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“We’re always stronger than we think we are. Just remember it’s okay to do whatever is necessary to save yourself. The law sees that as self-defense.”
“I’ll remember,” I respond, hoping it doesn’t come to that.
I pick up my suitcases and head out to the living room. By this time, the movers are ready to begin moving out my bedroom furniture and the boxes I just packed.
I’m leaving Stan without a scrap of furniture, except the mattress and box springs. God knows I don’t want to take the bed we shared with me. He can do what he wants with it. The officers and I march out the door exactly on time. My two suitcases might be heavy, but my heart is getting lighter by the minute. I somehow manage to avoid speaking to, or even looking at my infuriating ex. I don’t owe him my time or attention anymore.
Being strong enough to recognize the abusive relationship I found myself in, and get out safely, although my abuser was a man of wealth and power, is a source of pride for me. I’m one of the lucky few who got out early and before I was foolish enough to end up pregnant or snared into an unhappy marriage. I thank God for that small piece of mercy.
When I part ways with the officer on the street, Officer Andrews throws up her hand in a casual farewell and gets into the passenger side of her cruiser. I wave back unsure if she sees me. After loading my suitcases into the trunk, I climb behind the wheel. The movers should be finished moving the last bit of my stuff shortly but will take their own sweet time bringing them to Las Salinas. I have a storage unit rented and they have prior approval to deposit my things there. Once I get an apartment, I can move my stuff in, but in the meantime, I’ll be staying with my brother, his wife, and their kids. I relax as I pull out of town, knowing I’ve covered all my bases.
That means, I’m footloose and fancy free to make the long road trip at my own pace. Sometimes I know why my brother likes to ride his bike on the interstate. There is something freeing about driving along in the sunshine with the music blaring. It feels good to leave all the fear and anxiety behind. I’m looking forward to seeing my mom, brother and his wife. I even feel a glimmer of my quirky, spontaneous personality rising to the surface. As I leave San Francisco behind, and get closer to Las Salinas, I’m feeling more like my normal self than I have in months.
Chapter 3
Smoke
I walk into my law office feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. The Hellfire Hounds are still nipping at our heels. Their club president is furious with us because Siege caught his grandson trying to rob our bar in town and leveraged him into working off the damages, rather than being arrested. I know Siege probably got a kick out of the situation, but it’s clear that King is humiliated by his grandson working for the Savage Legion.
The second I walk through the door, Marge harangues me, “You’re late, Mr. Drake. And late is no way to start the day.”
I glance up and count to ten before responding. “I’m in no mood for a reprimand today, Marge.” Seriously, sometimes I think Marge forgets who works for whom. You’d think from her brazen rebuke that I work for her, rather than the other way around.
“I’m your office administrator,” she states sternly. “It’s my job to keep you on schedule. I can’t do that if you don’t show up to work on time.”
Glancing down at my watch, my annoyance builds. “I don’t think being twelve minutes late is going to put a gigantic dent in our day.”
“Lucky for you, your first appointment isn’t booked until ten this morning.”
“Thank God. Please tell me we have some coffee around here.”
“Of course, we do.” She smooths back her hair with one hand and adds, “I make a fresh pot every morning. You know that Mr. Drake.”
I try not to roll my eyes, because she’s not wrong about that. She has the office running like clockwork.
Marge comes off as the motherly version of a drill sergeant. She’s also a perfectionist. I can tell by the way she presents herself. Her all-seeing green eyes are a close match for mine. And those eyes don’t miss a thing. I can’t imagine what kind of skin care regimen she’s devised but it’s given her the wrinkle free complexion of a much younger woman. It makes it hard to nail her age. Her hair is a darker brown than mine, but the grey roots are noticeable if you’re up close, it’s the singular thing that betrays her as being older than she looks. I guess she must be in her late fifties or early sixties. I realize that after working with the woman for coming up to five years, I don’t know anything about her personal life. I don’t even know if she’s got a husband or kids, she’s never mentioned them, but she’s the type who keeps work and private life separate. Truth be told, as irritating as she sometimes is, I’m lucky to have her.
Still, sometimes I look at her delicate facial features and wonder what the mother I never knew looked like. Of course, I think that about lots of brunettes of a certain age with clear green eyes. My father used to tell me that looking for my dead mother in every woman with green eyes was morbid. Rigs called it complicated grieving from never knowing the woman who gave birth to me, she died when I was a baby, so I was too young to have any memories of her. I shake myself from my thoughts and respond to my office administrator.
“Of course, you make coffee every morning,” I acknowledge dryly. “You even use those fancy imported fresh roasted coffee beans. I don’t know how I forgot about that.” We both know I didn’t forget. Saying I hope there’s coffee, is just one of those things I say to communicate how desperate I am for caffeine in the mornings. It’s kind of sad that my strongest relationship with a woman is the one I have with my older office administrator. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
I walk into my office and put my briefcase on the desk, before coming back out to the coffee bar we’ve set up in our waiting area and pouring myself a cup. I add eight packs of sugar, not because I have an especially sweet tooth, but because I really need that morning caffeine and sugar rush.
The first sip is heavenly. I head back to my office and start getting organized for the day. I’m halfway through reading my emails, when there’s a commotion in the front office. I can hear Marge’s angry voice.
“No, no, no, no. Not you again. If you don’t have an appointment, you’re not getting seen today.”
Siege responds gruffly, “I’m getting tired of you barking at me like an angry chihuahua every time I walk through the door. We’ve been through this so many times. You know the rules that apply to regular folk, don’t apply to Savage Legion club members.”
“Well, they should,” Marge flings back indignantly. “You’re a nuisance, the lot of you.”
I step out of my office to try to calm down my one and only employee. I see Marge standing between Siege and my office with her arms crossed over her chest.
“What’s going on out here Marge? I thought you liked Siege.”
Marge does an about face and walks back behind her desk. “I do like Mr. Sommers. He’s a nice man with a nice family. I would just like him to call ahead to get an appointment. I don’t understand what’s so hard about that.”
Siege looks over at her, clearly bewildered. “You’re always upset about impromptu visits. What I want to know is why that’s so important to you.”
