She did, but she hesitated. I didn’t blame her. If I’d received the same welcome I’d just given, I’d hesitate too.
Once inside, I led her into the kitchen and smiled politely. “Have a seat.” The moment she was seated, her knee bounced erratically and I just knew I’d ruined my first impression with this girl. I tried to make it up. “So, you’re a babysitter?”
“A nanny,” she illuminated. “I was an au pair, actually.”
She did not look it. “Oh, really? Whereabouts?”
“In London.” Molly looked around the kitchen until she spied A.J.’s class photo on the fridge. It sat next to the one and only photo I had of Twitch. She looked at my beautiful boy and a small smile played at her lips. “That’s A.J.?”
I turned to look at that photo and smiled. “Yeah. That’s him.”
“He’s cute.”
“Oh, he knows it.” My smile widened.
A brief moment of silence passed between us, and I watched as Molly’s face fell. She stood and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She forced a smile and tried again. When she spoke, her voice held an understanding to it. “I don’t think this is going to work out.” I stood and attempted to speak, but she shook her head. “It’s okay, really. I get it.” As she backed out of the kitchen, she averted her gaze, and said, “Thanks for meeting me.”
That young girl felt alienated, and I had done that to her.
I felt like the lowest piece of scum to have ever been born.
By the time I found my feet and started after her, she was already in her bright red muscle car. I rushed out of my house, barefoot, and just as the car started with a low rumble, I stepped out in front of it, and she blinked at me as if I were a crazy person.
I motioned for her to turn off the engine, and when she did, she continued to sit in the driver side, looking cautiously at me and lowering the window. I walked the few steps over and bent at the waist, looking in. “Why don’t you come back inside?” She side-eyed me but didn’t make to move. So I tried to mend what damage I had done by saying, “A.J. will be home soon. If we’re going to do this, I’d like for you to meet him.”
The silence between us lasted a while.
Reluctantly, she stepped out of the car, and then we were back in the kitchen, waiting for A.J. to come home from his play date. Conversation was sparse, and Molly didn’t make eye contact after that, but the moment the doorbell rang and I let A.J. inside, waving off his friend’s mother, Molly was resurrected.
A.J. rushed into the kitchen, and the moment he spotted her, he blinked in surprise. “Who are you?”
She scoffed at his rudeness, then returned, “Who are you?”
“I’m A.J.” Then he stated, “I live here.”
And Molly grinned. “I’m Molly, and I don’t.”
So she was good with kids.
“Whoa,” he said, awestruck as his eyes glanced the tattoos through the holes in her shirt. “You’ve got tattoos.”
“I do,” she said, then narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you?”
He giggled. “No,” and then he added, “I’m too little,” as if she didn’t know. I knew it was coming before he said it. “My dad’s got tattoos. Lots of them.”
I did not expect her to say what she did. “I met your dad once.”
My frown was slight. She had?
And A.J. was instantly dumbfounded. He spoke slowly, quietly, “You did?”
She nodded. “Yep, I did. It was a long time ago, but I still remember him.”
Sounds about right. Who could blame her?
Twitch was hard to forget.
“How long?” A.J. asked, dropping his backpack on the floor and stepping closer.
Molly thought about it. “Years ago.” She smiled down at him, knowing he was wrapped in attention. “I remember he was so tall.” Then she frowned. “Or maybe I’m just small. I don’t know.”
A.J. piped in with, “You are small, but Dad was...” He looked to me, and I smiled reassuringly. He continued, “Yeah. Dad was tall.”
As I sat there listening to the little Goth tell my son what little she knew about his father, I leaned against the kitchen counter and smiled at her recollection. After she was done, A.J. was half in love, and when she said, “You look just like him,” I knew A.J. was hers, heart and soul.
I booked Molly in for two days a week for a month. I increased that by a day over the next week, and another the next, until eventually, she was in our home more often than not. I got to see a different side of her. The playful but firm guardian to a little boy who adored her, and she loved A.J. wholeheartedly.
It seemed natural that when I found part-time work in the social sector that I asked her to move in with us. Molly graciously accepted, and she’s been with us ever since.
But I wasn’t a stupid woman, and my time spent with Twitch had taught me a lot, to read between the lines and hear the words unspoken. So when I found out that Molly was highly skilled in weapons training and martial arts, my suspicions were confirmed.
I wasn’t sure who Molly was, but Julius wanted her near A.J. for a reason, and that reason was protection. I just didn’t know why.
And that bothered me.
Chapter Three
Ling
With a vicious scowl, I put my hands to the doublewide doors and pushed as hard as I could. They opened with a whoosh, slapping the walls with a loud smack. I strode in, baseball bat in hand, surrounded by my brothers, and looked on at the absolute clusterfuck in front of me.
My men were brawling with the Turks again.
From behind me, Van cussed loudly, “Fuck, Ling.” His eyes shot to mine. “Don’t just stand there.” He looked down at me, leant in, and snarled, “Do something.”
Oh, I’d do something, all right.
My lip curled. I strolled inside and perched the bat to rest on my shoulder as I moved through the club. The tiny red dress I wore wasn’t exactly an outfit made for damage control, but, shit, what’s a girl to do?
These men were starting to rattle me. I was their fucking queen, and this was how they treated me?
I was going to show them just how I felt about their insubordination, and I was going to do it in a way that was uniquely my own.
The red-soled heels I wore felt tacky on the sticky nightclub floor, and when I approached one group of men tussling, I lowered the bat a moment before lifting it high up over my head. I braced, my face twisted, and then I brought it down as hard as I could over one guy’s head.
My guy.
He fell with an ungraceful thud, unmoving.
The two Turkish men reared back to look down at the prone body of my Vietnamese soldier and gaped. I smiled wide, wild-eyed, and leant in, crooking my finger. When I was sure I held their attention, I licked my cherry-red lips, and said, “Now imagine what I’ll do to you.”
Mere seconds later, they were scrambling as I pursed my lips, looking around for my next victim. I looked to my Dragons, my boys, and shook my head discreetly in displeasure. They never learned.
But they would.
As I moved onto another group of men, I held onto my bat with one hand while reaching into my garter for my switchblade. Singlehandedly, I flipped it open before gritting my teeth and bringing it down into the thigh of one of my men.
The young gun screamed out in pain and reared back to hit me. His face, contorted in anger, turned to fear the moment he saw me.
My eyes dared him to speak, dared him to make a fucking sound, and like the good boys I’d raised, he lowered his head submissively.
They were shameful.
It wasn’t their fault they were like this. It was mine. I had been too lenient, too long, wanting my boys to have a good time while working. And they did. They just didn’t know when to quit.