“There’s nothing wrong with this neighborhood,” she replied, not disagreeing about the house.
“This is a gang neighborhood. The house two streets down had the shit gunned out of it!” I already knew all the wrongs with her living conditions, but the more I listed them out loud, the more I felt the anger building in my chest. “Adair doesn’t even go to a school! He should already be in kindergarten by now!”
“He’s not old enough for kindergarten. He’s in daycare,” she retorted, clutching the shaking Adair closer. “He goes to Sunny Skies.”
“You mean that piece of shit painted with rainbows and dick graffiti I rode past on the way in?”
She didn’t argue.
“That’s it!” I yelled, throwing my arms in the air. “Grab your shit. You’re coming home with me.”
“What?” she screeched. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”
“Unfortunately, you don’t have a choice.” I reached forward and grabbed the free arm she wasn’t using to hold Adair, tugging her forward.
“I do have a choice,” she growled, struggling against his hold. “And I’m not going with you.”
“Then I’ll call child services,” I snapped, whirling on her. I dropped my voice. “Then they’ll come; they’ll see this house, that piece of crap school, that house torn apart by bullets; and they’ll take Adair from you. Do you want that?”
“No!” Mallory screamed, her grip on Adair tightening.
“Then you’re coming with me.”
“But—”
“No.”
When her struggling began to wane, I loosened my grip. Suddenly, she stopped, and I jerked back, coming to a standstill.
Turning to face her, I opened my mouth, ready to argue with her some more, only to snap it shut.
Her eyes were downcast, wide and round, and so still it was unnerving.
“Mallory?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
There was emotion, little bits of it flickering into smaller parts of her expression. She simply looked down into the gaping hole in the floor like it was the abyss to hell.
“Mallory,” I said louder as I cupped her face, forcing her to look up at me. As she did, I noticed sorrow and grief, but most of all, guilt.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“Why?” I demanded. Why couldn’t she come home? What was keeping her from the place that held everyone she loved? What was she hiding?
She shook her head, unable to answer.
I growled out a sigh, letting her go to run my hands through my hair, the cogs working in my head.
“You’ll come home, and you’ll stay with me,” I declared.
I had planned for her to move in with her mother or something, but until then, she was going to stay with me. Truth be told, I needed to keep my eyes on her. There was no way I could trust her not to run.
She didn’t agree.
“I can’t stay with you,” she argued, coming back to herself.
I was about to argue some more when I heard the roar of a vehicle engine in front of the house. When the sound cut out, I turned back to Mallory, seeing her eyes on mine, seemingly thinking nothing of the sound.
“That’s our ride,” I replied.
In that second, she looked trapped, ready to bolt.
“Child services,” I reminded her.
Her expression turned into one of fury that made me feel cautious. Then she raised her free hand and swung at me so fast I didn’t have time to stop it.
Heat burned the side of my face, and I was positive the metallic taste on my tongue was blood.
“Bastard!” she hissed before stomping down the hallway and into one of the other rooms.
“Where are you going?” I yelled.
“To get my shit!” she yelled back.
She slammed the door shut behind her with an echoing bang. Then I heard the harsh sound of Adair crying again. It was only a few moments before she appeared from the doorway again, Adair clutching her long shirt as she pulled a small suitcase behind her and hiked a large travel bag over one shoulder and her purse over the other.
“Is that it?” I asked in surprise.
“I travel light,” she growled, her anger still burning high.
“Watch the sarcasm,” I said, taking the larger bag from her shoulder, along with the suitcase. As she went to argue, I added, “Grab Adair.”
I didn’t stay to listen to her grumbling, choosing to stalk through the house and past the collapsed door as Jax jumped out of the four-door truck.
“I never knew pink looked so good on you.” He chuckled, gesturing at the pink suitcase. “Come into your inner feminism?”
I grunted, throwing the suitcase into the back of the truck.
He was about to say something else when he looked up, his eyes almost popping out his head. “Holy shit, if I knew you were hunting down such a nice piece of ass, Hunter, I would have joined you.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snapped, shoving the back gate closed.
Jax shrugged, exposing his myriad of tattoos. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” He slapped my shoulder with a grin then looked back over his shoulder. “So, you gonna let me ride her?”
I raised my fist, ready to knock the teeth right out of his skull, but Jax ducked out of reach.
“I meant your Harley.” He laughed, knowing damn well he said it that way on purpose.
“You’re the only one who can get away with that shit, you dick,” I growled, digging my keys out of my pocket and tossing them at him.
He snatched them out of the air, looking at my beautifully inked bike parked in the driveway.
“You dare get a scratch on my bike, I’ll take yours apart.”
“No worries, bro.” He started making his way toward the bike. “I’ll see you back at the compound, yeah?”
“Yeah. Thanks for the truck.” I didn’t take my eyes off him as he swung his leg over her body. His size, though a little smaller than mine, fit snuggly on her seat.
He put his unruly black hair into the helmet, started up the engine, and then pulled out of the driveway. The beast roared as she tore down the tarmac and out of sight.
I turned back toward the truck to see Mallory standing on the truck’s running board; her round, perky ass swaying as she leaned into the cab. I stood there for a minute, admiring the shape of her ass, thinking how, if it was any other woman, I would have told her to park it on my lap already. But she wasn’t any other woman. I knew the kind of woman she was, and the fact I was already checking out her ass pissed me the hell off.
“What are you doing?” I snapped.
After a few moments of ignorance, she pulled back out of the cab and stepped down off the running board before turning to face me. “Strapping Adair into the car seat.”
She then smiled as she leaned back toward the truck as I stepped forward, watching as she placed a small kiss on Adair’s cheek. His green eyes wrinkled in a smile.
“Don’t worry, baby,” she whispered. “We’re going home.”
“Home?” Adair repeated, eyes curious.
“Yeah.” The resignation in her voice was crystal clear. “Home.”
With a final brush of his cheek, she stepped back and closed the door. Then she looked back at me, the deep mothering brown seeming cold and sad.
“I’ll go back with you on one condition.”