Not Even A Mouse Read online

  Four bedrooms, three baths, living and den spaces, and a huge backyard. In Talya’s school district. Yeah, Dianita came through again. He walked up the hallway towards the master suite, pausing in the doorway. This is stupid. Andy had texted him earlier asking about dinner. He was off tonight and would be cooking. Domestic. He looked around the room again. I’ll put light-colored wood in here, with some bright accents. “Dianita, I want painters before I have furniture delivered. I’ll get you some swatches of what I want.”

  “What?” He heard her coming towards him but didn’t turn around, fascinated with his detailed vision of Andy in this room. “Is this for you, Myron?” Without looking at her, he nodded. She huffed a laugh, then asked, “You’re moving to Fort Wayne?”

  “Looks like it.” I need to talk to Mason. “Make an offer, twenty-five below asking, since I’ll be paying cash.” Make sure he’ll be cool with it. That wasn’t really a concern because Myron had watched how the club had bent around member’s needs before. At her intake of breath at his demand, he shook his head trying to stop her argument. “They won’t accept it, I know. But it’s a good place to start.” The house was already priced reasonably because the previous owners were liquidating as part of a divorce. He wouldn’t rake them over the coals, but he would drive a bargain. “I want to close in a week.” The inspection and title search had already been done, and without the need to organize a loan, he could move fast. “I want to be moved in by the week before Christmas, Dianita. Make it happen.”

  “Holy shit.” She snorted, and he turned to look at her, grinning at the twist of her mouth. He knew her, had worked with her on so many deals, he knew what that meant. “You know how I do love a challenge.”

  “That I do.” He pushed past her to the hallway and turned, walking past the guest room and through the living space into the other wing. There were two bedrooms on this end of the house, connected by a large Jack-and-Jill bathroom. He opened the door to the larger of the two bedrooms. “I might need some help with this one.” Dianita had followed him, and he heard a questioning noise. “Other than pink and purple, what do six-year-old girls like?”

  “Oh, honey.” Her voice was soft. “I can help with that.”

  An hour later, he was in the office at the clubhouse, computer on the desk in front of him. Bank website open on the screen, he was moving money between his personal accounts. Years of shrewd investments meant he would not only be able to purchase the house cash, but also could afford to furnish it as he wanted. He studied the balances and grinned. With plenty left over.

  His phone buzzed against his leg, and he pulled it out, seeing Bones contact information on the screen. He used his thumbprint to accept the call through the secure app the club used, and the video image of Bones popped onto the screen. “Hey, Bones. What’s up?”

  “Ester wanted to ask you when you will return to Chicago.”

  Myron smiled. “She’s still not using the phone, huh?”

  “She is not. That remains an insurmountable obstacle for her.” Bones stared at him, the tattoos on the man’s face not even worth Myron’s attention these days. The man was a friend and brother, and like the club, had been part of his life since Mason plucked Myron out of the shelter. That he’d met and wooed Myron’s sister, also homeless, and lost to him for so long, that was just fate pulling tricks by crossing the life threads of people who meant something to him. “That was not an answer, Myron.”

  “No, it wasn’t. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” He really should talk to Mason first, but Bones and Ester deserved to know, too. She’s my sister, dammit. Decision made, he committed himself to the move in a public way, hoping it wouldn’t blow up in his face. “I’m moving to Fort Wayne. I bought a house here this morning.”

  Bones looked startled, eyes widening. Ester’s voice came from a distance away, and the video shifted, swinging drunkenly around as Bones turned the phone to face Myron’s sister. “My Ronnie. No. Settling your new past findings in my head aren’t done yet. Memory making needs to happen more, please.” She looked stricken, her face paling as she stared at the phone.

  “I’m not far, honey. Promise. I’ll be back more often than you want.”

  “Distruth. I want you for the always that we never had.” Ester’s brain was wired differently, one of the things Bones seemed to love about her. Myron knew it was just his own quirks echoed in magnified ways in his sister. “You’re the everything I’ll have for family, like Bones is the everything I’ll need for living.” The expression on her face was pain, raw and real. “Always is most with more love.”

  “We have always, my sissy. Promise you.” He held her gaze through the screen. “You’re the busy one these days, with your volunteering at the shelter. Gunny told me you’re doing great work with the rescued dogs. I understand you’re gonna be busy for weeks, maybe longer. All those pups need love.” By mentioning the dogs, he carefully skirted her mention of the knowledge that had sent her into a depression so deep it had taken rehabbing abused dogs to pull her out of it.

  She wanted children with a fierce need, but events of her childhood made that impossible. A dream she could never realize. When they found out, she’d been so devastated by the knowledge, Bones had reached out to the members of the club in fear, desperate to find something to pull her out of her own head.

  Gunny had come through for her, using his connections to find a mission in which she could immerse herself. The Cook County sheriff department had raided a dogfighting compound and seized nearly four dozen dogs. A number of the animals had to be put down, but the remainder were being trained to enter a brand-new life as a pet. Ester had made a huge impression with how well she’d connected with the dogs. So much so, the shelter had wanted to recognize her at a dinner last month. Needless to say, that was a non-starter, but Gunny had been pleased to accept on her behalf.

  “I want you here.” Her bottom lip pouted down, and he thought she looked as adorable as Talya had when he put her to bed last night. “Please. My Ronnie.”

  “My new house has a guest room. The door locks from inside.” Her head tipped to the side. “I’ve got a big backyard, too. Even though it’s winter, I saw lots of birds around.” Her head tipped to the other side. Myron gave her a final incentive. “I’m closer to where Willa is with Gar and Dolly.” He knew he had her then, because she loved Mason’s wife and children, loved all the Rebel kids, really. Kids were easier for her to deal with because they were mostly honest about how they felt, something Ester could get behind. She found the adult world exhausting. “You can come visit any time Bones will bring you down.”

  “Will you take me?” She stared past the phone now, and he knew she’d focused on Bones. “Yay.” Gaze back to Myron, she frowned. “I’m not happiest, but even a little of the happy is better than sad.”

  “Yeah, sissy. Happy is better than sad.” He blew her a kiss, and she grabbed at air, clutching her clenched fist tight to her chest. “Love you, Ester. I’ll see you.” She smiled, and the video shifted again, Bones’ face filling the screen. “Thanks, Bones.”

  “As always, you are entertaining, if nothing else.” Bones nodded. “Be safe, brother.”

  “Shiny side,” Myron agreed. The video call ended, and he laid the phone down with a sigh.

  “Moving to the Fort, huh?” Mason’s voice came from the doorway, and Myron looked up with a grin. “Plannin’ on tellin’ me at some point?”

  “Hey, Mason, I’m moving to Fort Wayne in the next couple of weeks, but I can continue to work on whatever you need me to out of Chicago.”

  There was a moment of silence, then a heavy sigh. “Most members petition to change chapters.” Mason settled on the couch along the wall. “Most members would rather move towards Mother, than away.” Chicago was where the club had been founded, and all members of the main central chapter sported rockers proudly proclaiming their assignment. “I’d be okay if you wanted to keep that rocker, brother. What’s got you moving down here?”

 
; This was it, the chance he’d hoped for. Mason hadn’t been at the hospital, but Myron knew he had to have heard the stories. Time to come clean.

  “You know how you’re always telling me to find what makes me happy and hold tight to that?” Mason nodded. “I found it here.”

  “Your bartender?” It was Myron’s turn to nod. Mason’s tone was even when he said, “I figured as much. You gonna be okay with the shit that comes with this? There’s a fuckton of shit gonna rain on you from some of the brothers.”

  “If you think I’m a distraction because of what…because of who I’m with, I’ll figure something out. I won’t put the club at risk, you know me better than that.”

  Mason shook his head, leaning forwards to put his elbows on his knees. Hands dangling between his legs, he frowned, brows pulling together above suddenly serious eyes. “Not where I was takin’ that at all. You’re valued, and I appreciate every single fuckin’ thing you’ve done for the club. But, brother, you’ve let a lot of the men believe you chased tail. Professional, exclusive, high-class, celebrity…I’ve heard all kinds of speculation through the years. Each stretch of the story taking it farther. There’s going to be a bunch of our men who aren’t any more surprised than I am. But the ones who didn’t figure it out are going to be crowing over you finally settling down. That’s the shit I mean, Myron. Don’t matter the gender, not in my club.”

  “Not true, and you know it.” This was why he’d been so quiet and discrete through the years, scarcely ever believing the risks of being found out were worth hurried, unsatisfying encounters. “And the clubs we deal with, they’ll be worse. Situations like today, the day will come when you may not want me at your table anymore.”

  A support club in Fort Wayne had gotten caught up in a mess, the leadership’s ambition overstretching their abilities by a far mark. Slate had caught word that they were planning on double-crossing the Rebels, and based on the legal activities happening right now at their tiny clubhouse on the west side of town, that word was correct. Myron had been monitoring the state of affairs all day, trying to determine when, or even if, the Rebels might need to step in and do damage control. So far, so good, but it was still an active situation. Eventually the Rebels would have to make an example about the bad decisions the club had made. For today, however, things were controlled.

  “Fuck that noise.” Mason’s tone was so firm Myron blinked. “You? Brother, you can fuck who you want. Long as it doesn’t get in the way of anything else you wanna do, who gives a flyin’ fuck? Jesus, My, don’t you get it? The club isn’t anything without the men who live and breathe it. Men who live free, support their brothers and families, men the club can get behind if we’re needed, because there’s a mutual trust. Trust, brother. You’re one of those trusted few. Don’t let shit get twisted up in your goddamned head.”

  “Hard not to when I know I’m right.” Myron pushed back from the desk. “Not having me sit in on meetings, that’s me just putting it out there as an option in case it’s needed. Just admit you need to think on it.”

  “Wanna ask you something.” Mason paused until Myron nodded. “When’s the last time you heard us raggin’ on gays?” Mason’s hands were clasped in front of his face, one finger against his lips, the position a sure indication of how serious he was. “Sure, a decade ago. But that was before I figured some shit out. Before a lot of us figured shit out. Tequila’s old lady, you know her, right?” Myron nodded. “Fifteen years ago, you ever think a brother would be latching onto a woman of color, no matter how class she was?” Without giving Myron a chance to respond, he kept going. “Course not, but fuckin’ times have changed, brother. How many support clubs we got that are mixed? Fuck, Myron, we’re mixed. We got white, black, brown of every shade…fuck, as far as I know, we don’t got no yellow, but that’s not because we’d give a shit.” Mason pushed to his feet. “Why in the fuck would you think I’d give a shit you were gay?” He took the two steps to the door and turned to glare back at Myron. “Now you give that a fuckin’ think, you hear me?”

  “I hear you, boss.” Mason’s words had shaken him, because if he were right—and face it, Mason was nearly always right—then Myron might always have been the only thing holding himself back. Maybe it took meeting the right guy. On cue, his phone buzzed, and he looked down to see a regular call. Andy.

  “Hi.” He could hear the smile in his voice, and that just made him grin harder. The voice that came through the phone didn’t echo his pleasure, and the words wiped the smile off his face.

  “Myron, we need to talk.”

  What did you do

  Andy

  He sat and stared fixedly at the kitchen door, knee popping up and down as his bare heel beat a tattoo against the floor. Mother Danfort had picked up Talya, asking no questions about his panicked call for help. He just knew he needed to get Talya out of the house for this. How did I not know? It was lightly snowing outside so he was surprised to hear a bike approaching. That was followed a minute later by a knock at the front door. What the hell? Myron had a key; Andy didn’t know why he would knock.

  Maybe it’s not Myron. Sudden fear drove him to his feet, and he hurried to the door, yanked it open without looking through the peephole to see…Myron. Pent-up breath released in relief, he leaned forwards for the expected welcoming kiss only to find nothing but cold air as Myron swayed backwards, just out of reach.

  “Hey,” he said softly, studying Myron for an indication of what was going on. “What’s wrong?”

  “You tell me.” Curt, the words seemed torn from his throat, and Andy flinched at the jagged tone. “You’re the one who wanted to talk.”

  Not smiling, because nothing made sense, Andy reached out and gripped Myron’s arm, tugging him inside. “Yeah, we need to talk.”

  Myron’s shoulders inched up, and he tipped his head back, blowing out a stream of air towards the ceiling. “Just tell me what’s wrong. We’ll sort it out.” Andy couldn’t help himself, reaching out to touch his chest, and Myron bent his neck, looking down at him. In his boots, with Andy in bare feet, he was a couple of inches taller. “You don’t wanna know what I’m thinking.” As if daring him to ask, Myron stared at him, brows arching towards his hairline.

  “Come sit down.” Myron glanced at the kitchen, then down the hallway towards Talya’s room. “She’s with her grandmother.” Now Myron’s gaze cut towards the table, laptop sitting beside crumpled pages from the newspaper. He eyed the mess for a moment, then looked back at Andy who’d tugged on his hand. “I need you to explain.”

  Myron widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. He hadn’t taken off his jacket yet, and the leather creaked ominously. “So tell me what this is I need to explain.”

  “You want to come sit down?” Andy stepped back and let his hand drop. This wasn’t going how he’d expected, not at all. How he’d feared, sure. Hoped, not at all. “Please?”

  “What I want is to hear whatever it is you have to say.” His jaw set, and Andy watched as Myron’s lips pressed into a thin line. “So I can know where things are.”

  “I wanted to understand about your…we haven’t really had a chance to talk about the club. The Rebels. There’s an article in the paper and…I wanted…it just felt like I need to know some things.” Like where you stand with the things the club’s accused of. “I’ve heard things.” He had, too. This morning, from the next door neighbor. “Do you know what kind of trash you’re letting in Roger’s house?” That had been the lead-in to an uncomfortable conversation. The man waving his paper at Andy’s face, talking fast, so that the only things that penetrated were “searched” and “outlaw gang.” That had driven him to make a trip to the store, buying his own paper. Doing a search online and coming up with a whole lot of information he hadn’t expected.

  Realizing Myron didn’t plan to budge from his current position, Andy straightened his shoulders, deciding to push through from this weird place—where things were—and get to what he hoped would be the better
plans for the evening. “Talya’s my daughter.”

  “What? Of course, she is. You’re her papa.” Myron’s mouth snapped shut, and Andy guessed he hadn’t intended the outburst.

  “Well, yeah. I am. And that means she’s my responsibility.” He glanced at the couch. “Are you sure you don’t want to…” His words trailed off when Myron’s expression didn’t change, and tried to pick up the thread of the story he wanted to tell. “Roger was friends with the neighbors. One of them came over and shared”—understatement—“his concerns this morning. Your friends didn’t make the front page, but the story wasn’t buried.” Myron paled, and a muscle jumped in his jaw, the contours of his neck flexing as he swallowed. “He said this wasn’t the first time the club’s run into trouble in town.” The look on Myron’s face didn’t tell him anything, nothing of guilt or innocence, at least. The anger reflected there, though? That was blazingly clear. What if it’s all wrong? Embarrassment swallowed him whole. Staring at the floor, he said, “Talya’s my…I have to know she’s safe. Some of the things they reported in the paper and online—” Andy grimaced, letting the horror of those memories wash through him. “Those don’t always paint your friends in the best possible light. How much of what they say is true?”

  “Which neighbor? Who talked to you? Jesus, Andy, do I have to defend myself against anyone who comes along with an opinion, or have you already made up your mind?”

  The verbal attack jolted Andy out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see a sneer on Myron’s face, his mouth twisted as if he were in pain. “What? No, it wasn’t like…he’s not like that. He’s just looking out for Talya.”

  “Yeah, and I never pegged you for someone who’d throw everything you know out the door. You know me, Andy. You know me better than this.”