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The knowledge slams into me, and my knees want to buckle. I stand straight through sheer force of will. Oh, my god. This is exactly why Fist got so upset. Because he’d already lost a child. Yes, I kept something from him when I shouldn’t have, and the magnitude of his anger and his pain is understandable now.
I wonder why he didn’t tell me, but then I brush that thought away. I know why; it makes perfect sense. Why would he want to tell me about another lost child and bring up that pain? Especially with what happened between us.
Misty huffs a sigh and turns to go. She gives Trixie one last look. “You bitch. You’re supposed to be one of us.”
I look at Trixie and take in her long, wavy, dirty blonde hair and faded blue eyes. I assume by the one of us comment, Misty means a clubwhore.
Trixie’s thin lips curve up into a smile. “Yeah. I am a clubwhore, but I didn’t sign up for being a catty bitch.”
Misty grunts and stomps out of the kitchen. I can hear her heels clicking on the floor of the main room. Turning to Trixie, I offer her a smile.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
She shrugs her bony shoulders. “It’s no big deal.”
I know better. It is a big deal. It’s a massive deal, actually. Trixie just went against another clubwhore when they’re on the same level. They’re supposed to have each other’s backs. Trixie just alienated herself from everyone else, and I know it.
So I reach out and lay a hand on her arm. “Thank you,” I say again, “for standing up for me.”
“It’s no biggie. Really. I don’t exactly like the other bitches anyway. What are you doing in here?” she asks, changing the subject.
I glance around. “I made chicken salad and tuna salad for everyone, for quick sandwiches. I thought I’d bake a couple of cherry pies too and then make a big batch of spaghetti for dinner tonight.”
“Can I help?”
I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice. “Do you want to?”
Trixie nods. “I like cooking, and we were all kind of excited about your idea of a regular Sunday club dinner. I’d like to help with that if you decide to do it, and any club cooking in general. If you want my help, that is.”
I nod. “I’d love to have your help in the kitchen, Trixie. Let’s start with those pies.”
I let her pit the cherries while I make up the pie crust. I begin to ask her questions to fill the silence. “Where are you from, Trixie? Did you grow up near here?”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m actually from Salt Lake City.”
That surprises a laugh out of me. “No shit? Me too. Isn’t it wild how small of a world this is? How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“And what do you do? I mean, do you have a job, or do you just hang out here all day? Not that it matters,” I add on quickly as I flute the edges of my pie crusts.
Trixie lets out a short, somewhat horsey laugh. “What is this, Twenty Questions?”
“I’m sorry,” I apologize as I take the bowl of pitted cherries she hands me. “I didn’t mean to be invasive and ask too many personal questions. Will you hand me the sugar?”
She passes me the canister and smiles at me. “I was joking around, Mindi. Your questions don’t bother me a bit. I’m a stripper. Part-time anyway. The rest of the time, I’m just hanging around here.”
I know my eyes are round. “A stripper? Really? What’s that like? How did you get up the courage for that? I mean, you definitely have the body for it, unlike my . . . healthy proportions,”
I say with a chuckle as I begin mixing the pie filling.
“Nothing wrong with your body, girl,” Trixie says easily. “How did I get the courage, you ask? Well, I ran away from home when I was seventeen. It was either strip, sex, or starve. I chose to strip. Then I met Bow and Glacier, and they offered to put me up here if I wanted to be a clubwhore. I decided being a clubwhore would be better than being a regular whore, so I came with them. Now I just take my clothes off part-time to have a little money in my pocket.”
Her matter-of-fact explanation is recited in an even tone, without any rancor or shame. My respect for Trixie doubles. “Why did you run away?”
She shrugs. “My parents are strict Mormons and decided that I should marry a man old enough to be my grandfather. I said hell no when it came to that situation because, I mean,ew. And now, the Reapers Rejects MC protects me from my overbearing parents.
Before I can respond to that, the shrill noise of the landline ringing cuts into our conversation. I wipe my hands on a dishtowel and nod toward the two pies on the counter.
