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She went pale and I knew for sure she knew exactly why I was here. “What did the messages say?” Her stammered question didn’t fool anyone.
“Pretty sure you already know that, sweetheart.” She wasn’t Stacy, that was for sure, but she had the same unforgettable shade of green eyes, which meant they were likely related.
“You’re Lucas.” She muttered the words like they were an accusation.
I smiled, and it felt decidedly more wolfish than my first attempt. “I am, but everyone calls me Diesel.”
She pursed her lips, before speaking sharply. “Stacy talked about you a lot. You and your biker gang apparently throw the best parties.”
She wasn’t impressed, but I wasn’t deterred. “Motorcycle club,” I corrected her. It was a common mistake, calling us a gang when we weren’t.
“Right.” Her arms remained folded across her chest, a move that drew my eyes down to her impressive cleavage. “So?”
“Stacy,” I repeated my request.
“I guess you’re not a scumbag,” she murmured, and crossed to unlock the door. There was something profoundly sad about her. She stepped back and motioned me inside the small house that made me feel like a giant.
“I’m not a scumbag,” I assured her, undecided whether to be annoyed at her attitude, or understanding due to the undercurrent of uncertainty that was coming off her.
She stepped back and looked up at my face, scrutinizing me so carefully I resisted the urge to squirm and simply stared back. Up close she was even more beautiful. She barely skimmed five feet, but her curves made my hands itch to touch her, to yank her body flush against mine and see if we fit as naturally as I felt we would. I decided to go with ‘understanding’.
“Do you want something to drink?”
“Sure.”
She turned and I followed her swinging hips into the kitchen that was too fucking cramped for me. There was a round table with two chairs, one of them had one of those booster things that kids used. The place was small as fuck, but it was tidy. There were traces of a kid everywhere, from the shoes near the front and back doors, the crayon drawings on the fridge, and a few toys here and there. I grabbed the sexy woman by the arm and turned her to face me, tired of her non-answers. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Fear burned in her green eyes, and she yanked her arm out of my grasp, stepping back to thrust a tall glass of lemonade with strawberries in it into my hand. “Don’t touch me,” she looked scared, and turned to face the window above the double kitchen sink. “My name is Ellie and Stacy is my sister. Or she was,” she mumbled, and looked away.
My shoulders tensed a fraction, whether from her bad mood or the foreboding ‘was’ that she just threw at me. I finished the lemonade in two gulps, before thumping the glass on the kitchen counter with a loud clunk. “Listen, Ellie. I don’t like beating around the bush.”
“It was you, wasn’t it?” She asked, she’d all but backed herself towards the door leading to the backyard, like she wanted to protect something from harm.
“What was me?” I asked. She looked like she was trying to figure out how best to flee—what the fuck had I stumbled into here?
“I haven’t seen Stacy since shortly after Leo was born. My guess is she’s dead because she would never leave her kid and not come back if she could.” She turned back to me, tears swimming in her eyes. “But you know that already, don’t you? I want you to tell me what happened to her, okay?”
What the fuck? “Watch your mouth, little pixie. You’re cute, but you’re toeing a fine line with accusations like that.”
“I won’t tell anyone, I swear. I just want to know. I need to know what happened to her. You’re coming for him now, aren’t you? When I saw the truck, I knew.”
Truck? I had no idea what she was talking about. Him… did she mean my son? I eyed her carefully for several long seconds—at her hunched shoulders, the defeated look on her face, the sudden desperation in her tone, the absolute terror in her attitude. Then I sighed, shaking my head, and let go of my own frustration. This was just a girl mourning the loss of her sister, and I was a strange man who barged into her home unannounced. And to make matters worse she thought I had something to do with her sister’s disappearance.
“Look, until about five seconds ago, I was under the impression that Stacy was just fine,” I said gruffly, turning to lean back against the counter. “The last time I spoke to her, I don’t think even she knew she was pregnant, or if she did, she never let on. I haven’t seen her since, and I never got her messages until today. Less than an hour ago, actually. I came as soon as I saw them.”
She turned away as well, and for a long minute we both stood leaning against the counter in silence, not looking at each other.
“Alright,” she finally said, tilting her tear-filled eyes back my way. “I thought that maybe…” she paused, still looking terrified about something. What had scared this woman so much? She swallowed nervously, “Okay. I believe you.”
I accepted her almost-apology with a wave of my hand, and turned to lean my hip against the counter, facing her fully. “I want to see my son.”
My eyes glanced at a shiny, blue toy truck on the counter, the side had ‘Leo’ painted on it, Cute, I picked it up and had a look.
She grabbed the truck from me roughly and threw it on the floor. “It was you! Why target me when you wanted him?”
“I want to see my son,” I repeated. Targeting her? I had no idea what she was talking about, her sister was a bit flaky too, so I guessed it ran in the family.
“My son,” she hissed in response, also turning to face me squarely, and despite her watery eyes her expression turned fierce. “Leo is here with me. He has been with me since he was six months old, you can’t take him!”
