Survivor: Steel Jockeys MC (20 page)

“Who are you, Castro?” Regan asked. “I didn’t
let
her do anything. She wasn’t a prisoner here, and if you think I should have locked her in the basement or something, you have more problems than I can help you with. Scary problems."

Joe looked down, ashamed of how possessive he sounded. "But didn't you explain about Lydia?"

"I explained exactly what I
thought
I knew about you and her. But Ruby tells me she comes into the bar showing off an engagement ring the size of Plymouth Rock. How am I supposed to explain that?"

"It's complicated," he said after a second.

"No, it's actually pretty simple, Joe. Are you engaged to her or aren't you?"

Joe gritted his teeth, knowing the answer he had to give. "Yes, I told Aaron that I'd marry her. But I had no choice, Regan. You wouldn't understand."

“Seriously, Joe?" Regan exploded. "Oh, you are too much. You really think I don’t know about hard choices?” Regan asked, biting her lower lip and resolutely opening her handbag. She took out her cellphone and swiped through to a photo, turning it around and handing it to Joe, who started, trying to make sense of what he was looking at: a baby boy, maybe six months old, but his curly chestnut hair, gray-green eyes, and olive skin was unmistakable.

“His name’s Kyle,” said Regan quietly. “Kyle Axel Clarke, Jr.” Joe wanted to say something, but he was speechless. There wasn't anything he could say that wouldn't sound inadequate. Regan's tone was still severe, but there was pride and excitement behind it. He was a little overwhelmed himself, but it was a good kind of overwhelmed, like winning a sweepstakes he'd forgotten he'd entered or had forgotten even existed. The problem was there were tears in Regan’s eyes. He knew there was a reason he hadn’t known about this child. "Your dad and Holly don't know, do they?"

“That would mean they’d find out I’d lied to them about being pregnant, not to mention about being with Kyle in the first place,” she finished quietly. “And now it’s too late."

"What do you mean?"

Regan closed her eyes, seeming to curl into herself, as if the memory of what she'd done stabbed at her like a knife. "I was crazy after Kyle died. I didn't know half of what I was doing. I thought if I had this baby, I wouldn't be able to bear to look at him. I went down to Arizona to stay with my grandma for a while to figure things out, and I called this number on a flyer on the wall of the bus station. I didn’t know what they were, but they got me to sign away my parental rights to him. They told me he'd go to a good family, but I don't think he did..." She sniffed, swiping at her moist eyes fiercely. "I just want to be with him, Joe. To be his mommy, and to see Kyle's eyes shining at me again,” she sobbed. “I know I did wrong. It was all my fault.”

Joe sank to the ground, overwhelmed. God only knew what these people had done with the poor kid. The knowledge that Kyle's only son could be in the hands of the same sadists he'd encountered in the foster care system made him want to pummel someone, to destroy things with fire. But none of his rage was at Regan; she'd been young and afraid and had only done what she'd thought was right. His rage was at the system that had almost broken him, and now had its claws into his best friend’s son and Ruby’s nephew.

Joe threw himself down on the porch chair next to Regan, looking down at the floor to gather his thoughts. “Did Kyle know?" he asked gently. "Did you tell him?”

“Yes," she responded quietly. "I finally got up the nerve, only a few weeks before he died. He agreed not to tell anyone else because we still weren’t sure whether I was going to...go through with it. You should have seen him, Joe. He was so happy; he was like a kid. He told me he loved me and that he'd be there for us no matter what happened. Forever. And now--" she shook her head. "Now he has no one. Not Kyle, not me. It’s such a mess, Joe, and I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry for everything. Please don’t be mad.”

“Regan, of course I’m not mad,” he said. “Not at you, anyway." He had a better idea now why Kyle had been so blind to the trap Fox had been setting; the looming responsibility of his impending fatherhood put the kind of pressure on him Joe couldn't even imagine, the desire for financial security at any cost clouding his judgment. "And you're not alone. You've still got me, at least." Regan raised her head. "I know; I'm the last guy any kid would want for a father figure...but..." A little smile flickered onto Regan's face. "Anyway, we have to tell Colt."

"No!" Regan yelped, grabbing his arm. "Not yet. Please. I know him. He'd hit the roof, start threatening to beat people up, and just make things worse. If I have a chance of getting him back, I've got to keep my head. I've been going over to my mom's, and she's been trying to help me, but it's so..." She glanced around the scattered papers at her feet and sighed hopelessly. She sank down on the bottom step, hugging her knees. For someone with such a delicate image, Regan did not cry often; she was much, much tougher than her fragile looks suggested. But now she looked shaken, like a willow branch defenseless against a strong wind. He gathered her into his arms, and it wasn't just his imagination that she cuddled into him with an exhausted little sigh, caressing his back through his jacket, an almost automatic response.

He could admit now that they’d wanted to bang each other a long time ago and high on hormones, but there was none of that left. Now both of their hearts lay elsewhere, and the ache of separation was a physical pain they shared. But at the same time, it seemed to strengthen them, galvanizing them in a tougher steel. "You have a plan, don't you?" Regan sniffed at last, squeezing his arm curiously. "I can feel it. All swirling around in you."

"Like usual," he said with a confidence he hoped to force himself to feel. "I do. Sort of."

She, Brenda, and Aaron rode all afternoon and into the evening, stopping once for dinner at a posh restaurant in Palm Springs, complete with white tablecloths, a piano player, and little old ladies in Chanel suits and hats.

Impossibly tan Brenda, who had changed into a white sundress for dinner, had been getting all BFF with Ruby, offering her advice on which cocktail to order and cooing over how jealous she was of her curly hair. She paid special attention to her pendant necklace, even asking Ruby to take it off so she could look at it more closely, putting on a pair of reading glasses to inspect it, and turning it around in the long fingers of her brown, manicured hand. Ruby watched her closely, half-expecting her to spirit it into her Louis Vuitton bag when she thought nobody was looking, and when she finally did give it back, Ruby replaced it around her neck gratefully, clutching it to her chest.

"I gave it to Kyle on the night he died," she said. "He gave it to Joe, and Joe gave it back to me."

Brenda nodded and told her they had a party planned to celebrate their arrival back in Mexico, and to welcome Ruby to "the neighborhood" as she termed it. She offered to take her shopping at some of the chic Tijuana boutiques to get ready.

Aaron bought a bottle of Moet champagne and toasted to the future. He leaned across the table to give Brenda a smack on the lips. "To the new partnership between us and the Steel Jockeys.” Any regrets she had about leaving behind, she tried to let them drain out of her mind like water through a sieve. Trying to think about everything that had happened during her brief stay was a sure way to break down, and she needed strength now. She needed to survive, to reclaim herself. A fortified beachside villa outside Tijuana sounded like as good a place to do that as any. She'd never been out of the country, or even the state, and didn't have a passport, but Aaron assured her it wouldn't be a problem.

"Getting into Mexico is a lot easier than getting out," he’d told her with a laugh. "Especially when you know the right people."

She still had the gun, and she still had her wits. She could read people, and she trusted Aaron and Brenda just enough to know she couldn't trust them as far as she could throw them. She hated to leave Kyle's bike, but she couldn't ride it – not 400 miles through the desert, anyway. Aaron Beeson, whose back she clung to all the way down I-5, didn't share his cousin's dark looks; he was Welsh, with solid muscle packed into a small frame, thick, professionally-styled hair, and impressively full lips that distracted from his constant gum-chewing. He rode a shiny black-and-cerulean-blue Harley Dyna Glide, dressed in faded Nudie jeans and a black John Varvatos leather jacket, one belonging to no M.C., but making him look intimidating nonetheless.

Aaron swiveled in his restaurant chair toward a tall, intimidating figure who had just entered the restaurant and was striding toward them with purpose.

"And Fox Keene," he added.

Ruby froze and then leapt up from the table. Aaron grabbed her hand to stop her, gentle but firm. There was no escape. "Please, Ruby, sit down. I didn't mean to startle you, and I can't stay long," Fox said, pulling up the empty chair. "I hated the idea that you might have gotten the wrong impression of me. If you still want to go to Mexico after this, I totally understand. But I happened to be in town when Aaron called and said he was here with you. You haven't taken any of my calls, and I totally understand why.” Fox had left dozens of messages, in fact, which she’d deleted without listening to. She was afraid of what she would do if she heard them. “But I want to try to clear the air."

Ruby blinked, her hand poised on top of her fork, and her hand shaking so hard the whole table must have felt it. She opened her mouth. "There's nothing...nothing to say. I--" she tried to get up again, but Fox now put a gentle but firm hand on her arm. She was too shocked to even yank it away.

"Ruby, look at me." Automatically, she raised her head and swallowed, meeting his ice-blue eyes for a second before fixing them back on the tablecloth. She always obeyed Fox Keene. It was where she'd gone wrong.

"Joseph Ryan told you I played a role in Kyle's death, didn't he?" Ruby didn't dare to nod. "I was afraid this would happen. Ruby, I know Joe can be incredibly charming, but his version of the truth bears very little resemblance to it.”

"There’s something we've been meaning to tell you," Brenda cut in, sliding her tanned, manicured hand over to cover Ruby's. "We know how Kyle was killed."

Ruby suddenly felt as if her head were underwater, the buzz of the restaurant coming from miles away. "A plainclothes cop was doing some investigations into Kyle," began Fox. "Of course, we all know he wasn’t up to anything illegal, but given his history, it's not surprising they thought he was. The cop tailed him into a warehouse and surprised him. Kyle struggled with him and grabbed his gun,” he added grimly. “Cops do what they have to do in that situation."

"No,” Ruby breathed.

"It was all a terrible misunderstanding," said Brenda. "It never should have happened. But there's nothing anyone can do now. We know how it must have looked to you, that Fox was responsible. We were suspicious, too,” she said, gesturing to Aaron, who nodded seriously. “But it’s not fair to blame him for something he had no responsibility for and couldn't have prevented if he tried."

Ruby sank into her seat, staring down at the lemon slices on her plate of salmon.

"Ruby, honey," remarked Brenda, all motherly. “We’re so sorry.”

"My offer still stands you know," Fox said after a second. "To send you to school. Think about it, Ruby. You could catch up on those years you missed while you were working, those years of being young and carefree. You could finally reach the potential I know you have. That your brother knew you had. And best of all," he said with a smile, "you have a safety net if you ever fall. Come back to me, Ruby. I will take care of you. I can do it, and I want to do it. It's all I ever wanted to do." He rested his elbows on the table, mild, unthreatening. But she knew better now. “Unless...is this about Joe?” She looked at the table. “Listen. He came from nothing, Ruby, and that’s all he can give you. Nothing. Sure, he’s pretty, and he looks good in leather, but where will that get him? Same place it gets all outlaws. Dead or in prison.” He cupped her chin. She could feel a tear forming that she blinked away as she let him meet her gaze. “You deserve so much better than that. Kyle wanted better than that for you, and so do I.”

It would be so easy, she thought. To give in, to envelop herself in the luxury of life with Fox. Maybe it wouldn’t be giving in; it would be giving herself every advantage. With Fox’s support, she could at last become the woman she knew she could be, and wouldn’t that give Kyle, wherever he was in the universe he was, some peace? She looked at Fox, his chiseled, runway model features, and turned away. She felt nothing but revulsion at the idea that she could shut her heart away and deprive it of oxygen for a little temporary happiness. Kyle wouldn’t have demanded that of her. There had to be another way, but even if there wasn’t, she couldn’t give in. Ruby shook her head. "I'm going to Mexico."

Fox rose from his chair almost regally. If Ruby had been expecting a scene, she wasn't going to get it. "It’s your choice. It makes me happy just to see you and know you were safe." He rose from his chair. She touched her handbag, feeling the comforting barrel of the gun, and exhaled. "Think about it, though. I know you'll make the right decision."

***

She stepped out of the shower and onto the cold marble tile in her private guest suite, wrapping herself in a plush robe. Out of the window, the moon shone silver on the Pacific Ocean. Palm trees poked up from the surrounding hills. Like everyone, she’d heard scary stories about the Mexico border, especially involving women, but the level of security surrounding Aaron's villa was pretty astonishing – barbed wire, a drooling pack of pit bulls, and two heavily armed guards were just for starters. Plus, once they’d gotten past all that, Ruby had quickly lost herself in luxury. Of all the borrowed rooms she'd lived in the past few days, this was by far the nicest, so why did it feel so empty? Because unlike the other places, she could not take comfort in the fact that Joe was merely a shout away or that she would ever see him again.

He would have loved this place, she thought as she gazed out the window, because he'd probably never seen any place like it, not from the inside anyway. It was souvenir-perfect. The palm trees looked like plastic, the sunset over the ocean, which she'd caught earlier on the highway, like a paint-by-numbers. It should have been romantic, invented for couples on honeymoons to send quaint "wish-you-were-here" postcards. But the king-size bed was empty and cold, too large for one person. What would it be like to relax there with Joe, she fantasized. To watch the storm in his eyes melt away, the weight on his shoulders ease, to wake him up with gentle strokes, caresses, licks, to feel that thrilling hardness beneath her touch and know she had created it. To watch his amber eyes flutter open, his pupils dilate in lust, and to let him know he was safe and cared for.

That was why he'd decided to marry Lydia, she reminded herself darkly. With her, he could come here whenever he wanted, with money to throw away, to relax and forget, for the first time in his life, about the wolf stalking the door. She didn't begrudge him that; she'd longed for it herself. After everything he'd been through, he deserved it. Why should he choose someone like Ruby who could offer him nothing more than he had? True, she thought. He hadn't been man enough to come tell her himself, which enraged her. But, she thought, staring at the dark line of ocean, the row of resort lights, there was nothing to tell. She'd been merely a conquest, a fling. A throwaway, like every other girl he'd been with until Lydia. And there was no point telling a throwaway when she was no longer needed. She was just expected to disappear. She'd given him what he wanted. He'd said that he could have her whenever he wanted her, and what had she done but go ahead and prove him right? And now he could go back to his real life.

She dropped the robe in a puddle on the floor and crawled beneath the fresh-smelling sheets. Tomorrow, there would be no Thunderbird Bar to keep herself busy at, no Regan bouncing around serving drinks, no gigantic bikers benignly flirting, no Colt and Holly asking her how her day was, and no Joe stopping by. She tried to tamp down a lump in her throat.

Madelia was not her home; it had never had been, and never could be. There was no use getting sentimental about it. She should know that by now. Maybe she could help the housekeeper in the kitchen if she would let her. Even that would be better than sitting around the pool in a sundress pretending everything was okay. Or maybe she should try to get on the Internet and start looking for a job. She had sales experience now, and maybe if she found something good, she'd be able to qualify for a college loan that she could pay back in a mere twenty years. Or she could call Fox and beg for his forgiveness. But either way, she would be giving up part of herself. Either way, there was a price to pay. Either way she was cursed, to never be whole.

The air conditioner was blasting, keeping the room at an artificial seventy-five degrees, and the atmosphere felt antiseptic, artificial. She sank beneath the down comforter feeling as if she'd been weighted down with rocks. She buried her head trying to get cozy to get rid of the feeling of desolation and emptiness. Joseph Ryan had landed on her like a bomb, and when it all dissipated, here she was lying here alone, in a hollow crater where her life used to be.

Ruby sighed and reached over to the bedside lamp, knocking her handbag to the ground accidentally. Some dollar bills fluttered out along with a photo that had been printed at a drugstore off a digital file. She blinked. Bright gray-green baby eyes showed under a mop of curly hair, looking up and to the right, a delighted smile on his face. Written on the back in a rounded, young woman's handwriting:

Kyle Axel Clarke, 6 mos.

***

"So?" demanded A.J., cornering Joe in the doorway of the Thunderbird before he could slip out back to Colt’s. Behind him, Rex and Wings stood in ranks, arms crossed.

Joe took a deep breath, trying to remember all the details of the story he'd rehearsed, the story he and Aaron had agree would be their version of the truth--whatever it really was.

“Aaron knows a guy in the D.A.'s office, and he looked into it,” Joe said. “A plainclothes cop was tailing Kyle, thinking he was up to no good, and he surprised him in Stop ‘n’ Shop warehouse. Kyle wrestled for his gun, and that was the end of it,” he finished flatly, noticing the skepticism in A.J.’s eyes. “I wish there was more to it, but there isn't."