Page 39 of Sparrow

She’d seen that look before—those dead eyes—the eyes of a man who had just turned off his feelings. The don’t give a fuck about you eyes—those were the eyes of a killer. Pipes had those eyes when he beat her. She swallowed hard, bracing herself for what he’d say next.

“You can take the whore out of the club. You can slap a property vest on her, and even put a kid in her belly. You can dress her up nice and make her your own. It’s all pretty and good, but a whore is a whore is a whore. It is what it fucking is, Sparrow. She was a fucking whore when your dad got her, and she is a whore now. I offered your mother exactly what you got. I offered her The Spoke. I offered her a free apartment. I offered her everything your daddy woulda provided for her. She didn’t have to be a whore. Dixie is who she fucking is. I can’t change that. She said she didn’t want it. She said she didn’t want to be an Ol’ Lady without Ducky.” He shrugged. “What was I supposed to do?”

This wasn’t where she’d expected this conversation to go. This wasn’t what she’d come in here to ask him. Finding out her mother chose the hard life—finding out her mother wanted to be in the position she was in—Sparrow flopped into one of the chairs opposite Bowie’s desk.

“She wanted…” Her voice trailed off.

He nodded. “She likes her some dick,” he sighed.

She cringed. “Ugh.” This wasn’t new information, but it still wasn’t a mental image she wanted.

“But what does your mom have to do with this?” he asked, leaning over his desk.

Reframing her life—her understanding of how the club treated her mother—treated Sparrow because of her mother’s fucking choice, sent Sparrow’s world on full tilt. Her hand came up to her forehead as a massive headache formed behind her left eye.

“You thought we did it to her?” he assumed out loud.

She could only nod.

He snorted.

“She never told me…”

“Why would she?” he growled. “Dixie doesn’t strike me as the type to be forthcoming about much.”

Her mother talked about a lot of things—most were things that Sparrow didn’t want to know about, but this—nah. She wouldn’t have said it was her choice. It would put the responsibility for things on Dixie’s shoulders, and if there was one thing Sparrow’s mother avoided—it was responsibility for anything.

“I can see why you wouldn’t trust us then.” The sadness returned to Bowie’s voice.

It weighed on her shoulders, more guilt flashed through her. She’d done that to her. Dixie’s lie, or lie by omission, had brought distrust toward the club that actually did protect her.

“Which is why we’re going to take care of it. We’ll prove it. We aren’t just words, Sparrow,” he said. “We back them up with actions.”

She peered up at him. “What are you going to do to him?” she repeated her initial question.

Again, Bowie regarded her cryptically for a moment. “Make it so you won’t have to worry about him ever again.”

She frowned, which made her face pulse in pain. “But it’s my fault.”

“What?”

“I brought him in. I made the introduction. If it wasn’t for me—”

Bowie held up a hand. “He came to The Spoke.”

She eyed Bowie.

“We knew about him long before he ever started sniffing around you.”

“But I—”

“You did,” Bowie conceded. “But we already made our decision before you brought him around. We knew we’d prospect him.”

She took a deep breath as some of the responsibility lifted. She studied Bowie as he took on the burden she’d just shouldered. “If it wasn’t for me introducing him to all this, he wouldn’t have gotten addicted to the shit. When he was sober, he didn’t do this.”

The biker club president nodded in acknowledgement as he seemed to understand the point of the conversation. “People are who they are, remember?” he asked rhetorically. “Pipes was going to prospect into our club regardless of getting involved with you. So, you aren’t responsible for him being in our club, which means you aren’t responsible for him getting hooked on shit. Also, you didn’t put needles in his arm and you didn’t make him snort a goddamn-motherfucking-thing. At every turn, Pipes had choices. He chose what he chose. And these are the consequences of his choices.” Bowie reached across the desk. “He is a grown ass man. He is responsible for himself. You are not. You didn’t do this to him.”

She swallowed hard as a tear slid down her cheek. “It feels like I am.”

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