Protect (22 page)

Once Richey had passed a few of them—Rusty,
Tims, and Fritter—had gone out to dig the hole while the guys
cleaned the blood from the board room table and the van. When
Richey was in his grave Fritter had called Jayce and they’d all met
at the gravesite to say their goodbye. They all tossed down a shot
of Jack, Tiny tossed him a joint, and Knuckles gave the last send
off with half a bottle of lighter fluid. Jayce tossed in a lit
match and they’d waited. As the flames died down to a glowing, hot
smoldering kind of blaze they left the prospects to make sure he
got covered up.

Back at the clubhouse the alcohol had been
flowing fast and the women had been prepared to be well used that
night. After a few rounds Tank, Buck and Mickey had stumbled up to
their rooms where their women were waiting, still in sequester from
orders issued once Richey was gone. The rest of them partook freely
of the pot, pussy, and whiskey.

Grief and adrenalin gave you a weird
appetite.

He checked his watch and wasn’t entirely
surprised to see it was almost three in the afternoon. It had been
nearly five in the morning when he brought sugar tits and ... shit,
the other one was a regular. Winnie? Wynona?

“Morning handsome.”

His heart leapt in his throat and he damn
near shrieked, sitting up straight and nearly falling off the edge
of his damn bed. Wendy, that was her name. Seeing her, he
remembered. “Fuck, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry honey,” she said, voice sounding like
she’d swallowed a cubic yard of gravel. With a disgusting cough she
sat up, scratching her head and reaching for the joint he had
pinched between his lips. “Thanks.”

There was something about Wendy that was
oddly endearing. She once told him she’d been “almost seventeen”
when she started hanging around the clubhouse. Jayce’s old man had
her as a favourite slam for a while, right around that time. She’d
also told him she graduated with Sharon Downey, and that blew his
mind. Wendy looked almost old enough to be his mother. All she’d
made of life was being a sweet butt.

Fritter flopped onto his back, letting out a
long sigh and smiling when Wendy handed the joint back. “Thanks,
doll.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m too old to be called
doll.”

Fritter grinned and took another hit. “You at
least know the appropriate volume to speak at after a night like
that.”

“Yeah, haven’t had one that wild in a while.
You all had a bit of an edge to take off.” She found a top in the
blankets, pulled it on and twisted her hair over her shoulder.

“Yeah. It got intense last night.”

“Used to always be that way, back when Mad
Dog was running things.”

Fritter stared up at the ceiling. “Yeah,
that’s what I heard.”

“Don’t stay in bed too late. You’ll miss
breakfast.”

With a smile he watched her wiggle her
skinny, almost non-existent ass into a pair of jeans. “You take
such good care of me.”

With a wink she shot back, “Were you wanting
a blow job that badly? Just waiting for the Twinkie to leave? Feel
like you need to butter me up?”

Actually, he was feeling better. “You
mind?”

She shook her head, returning to the bed and
yanking the blankets off before climbing up on the bed and
straddling his legs at the knees. He was half-hard, but the second
she took him in hand he was fully ready.

“Thanks, doll.”

“No problem, Fritter.”

She had the best mouth in the clubhouse in
his opinion. Her gag reflex didn’t exist. It was short work to
bring him to completion, and he finished the joint in that time.
While she got off the bed and went back to collecting her clothes
he dressed as well, then followed her down for breakfast.

-oOo-

“Can you reach that damn paper towel?”

“Sure.” Fritter snagged the brand he knew his
Ma liked and tossed them in her shopping cart.

With a sigh she picked them out again.
“Underneath, Mark. Yer just fillin’ the cart.”

“I got them down. My instructions didn’t
cover what to do after that.”

“Smart ass.” She had a small cough attack and
they waited for it to pass before moving on.

Once a week he was obligated to grocery shop
with his mother. She insisted that he had to so she’d know what he
wanted since he was incapable of writing it on her shopping list.
And she had to be the one paying since he’d taken over the now
completed mortgage payments. Her rules, not his.

“What’s the ass wipe you like?”

“Language, Mark!”

He laughed, grabbing the package he
recognized. “Does this go under the cart, too?”

“Yes, it does. Followed by your damn
head.”

His mother had held out well with age, as
hard as she had to work. She was attractive in that naturally
preserved way that confident, independent women had. Her
medium-brown hair was greying so she usually lightened it to hide
that part of age. But even the lines at the side of her mouth, the
crinkle next to her eyes, and the freckles she’d had her whole life
made her beautiful. She was lovely, and had been mistaken as his
sister once before. It was Tiny, actually. Fritter had known the
prick wanted to hit on her and he put the kibosh on that right
away.

No, his mother was sacred and off limits.
Even if she’d been a biker’s fuck buddy at one time. None of his
friends were going to be screwing his mom, there was no fucking
way.

“What about condoms, Ma? You need any of
those?”

“You are in fine form today, you little shit.
You must have gotten laid last night, that’s why you stayed out all
night without lettin’ me know.”

“You know me, Ma. I got a service to provide
to sad, lonely women.”

“You could at least knock one up so I could
see a grandbaby before I die.”

“I ain’t knocking up some sweetbutt, Ma. It’s
hard enough keeping them from getting jealous.”

“You ain’t that much of a catch, son.” She
frowned at the label of a stick of deodorant. “They’re only
competing with each other, they could give a shit about you, just
remember that.”

“Yeah, I know.” She set the deodorant down,
then picked up another one to read. “What are you looking for on
deodorant?”

“Aluminum.” With a sigh she put that one
back, too. “They all got fuckin’ aluminum in them.” When she
coughed he winced.

“So what?”

“So, it’s giving people cancer. You should
read something every now and then.”

“There’s articles in Hustler.”

“You don’t even read those.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You need any shaving cream?” She hated the
scruff on his chin and neck, but he couldn’t be bothered to worry
about it. He hated the tight, itchy feeling after shaving.

“No, I’m good.”

They turned down the cleaning aisle next for
toilet bowl cleanser. After a tour through frozen foods it was
checkout time. The manager came to talk to his Ma personally and
Fritter liked that Markham was showing the respect his Ma
deserved.

Assuming he wasn’t hitting on her, of course.
Prick.

As they loaded the groceries into his Ma’s
pickup truck, he couldn’t help but notice the door to the cafe
beside the grocery store open. It was because Sheriff Downey was
walking out, being followed by a dude who was talking while she
listened, laughing and nodding. Fritter’d been handing his mother a
grocery bag, and when she took it from him it startled him. Without
looking at his mother he was stalking towards Sharon, the weirdest
buzzing in his head.

She saw him and her smile faded, then her
eyes widened in alarm. “Fritter?”

He stopped right in front of her, likely too
close but he couldn’t help it. “Who the fuck’s this?” He kept his
voice low.

She shot a look of alarm to her dinner
companion. “I beg your pardon?”

She was getting pissed, and that set him off,
too. “Who the fuck’s this? Little young, even for you, ain’t
he?”

As her mouth dropped open and the guy with
her made a sound of protest his jealousy quickly turned to
confusion. Really looking at the guy now, up close like this, he
second-guessed the long hair, jeans and T-shirt. The kid was barely
shaving. Nah, she couldn’t be.

“Are you fucking insane?” she hissed,
stepping away.

“Who is he?”

She took the kid by the arm and started
walking away.

“Who is that, Sharon?”

“Dude, she’s my mom,” the kid shot back,
sounding a proper amount of pissed off.

That stopped him in his tracks. “Wait, you
have a kid?”

She spun on him, ready to let him have it and
he had to admit he was immediately a bit turned on. Then she held
her tongue, eyes flashing to the kid. “Brayden, wait in the
car.”

“You sure?”

Fritter might have laughed if he didn’t know
this was her kid. The scrawny shit looked ready to kick his ass; if
he’d been a suitor Fritter would have dropped him for that. Her son
acting like her protector had him wanting to smile. Which he didn’t
do, because now he felt stupid.

“I got this, go wait in the car.” Sharon
clearly didn’t appreciate his concerns.

With another scan the kid turned to the blue
Focus hatchback at the curb and took his time getting in the
driver’s seat. Once the door was shut Fritter turned his attention
back to the Sheriff.

Shit, she looked good. She had on cut-off
jeans and a distressed T-shirt with a nice low V-neck. Her hair was
in a low ponytail, the end pulled over her shoulder.

He was hard, just from jeans and a
T-shirt.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Her eyes
got all squinty when she was pissed, but she was watching the
volume. “He’s even working at the Grainger’s garage. Are you that
out of touch?”

Fritter had to blink. He knew Jolene had
hired a kid to do detailing because she hated that part of the
business, but no one mentioned that it was Downey’s kid. But
whatever, not the issue here. “I’m sorry. I just saw him and
...”

“And what? What happened inside your head
that you thought you could walk up to me and call me out? My kid or
any other guy?”

She was right, of course.

“I just ... I guess I got jealous,” he said
it softly, like it was a swear word and the teacher might
overhear.

“Jealous? You got jealous?” That amused her,
and he felt a bit of anger. “We had an arrangement, and it worked.
You tried to change it, you tried to make me talk about my job. And
then you called me an old lady.”

His eyes got wide. “I never called you my old
lady.” Fuck, had he? He couldn’t remember. Shit. His heart was
racing.

“You implied I was old,” she said through
gritted teeth, and that settled his heart.

“Thank fuck.”

“The point,
Fritter
, is that there’s
nothing to be jealous of anyway. Remember?”

His head was whirling, trying to remember
what he’d done to piss her off in that motel room however many
weeks ago it was. “I was expressing my concern that the club could
affect your chances in the election.”

“And we don’t talk about those things,
remember? For example, I didn’t bring up the Sachettis. Or the
Castillos. And I won’t bring up the twenty-seven fucking homicides
that the FBI is now investigating in my county.”

That made him pause. “FBI?”

As pissed as she was, she paled just two
degrees. “Fuck. Forget I said that.”

“It’s forgotten. Look, I’m sorry, okay? I
just don’t want to cost you your job.” Not him, the club. Idiot.
“The club, that is. We don’t want to hurt your chances.”

“Then don’t come barreling down on me on
fucking Main Street like a jealous boyfriend.”

He put his hands on his hips, knowing this is
where he should walk away. But he’d liked that last night they’d
spent together—before the fighting. He’d liked seeing her let her
hair down, laughing with him and talking about whatever. It made
him wish she didn’t dart out of the room before the condom was off
every time before that.

Like a girlfriend, come to think of it. Fuck,
he was an idiot.

Fritter nodded, running a hand over his head.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Never do it again. I just ... I got
jealous. You’re right.”

For a second—a split second—her face softened
a little. Then she slammed the mask back in place. “Jealous of
someone else hanging around with me? That’s fucking rich. Tell me
right now you haven’t been balls deep at the clubhouse every single
night.”

She had him dead to rights and she knew it.
She didn’t wait for his answer, she just turned for the car and he
spun on his heel to stalk back to his Ma’s pick-up. She was
waiting, leaning on the front bumper, feet still up on the curb,
watching him with intense interest.

“Where we gotta go next, Ma? Bakery?” He held
his hand out for the keys.

With her jaw out to the side she studied him
with shrewd, squinted eyes. The effect was somewhat ruined by
another small coughing fit.

“What? What are you looking at me like that
for?” He ignored the coughing.

“Sheriff Downey?”

Snatching the keys away, he groaned. “Don’t
start, Ma.”

“The club could kick you out for that, son.
That or worse.”

“Ma, get in the truck.”

“And she could lose her job if the wrong
people found out.”

“Ma?” He yanked the driver’s door open, then
jerked his head across the cab when she didn’t move. “The bakery,
Ma. Before they close?”

She straightened up and faced him but didn’t
move any closer to the passenger side. “You have to stay away from
her. For both your sakes.”

Fritter closed his eyes, rubbing his
forehead. The fucking women in his life, honest to Christ. Not that
Downey was in his life, obviously.

Or was she? Or did he just want her to
be?

Shit. Fuck.

“We gotta get to the bakery before that whole
wheat you like is gone, Ma,” he tried again, gently.