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I frown, eyeing Opal. What’s this old duffer talking about? And why is she speaking to bums late at night? Doesn’t she realize how dangerous this is? The woman lacks complete self-preservation. Then again, she got on the back of my hog, knowing me all of thirty minutes. My hypocrisy is not lost on me.
Displeased, I shake my head. Opal is either naïve, or has a death wish. I dig her big heart, but she’s a safety nightmare. I might be MC, but I work for Atlas’s security company. Keeping people safe is half my job. The other half is mercenary work, which typically involves rescuing operations. As soon as I get Opal back to headquarters, we’ll have a long conversation about taking precautionary actions.
My eyes scan over the homeless man keeping watch over the building and the street. Opal said there was someone besides Benny she was running from. Frank seems to be her lookout. Perhaps Opal is more like me and able to judge a person’s character quickly. I learned how to read people through the military. How did Opal learn this technique?
If she lived on the streets, she would have developed survival instincts, right? Maybe I’m being too judgmental. I guess she’s doing what she can to make it through and I shouldn’t look down on that. I need to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she knows how to take care of herself. The only difference now is she doesn’t have to do it alone.
Opal nods at Frank. “Thank you for looking out for me. I’ll bring you some food as soon as I’m done inside.”
“Well, thank you. Much appreciated,” he says as we enter the rundown apartment complex.
I stay close behind her with my hand at the small of her back. She unlocks the door to her place, heaving her weight into the cheap wood to push it open. I step into her efficiency apartment, gawking at the lack of…well, everything. There’s not one piece of furniture in the studio quarters. Did she just move in?
The more I look around, the more I understand how dire her situation is. Correction: was. She’s got the club now to help her out, as well as me.
Though the apartment is clean, that’s where the positives end. There’s a mat with some bedding in one corner of the small space and a folding chair near the outdated kitchen. She opens her practically bare closet and retrieves a bag, filling it with fast precision like she’s done this before.
“I won’t be long,” she calls over her shoulder in a sweet voice.
No, kidding.She’s nearly emptied her closet by the time she gave me that one sentence.
She grabs what looks like a keepsake box from the top shelf, shoving it in her bag before heading into the micro-size bathroom. While she packs her toiletries, I snoop the rest of the apartment.
The fridge hardly has enough to make a single meal. I flick open a cabinet, finding nothing. It’s the same for all the rest. There is only what she needs: one plate, bowl, glass, mug, and silverware set on the counter by the old sink.
There’s minimalist, and there’s Opal’s situation here. This engaging woman is doing what she can to survive, but she’s one accident away from being screwed financially. No wonder she was dancing in that sleazy strip club—she had no other choice.
My urge to protect her strengthens. What happened in her life to place her in this position?
Opal reemerges from the bathroom. She dumps her purse out on the floor. Piles of money flutter to the floor. I help her scoop up the confiscated club money into her duffel bag.
“Thank you,” she says in a breathy voice.
“Of course, Gorgeous.”
Opal heads to the tiny kitchen, removing the few contents of her fridge, and goes about making a sandwich. I’m about to ask what she’s doing when I recall she said she would bring food for Frank. The woman has a heart of gold.
When Opal’s done making the sandwich, she takes one more look around the space, nodding to herself before looking at me. “Okay, I’m ready.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Need to contact your landlord?”
She shakes her head. “I pay weekly. There was never a lease.”
No surprise, but it doesn’t matter. My only concern is getting her out of this place—stat.
I escort her out of the hellhole toward my bike. Opal hands the sandwich to Frank with a teary goodbye—God, this woman is sweet—as I tie up her bag to my hog.
“Take care, Frank,” she sniffles. “Please try to get into that shelter before the weather changes. Oh, and Saint Augustine’s is starting a food pantry next week—make sure you get in line right away before the food runs out.”
The homeless man gives her a sad smile. “You don’t worry anymore, ya hear? I’ll be fine. You be safe out there. If I see the man, I’ll tell him you made your way...” He pauses for Opal to fill in the blank.
“North,” she offers. “To Logan.”
Again with, “the man.” Opal has some ghosts in her closet she’s running from. She’s going to have to fill me in. If someone is after her, I need to know who and why.
My phone pings with a text. It’s Atlas.*Got you lovebirds in the honeymoon suite. Your key is at the front desk. Consider it an engagement gift. *
Arrogant ass thinks he’s got me all figured out. Bet any money he’s laughing.*Fuck you, bro.*
