges his presence. I continue to hide in my safe space out of his sight, but Willie notices me.

“Ricca darling, you like you’ve seen a damn ghost. Don’t tell me that no good Johnny Monroe has stepped back into my fine establishment?” he asks. His body readies for a fight, but I shake my head at him.

Willie moves closer to me, but the sense of my space being invaded makes me shove back farther into the cubby.

Recognition of me being uncomfortable registers in his mind, and he stumbles back away from.

“Shit. Sorry, sugar. Your man told me how you don’t like people in your space. I plum forgot.”

“It’s okay, Willie. No harm done.”

“You look like you need a stiff drink. Why don’t you head on home and take the rest of the night off? I appreciate you coming in, but it’s not busy enough to keep you and Missy both here.”

I look back around the corner, and find my father gone from his booth. If I stayed here, I was only giving him more of an opportunity to find me. Something I wanted to avoid at all costs, until after my court date tomorrow morning.

“I wouldn’t normally turn down a chance for some extra cash, but I think you’re right. It’s probably a good idea that I do go home.”

Willie smiles back, and tells me to have a good night, before heading back to the kitchen. Checking again, the coast is still clear. Missy is consumed with a few orders, but I whisper over her shoulder that Willie was sending me home. I grab my purse from under the bar, and shoot off a quick text to Ratchet to come get me. I glance around the room a third time, before heading out the side door to wait for him.

The cool, crisp May air wraps around me like a chilled blanket, and sends a shiver down my spine. I chide myself for not grabbing my jacket off the bike, when Ratchet dropped me off earlier, but that’s on me. Rubbing my hands over my arms, I try to warm myself up as I walk toward the front of the parking lot to wait. As I around the corner, a hand reaches out and grasps me tightly. I shriek, but another hand grabs my mouth, silencing me.

“Hello, Erica,” an unfamiliar male voice says against my ear.

I try to shove away from him, but he only jerks me tighter, before unleashing his hand from my mouth and spinning me around. My eyes peer up, and the sight of the man in front of me, seizes my chest mid-breath.

My father.

“If you touch me again, I will scream for help,” I threaten him, still testing his grasp on my arm.

“You do that girl, and I’ll make this a lot harder on you than it will be for me.”

His cold, emotionless voice scares me more than his presence. His dark eyes are pools of unmoving darkness with no life to them at all.

“Why are you here?” I ask him, stalling in hopes that Ratchet will arrive. I just need to stall him here.

“I’m here for you,” he sneers. “Don’t you go getting any ideas about your man. He won’t make it in time to save you from this, daughter. The deputy is running sobriety checks tonight, and I may have called in an anonymous tip to have him detained a bit longer.”

My stomach drops, knowing that he planned this. The first time meeting my father in person, and he’s holding me like a hostage with no hope for escape.

“It’s time you and I have a little father daughter discussion about how we don’t touch things that don’t belong to us.”

Asher. This is about Asher, and my court date tomorrow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie as I attempt to pull away from him again.

“You know damn well what this is about. The boy. He is none of your concern,” he barks at me. Spit from his mouth splatters against my face. I move to wipe it away, but my father digs his fingers into my flesh deeper.

“He’s my brother, and that makes him my concern.” I growl. “He doesn’t deserve to be with you.”

“And you think you’re any better? You’re a whore just like your mother. I’ve heard all about your tramping around town with that biker in tow. You may have everyone else fooled, but I can see right through this farce. He’s your pimp.”

I laugh back at his absurdity. Hurry up, Ratchet. Hurry the fuck up.

“My pimp? That man is my husband, and a member of one of the largest motorcycle clubs in this country. If you try to hurt a single hair on my head, he and the entire force of that club will be beating down your door,” I threaten him back. I hate having to bring the club into this, but it might be the only way I am getting out of this without Ratchet’s presence.

My father flinches, but doesn’t release me.

“Oh, I know all about his club,” he retorts. “I could have him put away right now if I wanted to do it.”

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