Ginny huddled miserably on the lowered toilet lid as he started a hot bath in the big claw tub. She jumped at the sound of her name. He tried to rein in his impatience as she stood too quickly, nearly losing her balance. His big hand on her arm steadied her. He helped her strip from her wet clothes, trying to keep his touch gentle yet clinical. Awkwardly he lifted her into the tub, pausing as she drew a sharp hiss through her chattering teeth at the first touch of heat to her chilled skin. When she gave him a little nod, he eased her down until the water enveloped her.
“You going to be okay?” he asked awkwardly.
She nodded shyly, trying fruitlessly to cover the bruises and abrasions that discolored her body. He left the bathroom without another word.
Retrieving a Budweiser from the fridge, Zeke popped the cap, taking a long pull. A low growl of frustration and rage rumbled in his chest. This sudden possessive protective streak confused the shit out of him. Rubbing a calloused paw across the back of his neck, he leaned against the counter trying to collect his jumbled thoughts. Barely contained fury reverberated through him. The numerous welts and bruises marking Ginny’s statuesque body stood out in his mind. His hand tightened dangerously on the glass bottle.
Trinity was a small town. Not much happened that the scuttlebutt didn’t pick up on. He had known Ginny forever, had played football with her older brother, Trent, had even spent one memorable Memorial Day weekend between the pretty cheerleader’s thighs. How the fuck had he not known how bad it was? The truth didn’t sit well with him. Since returning from the Marines, he’d been so wrapped up in starting his career with the Police Department and legitimizing his motorcycle club, the Lords of Mayhem, he hadn’t really caught up with the girl who had faithfully sent him a letter a week and frequent care packages for the five years he had been away. It was an oversight he fully intended to remedy.
The squeak of the bathroom door jerked him from his thoughts. Ginny hovered uncertainly in the doorway, wrapped in a threadbare towel.
“Your bag is by the bed. If you need something dry to sleep in, grab one of my t-shirts outa the drawer.”
Clutching the towel awkwardly, she knelt to examine the paltry contents of her backpack. Finding a fairly dry thong she pulled it on, struggling with damp flesh.
Grabbing another beer, Zeke settled into his leather recliner. He chuckled as Ginny wrestled with modesty, clutching the damp towel about her while wiggling into one of his oversize t-shirts. He cocked a brow at her as the wadded towel bounced off his chest. The sarcastic twist of her lips and the brief sparkle in her hazel eyes gave a glimpse of the usual Ginny and made him smile.
“Feisty little wench,” he mumbled around his cigar, but was sorry to see the light fade as her situation pressed back in on her.
Smoothing the black Harley Davidson shirt down her thighs self-consciously, she perched on the edge of the bed, idly stroking her fingers over the soft Harley throw covering it.
“How long has this shit been going on?”
She jumped at Zeke’s voice, her gaze looking anywhere but at him. She shrugged softly.
“Always, but it got worse after Trent left for the Marines, worse yet after he died. I kept thinking I could hold on until after graduation, maybe get a scholarship and get the fuck out of here.” She fiddled with the edge of the blanket. When she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper. “Tonight he was drunk, and calling me a whore. It was more than just the beating. He said he was going to show me how men treat whores. He was going to rape me. I’m done, Zeke. I can’t take anymore.”
The beer bottle smashed against the wall, pale suds and amber glass drifting to the floor. He clenched his fists in fury. A whimper escaped her throat as he reached for her and he paused, trying to pull it together. Unable to speak, he stroked a lock of her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear, and headed for the door promising her, “You get some sleep. You’re safe here. I’ll deal with this.”
He had dealt with her father, and anyone who had tried to hurt her since. He would find out who had destroyed her restaurant and they would pay, but right now, there was little he could do to ease her pain.
Chapter Eleven
Zeke watched the lazy tendrils of smoke waft toward the meeting room’s ornate ceiling and found no peace in it. They had been at it for an hour now, arguing about who had torched The Lantern and why. He had already had to forcefully separate Sambo and Reaper. With the Fire Marshall and cops crawling up his ass, the generally laid-back music man wasn’t finding much humor in Reaper’s viperous taunts.
“Maybe it was the same son-of-a-bitch that capped Zeke’s partner,” Taz suggested. “Some sort of vendetta, maybe someone they put away.”
“Great, another fucking ghost. We still don’t have shit on what happened there. Nobody saw or heard a thing,” Crux said, slumping in his chair.
“I’m telling you, it was the Tarantulas,” Reaper spat, jabbing dangerously with his glowing cigarette.
“You don’t think arson is a little over the top for a club dispute? We are hardly outlaw.” Rhys argued.
“And if it was the Tarantulas why not go after the clubhouse?” Mox asked.
“Nah, this was more personal. This was aimed at Zeke and Ginny, not the Lords. I’m more inclined to go with it being related to Zeke’s career choice which tracks right back to Kramer,” Bowie said stubbornly.
“Kramer’s a cop. Do you really think he goes around burning buildings down? Shit! Sambo makes better sense than Kramer.”
Losing his cool, Sambo lunged across the table at Reaper.
Zeke lurched to his feet, his chair squalling discordantly as it skidded backward. Grabbing Reaper and Sambo by the collars, he flung them toward their respective sides of the table, not caring if they hit their chairs or not.
“Both of you shut the fuck up!” he thundered. “We are getting nowhere here.” Planting his palms on the table, Zeke regarded the assembled men. When he spoke, his voice was deceptively soft. “Someone is messing with me and my family. In turn, that means they are messing with you, my brothers. How about we concentrate on finding out
who
that someone is, and make sure they never make that mistake again?”
Ginny slowed the cart in front of the seafood case before firmly shaking her head and moving on. She had stopped at the farmer’s market to pick up their fruits, vegetables, and eggs so she was only after the basics here. Having ruthlessly pared down the usual grocery list she was determined to stick to it. She loved to cook lavish meals for her men, but until she knew what was going to happen with The Lantern, it just made sense to scale back a bit. No one was going to starve for God’s sake.
The pantry was bursting at the seams and they had both a large chest freezer stuffed full of meat and a stand up model that she used for fruits, vegetables, frozen pizzas, hot dogs, brats and the like in the garage. Neither took into account the freezer on the kitchens side-by-side or the boy’s refrigerator in the basement. Watching her do inventory this morning, Zeke had declared them ready for anything from a blizzard to nuclear attack. She rolled her eyes at his dramatics. No one was going hungry on her watch.
She couldn’t pass up ten pounds of chicken leg quarters for three dollars and ninety cents. At that price, a second bag joined the cart. Her mouth watered at the thought of barbeque chicken on the grill. A main course for her crew at less than four bucks AND she could pass off the cooking to the men, priceless. Adding four gallons of milk and a couple loafs of bread to her detergents and necessary paper products, she headed for the checkout.
“Your cart is looking a little skimpy to be feeding growing boys, what with the restaurant gone and all.”
Ginny grit her teeth at the syrupy southern drawl and the snide implication behind the woman’s words. Turning, she leveled a scathing glare on the town whore. The bitch preened under her stare, painted talons plucking at the garish scarf knotted around her throat. The tacky thing was a trademark of Flo’s. It always made Ginny want to strangle her with it. Today was no exception.
“No worries, Flo. Mox has never gone hungry under
my
roof.”
“With Zeke losing his job, and now The Lantern, I’m sure times are rough. I believe the Catholic Church’s food-bank is open on Tuesday mornings if you need help,” the redhead sneered, snapping her gum.
“Thank you for your concern, but no need to save me a place in line. Our larders are full to bursting,” Ginny said, not bothering to correct her erroneous assumption about Zeke. She wasn’t about to feed the bitch’s obsession with her husband. Setting her groceries up on the conveyer, she willed the teenage cashier to pick up her pace. God must have figured she had suffered enough this week as Flo was distracted by flirting with the penis in line behind her, allowing Ginny to escape.
Splashing, laughter and the mumble of the boy’s voices filtered in from the pool as Ginny put away groceries. A high-pitched whine cut through the comfortable moment like fingernails on the chalkboard. Ginny’s lips twisted in a grimace. Just when she thought her day couldn’t get any worse:
Becca.
The epitome of white trash, the bony blonde had been Rhys’ on again off again girlfriend, and the bane of Ginny’s existence, since his freshman year. The spoiled bitch didn’t know how to keep her legs closed or her mouth shut. She was a user and had found in Rhys an easy target for her manipulative bullshit. For the thousandth time Ginny kicked herself for raising such a nice boy. “I should have listened to Zeke,” she muttered, opening the barbeque sauce.
“There’s something I don’t hear you admit too often.” Zeke said, stepping up behind her to nuzzle her nape.
“I should have let you pound some sense into our son. The princess is back.”
Zeke held his hands up in surrender, stepping back as she applied the sauce a little more violently than necessary to the marinating chicken. Looking out the window, he shook his head.
“I don’t know about that boy. There’s plenty of pussy out there without the prima donna bullshit. Her voice alone makes my ears bleed.”
“Rhyssssssssssss!” Becca screeched as if on cue.
It was Ginny’s turn to throw her hands up in appeasement as her husband growled,
“I take a lot of lip from you, woman, but I swear to God if you ever talk to me in that tone of voice I will knock you on your sweet ass.”
“I agree the twit needs to learn her place. I’m just afraid that our son doesn’t have the balls to put her there.”
“Watch what the hell you are doing, you stupid ox!”
Ginny’s head whipped around, her eyes narrowing. She didn’t need to have been there to know Becca’s shrill slur was directed at Mox. Zeke’s brawny arm just wasn’t quick enough as he made a valiant attempt to block the screen door. Stalking across the patio, Ginny grabbed a handful of blond hair and wrenched Becca off her float. The men watched in a mixture of awe and horror as she secured a second hand hold to keep the thrashing girl submerged. Time stood still.
‘Gin…” Zeke warned as the air bubbles slowed.
Giving it another couple of seconds, Ginny pulled Becca up by her hair. Sputtering and choking, she clutched desperately at Ginny’s wrists, salt-water tears joining the chlorine running down her face. Giving her hair a savage shake, Ginny yanked her up to go nose-to-nose with her.
“Maybe you have Rhys whipped enough to put up with your viperous tongue, but you talk to my other two like that again and I will drown your worthless ass. You got me, Barbie?” she hissed. The girl nodded her frantic agreement and Ginny released her with a shove and turned her furious gaze on Rhys. “Get that worthless skank out of my pool and out of my sight.” Shaking water off her hands, Ginny stood and brushed past Zeke. Everyone gawked as she disappeared back into the house, slamming the screen door in her wake.
Drying off, Mox slipped inside and straddled one of the stools at the breakfast bar. He watched Ginny in silence for a while as she wrapped ears of corn in aluminum foil.
“I thought you were going to drown her.”
Smiling, Ginny didn’t bother to look up from her work.
“I thought about it. It would’ve saved this family a world of grief I’m sure.”
“Rhys loves her.”
“Rhys thinks with his dick and she’s the easiest piece he’s found.”
“She hates me.”
Ginny dried her hands on her cut-offs and reached over to stroke Mox’s cheek, his uncertainty eating at her.
“She knows you see through the pretty face and big boobs to the manipulative bitch underneath and it scares her. No one is closer to Rhys than you are and she’s afraid you will turn him against her. If the twat had half a brain cell, she would know better than to alienate the wingman. That’s like a guy pissing off his old lady’s best friend. It always comes back to bite him in the ass.”
“What if he decides to marry her?”
“Then I’ll have to drown her for sure. I refuse to have
that
as a daughter-in-law. I’m trusting you to do better.” Ginny said with a laugh and a wink. “Now, do me a favor, baby, and light the grill for me, will you?”
“Sure thing, Gin.”
Ginny smiled watching him go, glad to see the weight lifted from his broad shoulders. A mother’s work was never done.
Zeke’s head lolled back on the lounge chair as he lazily sent smoke rings heavenward. Seated on the patio with his beautiful wife, staring up at the stars, stomach full and a beer dangling from his fingertips, life didn’t get much better. It was almost enough to make a man forget his troubles, and that was dangerous. The thought sobered him, a prickle of unease lifting the hair at his nape. Shifting in his chair, his gaze sought out Gunny. The loyal Mastiff was sprawled in front of the screen door where he could keep an eye on them and ear out for the boys in the house. He was relaxed. Nothing was amiss. Comforted by the dog’s ease and the press of his Glock, Zeke settled back, but still gave the shadows a wary glance.