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Rogers never did anything good with his life. Instead, he made plenty of shitty kids, ruined many lives, and lorded over the state. The club was the only one keeping him from wielding more power.
Did Todd Rogers send a spy into our sanctuary to drum up trouble?
I was ready to ask that exact question when Irina showed up at the party. Waiting out on the front porch, I ignored the other women bumping into me. All I saw was the dark night where the midsized sedan would emerge.
Like clockwork, Irina stepped out and walked up the stairs to the Pigsty’s wide porch. Each step seemed to take everything out of her. I saw on her face how something went wrong.
“Eagle,” she said sadly.
“What’s wrong?”
Irina didn’t explain. Instead, she said the usual mysterious crap. “Life can be like quicksand, dragging me to my doom. Seeing you frees me, even if only temporarily.”
I wanted so badly to demand answers. Yet, under the porch’s light, I reveled in the only woman to make me crazy. Irina was all I thought about anymore. I kept hoping we could make something real. I needed to see her during the day. I wanted to take her for a ride, go out for a meal, and do other couple-like activities.
Like a weak bitch, I kept my mouth shut that night about Todd Rogers. I just took her to my room and fucked away her pouty expression. Irina always smiled so softly when I came inside her as if she helped create something beautiful.
Every time we fucked was like the first time, exciting and addictive. Her kisses broke down my grumpy exterior. When she smiled, I was the hero of the story rather than the guy who ruined the party.
I decided my silence was the cost of having Irina visit me every week. Not knowing the real Irina was the price I chose to pay.
Yet, I felt myself struggling against the urge to dominate this situation. What would happen if I dropped a little something in her drink and she was too tired to leave? I could keep her with me all night. She’d need to face whatever she was avoiding. I’d be there to fix her problems.By doing something fucked up, I could be her savior.
I knew she wasn’t Todd Rogers’s girlfriend or even his mistress. The old-as-fuck shithead liked blondes, preferably barely legal ones. Irina wasn’t his type.
Was she a maid at his estate? If so, why the cloak-and-dagger routine? Would he really give his servants a curfew?
No, I was pretty certain she was still married or in a relationship. I even wondered if she was hooked up with one of Todd Rogers’s gross sons. I knew Marky had a thing for my VP’s woman. The other two were always hassling women. Were they why she sometimes seemed so scared?
I didn’t ask Irina those questions or force her to remain with me. Mostly because the cost of knowing the truth might be losing her.
When I was little, my mom’s life revolved around me. Her friends had abandoned her when she got knocked up. Her family didn’t let her join them for events. She was exiled out to the backyard shack. Her loss was my gain because she would focus all her sunny, fun energy on me.
As I got older and our financial situation improved, I lost my mom to Asshole Lloyd and my sisters. I became the mistake kept in the basement. The asshole hated when my mom paid too much attention to me, as if she were betraying her “real” kids.
Some nights, when I’d hear them upstairs, I’d wonder if I jinxed myself by wishing for more toys as a little kid. Had I wished for something with a cost I didn’t want to pay?
With Irina, I wasn’t ready to give up our two hours every Friday. Her truth might be a dealbreaker. She might not be the woman I imagined. I might prove to be a man she no longer wanted.Why ruin our perfect fantasy for a truth that might feel pointless once known?
Hobo finally filled me in on Irina’s situation during a club meeting. Ruin had heard rumors about the old man ordering renovations to help him in his final days.
Those reports were wrong. One of the old man’s kids needed the renovations. Irina worked for Fiona Rogers. That didn’t explain why she wouldn’t stay overnight. Hell, she refused to even tell me where she worked or lived. Why keep those details secrets?
Hobo claimed Jimbo Rogers had a “crush” on Irina. Was that why she needed to sneak away? Was he the one who picked her up at the movies and the mall? Did he think they were dating?Was she protecting me or herself?
Every Friday, I considered asking those questions. First, I’d decide to wait until after we fucked. Then, I’d get charmed by the way Irina would watch me.
“Do you like movies?” I asked the Friday before Marky Rogers’s death.
Irina tugged her shirt down over her head and smiled at me. I watched her check her hair in my mirror, worrying our wild fuck left her messy. As she smoothed out her thick bangs, Irina grinned at me over her shoulder.
“Have you seen that movie called ‘The Heat’ with Melissa McCarthy?”
“Sure.”
“I like movies like that. Funny ones with action. I also like tearjerkers but only sometimes.”
I sat in bed, naked as the day I was born and irritated over having to put on my pants. Once again, I imagined forcing Irina to stay. Why couldn’t I just keep her with me, so we could share breakfast?I wasn’t asking for a lot.
