Cease (Bayonet Scars Book 7) (3 page)

"This is not the first club I've been with, but I'm hoping it's the last. I'm just looking to provide for my boy, get him a little normal."

I don't bother telling her that Forsaken is anything but normal for a kid. My attention falls to my own son before I catch sight of her son. He's got large brown eyes beneath a mop of light brown hair, pale skin, and a bridge of freckles across his nose. He looks too skinny to be healthy, and he seems skittish from the way he's desperately clinging to the waistband of his mom's jeans. I give him a half smile, hoping he'll let go of the damn woman for a second, but he doesn't budge.

"You can stay in our house, Ruby," Ryan offers.

"Son, shut your pie hole." I rack my brain but can't figure out what's gotten into him. Ryan's normally quiet until he's got something smart to say. But right now he's being talkative as hell, and it's making me suspicious.

"Thank you, honey, but we have a place to stay." Ruby keeps her voice light, but it feels forced, like she's hiding something.

"Where?"

"Excuse me?"

She blinks at my question as though she didn't hear it. I've spent enough time watching men lie to my face to know she's stalling.

"Where are you staying?"

"Oh, there's a motel down the road."

I know there's a motel down the road, but it's a shit hole. I tell her as much, but she doesn't give. Instead, she just says, "We've stayed in worse."

"You came in from Arizona? What're you doing with those assholes?"

"Just passing through. Ian wanted to come out to California." She reaches around and place a hand on her son's shoulder, giving him a comforting pat.

"Where'd you come from before Arizona?"

"Texas. Is this the background check?" Ruby purses her lips and gives me a sly smile.

I shake my head and rub the back of my neck awkwardly. Her story is full of holes and half-truths, but I don't push. The boy has a backpack strapped to his shoulders, and Ruby's got a medium-sized suitcase by her feet. I'm willing to bet these two bags are all they have in the world, which turns my stomach in some fucked-up way. Fuck. Being a parent is hard enough with all the support I have from my mom and the club. I can't imagine doing it all alone with basically nothing in this world. Nobody should have to live like that, especially not some poor fucking kid. I try to shrug it off by reminding myself that she's going to be working in the clubhouse, so I'll have time to get the rest of the story out of her. I'll just have to stay close enough to make sure she and the kid have enough to survive on.

Finally regaining my ability to speak, I smirk at her. "No. You'll know it when I'm checking you out." She flushes and clears her throat but quickly regains her stoic appearance. I should let her stay in the clubhouse tonight, but the fucking Arizona club is in town and will be partying through the night, so I go ahead and do the dumbest thing I can. "Work tomorrow. You'll ride in with me. Tonight, you'll stay with us."

"I don't need--" she starts.

I cut her off immediately.

"We're not good enough to shelter you for a night, guess we're not good enough to hire you."

Ruby looks down at Ian, whose face peeks out a little more, displaying a large, angry-looking scar that covers almost half his face. I suck in a deep breath, trying to imagine what could have happened to the poor kid. Ruby gives her boy a smile and then another pat.

"Thank you," she says, her attention now back on me. Her eyes are gentle, her voice is firm, and everything about her demeanor tells me she's suddenly relieved. Her shoulders slump, but her chin stays high. The tension around her eyes dissipates.

She had nowhere to go
.

Fuck.

Who is this woman, and what the hell am I going to do with her?

CHAPTER 4

Ruby

"That's my dad," Ryan says. He's still bouncing on the balls of his feet, his big gray eyes trained on me.

"I see the resemblance." Giving the kid a soft smile, I think through my options. Once those assholes from Arizona practically kicked us out of the van, I didn't know where we were going or how we were going to get there. We'd passed a cheap motel on our way through town, but there was no sign telling me how cheap cheap really is in California. Between the money I've been hoarding and the cash I've managed to collect from the Arizona club before we left, I have about five hundred bucks. Without a job, that's not even going to get us through the month. Sure, Ryan's dad kind of offered me a job. Well, it's more like Ryan offered the job and his dad kind of just . . . didn't argue it.

Ryan's dad.

That man is trouble, I can already tell. He's tall and muscular but not bulking in a gross, steroids kind of way. I hate when there's so many muscles that the poor guy no longer even has a neck. Ryan's dad--crap, I really need to find out the man's name--is just attractive. Like his son, he has gray eyes with jet-black hair and a pale complexion. He's everything I would have been attracted to before I stopped allowing myself to want anything.

"Ryan!" A loud, smoky, feminine voice shouts from the other side of the parking lot. I focus in on who it's coming from. A middle-aged woman is standing beside a shiny, new-looking truck. She's clutching a large leather purse to her shoulder. Her eyes are narrowed, her head tilting in a way that suggests she's sizing me up.

"That's my grandma," Ryan says with a half smile on his face. He doesn't move until she calls him again and adds, "Now," in a firm voice. Looking flustered, he jumps off the bench and drags himself away. I turn away as the chatty little boy and his grandma argue about something. They're too far away for me to hear the exact disagreement, but I can come up with something compelling enough. She probably doesn't want her grandson talking to some strange woman, and I don't blame her.

Before I embarrass myself by begging for that job and a place to stay, I take Ian by the hand and head out of the parking lot. If I want things to change, then I need to change the way I go about doing things.

We're halfway to the motel before he gives my hand a tug and stops moving his little feet.

"What's up, baby?"

"I don't like it here," he says, his small voice breaking at the end. I suck in a deep breath to calm myself down. Ian never likes anywhere at first. Well, actually, he just doesn't like anywhere no matter how long we're there for. But eventually something is going to have to give. At some point he's going to have to make peace with the fact that we can change the zip code, the weather, and the club we're with, but we can't just change our damage. He's too young to understand that concept, and I don't expect him to. Still, it's frustrating as hell to go through this every place we go. It's selfish and shitty, but I just want him to--just one fucking time--make me feel like I'm doing an okay job instead of destroying his entire world every single day.

"I know, baby," I say evenly. I bend down so we're eye to eye and cup his cheek with my hand. "I know I keep promising things will get better and they haven't yet. And I'm sorry you don't like it here. We'll keep looking for a place you'll like, okay? Okay, baby?"

"Okay."

And just like that, with that one little word, we're walking again. Some people hate the word
fine
because when most people say they're fine, what they really mean is that things are shit but they're not up for emotionally bleeding all over the place. Ian doesn't say
fine
. He says
okay
. And I guess, after traveling in a hot van all day, that
okay
is better than having a meltdown. I still don't like it, though.

One day, I'm going to make my little boy smile. One day we're going to have our own apartment that I can pay for all by myself. One day we'll buy the brand name foods in the grocery store, and we won't worry about things like not having a phone. One day we're going to live like regular people, and I'll be that mom who cries when her baby walks across the stage at his high school graduation. And one day my boy will tell me he's fine instead of okay, and when he smiles, it won't be to mask how much pain he's in.

One day, I resolve to myself.

Our new life starts today. It starts with me standing on my own two feet and walking us to this motel. It starts with a proper job hunt tomorrow. I'm not sure what I'll do about Ian. He's half a year behind in school because of all the moving and everything else going on. It's a damn miracle that's all he's missed. He needs to catch up, but the year's almost over, and then it'll be summer. I can't leave Ian with just anyone, or he'll flip out, and I can't afford to pay anyone with a license. Plus there's that whole thing about him not being enrolled in school right now. I have enough problems without the law getting all up in my shit. Damn it. This is how I keep ending back up with whatever club is local. Bikers don't give a shit if I have my kid with me at the clubhouse as long as my boy's not in the room while I'm letting them fuck me. Not that I would do that, but the Arizona club's president literally told me that the first time I met him. Sometimes, like right now, it feels too fucking hard to go straight. I have to, though. I want Ian to complain about homework and girls and dumb-ass shit like that. He deserves better, and that means I have to do better. If I want him to stop having nightmares, that means I have to stop putting him in situations that give him those nightmares.

"What's wrong, Mommy?" Ian looks up at me with his big brown eyes narrowed and his lips formed into a pout.

"Sometimes it's hard being a parent," I say.

Thoughtfully, he nods his head and gives my hand a squeeze, declaring, "Sometimes it's hard being a kid, too."

CHAPTER 5

"Okay, and jump!" Ian's got a hold of my pinky, and when I shout for him to jump, he gives it a squeeze. He does this sometimes, holding my pinky instead of my hand. My boy hesitates for a moment as he stares down at the massive puddle in front of us. Sure, it's a big puddle, but the kid's got some ridiculously long legs. I raise an eyebrow, free my pinky, and make a great show of leaping over the puddle. On the other side now, I puff out my chest and put my hands on my hips. With a large, dramatic smile on my face, I stare down at my boy.

"I win!"

"We weren't racing." Ian's eyes are narrowed. One of the best ways I've found to get him to focus on what's going on around us instead of the monsters that haunt him is to give him something to do. Anything, really, and he's usually fine. He likes to keep busy.

"Yes, we were."

We so weren't.

"You're a cheat!"

"Are you calling your mother a cheat?" I snicker and shake my head at him in mock disbelief.

Here's the thing about my boy--he's sweet and loving and sensitive, but he's also mischievous and ornery, and he has a strong sense of justice.

"Just calling it like I see it." There's a dangerous twinkle in his eye that I don't catch until it's too late. He jumps up in the air and lands right in the middle of the puddle. Dirty water splashes everywhere, soaking my shoes and the bottom half of my jeans. Ian's jeans and shirt are completely drenched, but at least they're not DOA like his only pair of shoes are.

My nose scrunches up and my brow furrows, but I swallow back the angry rant that threatens to escape. It's not easy.

"Shit," I say much too harshly. I didn't budget for shoes, even if he is due for a new pair. Frustration wells in my chest and gets comfortable. I try to ignore it, but it's not working. I can't catch a break no matter what corners I cut or how hard I hustle for an extra couple of bucks. Every time I turn around the kid needs something else. This time it's shoes, but before this it was underwear, and before that, it was jeans because he kept climbing the low brick wall at the park and tearing them up. No matter how many times I try to remind him that we have to take care of our things because I can't afford to keep replacing them, he's still hard on his shit. He's an eight-year-old boy, and I know it's going to happen, but that doesn't make the money just materialize out of nowhere to pay for it all.

When I finally calm down enough to look at my boy, he's got his eyes trained on the ground and his arms straight down by his sides. If I were really mad and not just giving up on the idea of ever getting ahead, he'd already be in tears and running away. I try so hard to not be that mom who yells all the time, but I slip sometimes, and when I do, it tears us both up. Those are the days where I wonder if I should even have him. Not that I'd give him up now. The state would throw my boy away and label him because of his behavioral issues. I don't care if I have to steal everything he needs for the rest of my life. I won't let him fall into the clutches of a greedy asshole who just wants to collect a paycheck.

"Hey, shit happens, right?" I say and ruffle Ian's dark blond hair. He goes stock still and doesn't look up despite my casual tone. I need to stop the impending meltdown. I don't have the energy for it today. Skipping the whole pick-me-up speech and ignoring the fact that I'm going to pay for this later, I swoop down and pull my boy into a bear hug. When he doesn't fight me, I lift him off the ground with a deep breath and settle him into my arms. He's not such a little boy anymore, and that's never more apparent than when I carry him. It takes a long moment, but eventually he settles against me, snuggles his face into my neck, and wraps his arms around me.