Kristen Ashley - Rock Chick Revolution

“So, Darius takes care of them,” I guessed.

He nodded. “Yeah. They have his protection. Other than that, he gives them money and they don’t know where it comes from. The reason they don’t is because every month, Lee Nightingale and Eddie Chavez take turns bringing her an envelope, sayin’ that shit is from them. But it isn’t. It’s from Tucker. As for Tucker, he has nothing to do with them.”

My back went straight. “What? Why?”

“That, I don’t know. What I do know is that for everybody, including you, they don’t exist.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I snapped.

“It’s what it is. You do not get near them, Ally.”

“But the reason I would—”

He cut me off to ask sharply, “You care about your friend?”

I clamped my mouth shut and nodded.

“Then they do not exist. You do not tell Indy. You do not share with the Rock Chicks. Fuck, don’t even tell Tex or Duke.”

“I don’t understand this,” I admitted, because I fucking well didn’t.

“Then ask yourself why Dominic Vincetti was entirely okay with being an asshole who dipped his wick into everything that moved and did whatever Vito told him to do until he discovered someone had hit his wife. Then he and Sissy had a kid. Now he’s lookin’ for ways to get out. Being in love does shit to you, Ally. I know that as a goddamn fact. I’m not one but I can guess, being a father does shit, too. And it did it to Tucker.”

“I’d understand that if Darius was part of their lives,” I returned.

“The kid’s sixteen,” Ren told me.

“And?” I prompted.

“Count back the years, baby,” he said gently.

I did.

But Ren did the math for me. “She was pregnant at the funeral, Ally.”

“So?”

“What do you know about Malia Clark?” he asked instead of answering.

“I know she was a cheerleader. I know she was gorgeous and still is. I know she went with Indy and me and a bunch of our friends to a Prince concert that Indy got front row seats to. And I know that Malia almost passed out with glee when The Purple One did a twirl, his sweat flew off and it hit Malia. I also know before Darius’s dad was murdered, he and Malia were tight. And now I know she was knocked up at his dad’s funeral, which was why she dropped out of sight her senior year and I haven’t seen her since.”

“And what was Darius doin’ his senior year?”

I didn’t answer that. This was because, instead of being on the football field as he had been the three years previously, he was under the bleachers, dealing dope for his uncle.

Ren let my silence be my response and went on.

“Well, I know she was a court reporter who studied at night to become a paralegal, which is what she now does. I also know that Liam Clark has already signed a pre-commitment to a college. This has part to do with the way he can run a ball on a football field. But mostly it has to do with the fact that he’s hitting his junior year in high school next year, he’s already taking almost a complete schedule of AP classes and the college he’s committed to is Harvard.”

Whoa.

“No shit?” I breathed.

“Darius Tucker is no fool. He’s also fuckin’ sharp. Malia Clark isn’t one either, and she’s a hard worker. And the kid they made didn’t fall far from the tree.”

This was cutting me deep already.

Knowing all this, it was killing me.

I leaned into Ren and said, “Then he’s gotta know his kid. He’s got to show him where he got some of how awesome he is. He’s got—”

“Do you honestly believe Tucker thinks he gave anything good to that boy?” Ren asked.

I sat back and snapped, “Well, he did.”

“You know that, baby, and so do I. But Tucker doesn’t.”

“Zano—”

“How would you feel, you’re set to go to Harvard, your life laid out beautifully, and your ex-drug dealer dad shows up and fucks with your head?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Probably about the same way Darius, who had much the same scholarship to Yale for exactly the same reasons, his life laid out beautifully, felt when his dad was murdered,” I shot back. “Difference is, his dad was dead and couldn’t show him the way to get rid of his anger in a healthy way. Darius is not dead.”

“Do you think he has the tools to give that to his son?”

“What I think is, neither of them will know if they don’t try.”

“Ally—”

But it was safe to say I’d had enough.

“This is fucked up bullshit,” I hissed.

“Baby—”

I jumped off the desk and stated (loudly), “If he’d let us in, he’d know we’d have his back. His kid doesn’t need to know any of that shit. And we’d be there to prove how great Darius is. Anyone knows the people around you that give their hearts to you shows to the world the person you are. He’s got tons of friends who love him, which means he’s not only making Liam live without his father, he’s making all of us live without Liam. And, Ren, that is not on.”

 Ren stood and put his hands to either side of my neck, dipping his face close to mine.

“You need to tread cautiously with this, and by that I mean leave it alone,” he advised.

“Why? Do you think Darius would whack me?” I snapped sarcastically.

“No. What I think is that you love him and you’ll have difficulty living without him in your life. And more, you’ll have difficulty explaining to Shirleen, your brother and Chavez why Darius got shot of the lot of you because you stuck your nose in.”

Fuck!

He was right.

And I suspected Darius would do that. This was why Lee and Eddie hadn’t already stepped in. Maybe they’d tried and got their hands burned. So they learned.

“Goddamn it,” I bit out.

He knew I was stymied and that was why he pulled slightly away and some of his intensity left him. But, in an effort to make me feel better, he stroked my throat with his thumb which, even frustrated as all get out, kind of worked.

Then he asked, “How’d you learn this shit?”

“An anonymous source, namely Eddie Chavez. And if you share that with anybody, I’m telling Smithie to ban you from entry so you can’t watch me strip again.”

His lips quirked, but his eyes went reflective.

So I asked, “What?”

“Surprised Chavez shared that with you.”

“He’s as stymied as I am. Probably wants to do something about it, can’t, so he’s heard I’m all over Darius’s ass and, obviously, is willing to throw me under the bus.”

“Hmm,” Ren mumbled.

“Hmm, what?” I asked.

“Hmm, if I tell you what that means, you’ll get ideas so I’ll keep the what of my hmm to myself.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Do you honestly think that’s gonna work?”

He studied me. Then he slid his hands from my neck so he could wrap his arms around me loosely.

I returned the favor and waited (but not patiently).

When he didn’t say anything, I said a warning, “Zano.”

He pulled me closer and asked bizarrely, “Have you heard the song Hold on Loosely?”

Had he temporarily lost his sanity?

I was a Rock Chick.

Of course I’d heard it.

“Hello?” I called unnecessarily. “I’m Ally Nightingale.”

He took my meaning therefore stated, “So you know the words.”

I rolled my eyes, rolled them back and said shortly, “Yes. Now can we get back—?”

“I heard that song this morning on the way to work and realized that’s how I gotta deal with you.”

I snapped my mouth shut.

Then I stopped being peeved.

Because he was so right.

And that was sweet.

“So I’m gonna tell you what that hmm means. But first, I’m gonna say that what Tucker’s givin’ you is all he thinks he has to give. I’m sensing that isn’t enough for you. And before you do shit, you need to ask yourself if what he has to give is enough, because what you have to lose with him is everything. You also have to understand that what’s at stake for you is at stake for everybody in your posse. You have to make that decision for everybody. All or nothing, or accept him as he comes. And that’s a huge decision to make, baby.”

“I get you,” I said softly.

He studied me a moment, obviously took in that I processed what he said, then he again spoke.

“My hmm meant that Chavez would not share shit with you if he didn’t trust you to use it wisely. He has faith in you to handle this situation. He’s not throwing you under the bus. You’re his partner in a tag team and he just tagged you in. But he’s expecting you to enter the ring and kick ass. Not let the team down.  Now you gotta decide if you go through those ropes, honey, or throw in the towel.”

“I’m not a towel throwing type of girl, Ren,” I shared honestly, and his arms got tighter.

“I know. Still. Think about it.”

I nodded.

“Good,” he murmured. Then louder, “I got to clear some shit, it’ll take me about half an hour. You good to wait? Then we’ll go out to dinner.”

“I’m good to wait,” I told him.

“That waiting would be in here with me. Not out in reception, givin’ Dawn shit, knowin’ she can’t retaliate.”

Well, there went my plans for the next half hour.

“I wouldn’t do that,” I totally lied.

“You so fuckin’ would.” He knew I was lying.

I rolled my eyes, but it was all for show.

Ren knew this because on the downward roll, he was kissing me.

After kissing me, he got to work.

I inspected his office.

But I did it thinking on how I could get Darius back with his family.

Without the one he already had losing him.

I stood in a dark corner of Smithie’s, surveying the scene.

I’d had a call that evening from Roam, reporting in. And what he’d reported was that he saw a waitress do a handoff to Steiner. Alarmingly, Roam then reported that he’d followed Steiner.

Fortunately, Steiner hadn’t noted the tail. Also fortunately, Roam followed Steiner directly to another meeting, and this wasn’t another girl. It was Steiner dropping off the take to a man Roam described as big, bulky, light brown hair, and “a white dude that’ll fuck you up rather than look at you,” (Roam’s words).

After I told him to punt this information to Darius, not follow Steiner again, definitely not follow the other dude and not to use the f-word, I added surveillance onto my night at Smithie’s.

It was a good move because, in moments, I clocked him.

A man of that description was sitting at a table somewhat back from the stage. Steiner, who worked the room, gave him a wide berth, saying to anyone who knew what they were looking for that he was doing all he could so no one would associate the two.

As I stood there, back to the wall, I watched the man sitting at his table like he owned the joint, not Smithie. The waitress at his section served him, but she was jittery. She wasn’t having a bad night. She served her other tables more comfortably. That meant she knew him or understood his threat.

And Roam’s description was apt. Completely. This guy would fuck someone up rather than look at them.

I kept my eye on him, and Steiner, with plenty of time to do it. I’d already danced my first song so I had time until the next one. And this, essentially surveillance, was one of the few things I could do patiently.

Therefore I also saw him leave his seat once for a private lap dance with JoJo.

She came out of the room where they did the private dances looking freaked.

He came out looking the same as normal, strolling back to his table that the waitress had shooed three customers from and resuming his seat like he was king of all he surveyed.

And he was.

I just didn’t get why.

My cell in my hand vibrated. So its light wouldn’t illuminate my face and bring attention to me, I moved from my spot to the dancers’ hall and down to the end.

I had a text from Darius. It said Outside.

By the way, this was badass for Meet me outside, please.

Coming, I texted back then moved out the backdoor the bouncers used to take the dancers to their cars.

Darius was right there with a brick in his hand. He grabbed my hand, pulled me out, bent and put the brick on the ground by the jamb so the door didn’t close.

“It locks and I don’t want you goin’ back inside through the front,” he murmured as he again grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the door.