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CHAPTER ONE
*Lace*
Floating high on adrenaline while simultaneously drowning from heartache, I sit Reece in the front passenger seat of my wagon and reconstruct my home on wheels, guided only by the interior dome light and what small amount of moonlight is peeping through the clouds behind me.
For a while, she is perfectly happy, shoving my keys into her mouth and creating rivulets of drool down her onesie. However, as babies tend to do, Reece goes from content to incredibly unsettled in an instant. My singsonged litanies of reassurance no longer suffice to keep her calm. Her coos turn to cries, and she attempts to climb on everything, seeking a misunderstood escape.
With every passing second, those cries get louder. Each piercing wail makes my heartbeat ratchet and vision blur until the noise, the situation — everything — peaks. In the back parking lot of a strip club with an inconsolable baby, I go from problem solving to screaming and crying right along with her, hands clutching my hair, body curled into a ball on my makeshift bed.
Both of us are the worse for wear. Reece is clueless and, regardless of my age and street smarts, I am too.
All I can think to do is pull her out from the front and give her a tour of my home for the first time. But she is scared. Just as much — if not more — than I am. Despite my efforts, Reece continues to cry, her arms reaching and hands grabbing for anything at all that might give her even a tease of security.
The mixed scent of chemical diaper and acidic urine fills my nose, and my watery gaze darts to her bottom. Wetness lines her onesie around her waist and thighs. Having left in such a rush, I failed to even consider collecting any of her things. I palm my head and squeeze my eyes shut tight.
Reece, cries now turning hiccupy, crawls to the far back of the wagon, uses the plastic paneling under the rear window to pull herself up, then starts slapping at the attached shades that block the outside world from seeing inside.
Fumbling through my stuff for any sort of lifeline, I quickly realize my cell phone has gone missing too. Scenes from the past couple of hours flick through my thoughts. I remember checking the time while hiding outside of my parents’ house.
While Vee and Brodi plotted to kill your father, the devil on my shoulder reminds.
The only possibility that comes to mind is that my phone must have fallen out of my bra and cocktail dress during the scuffle with Coty.
Bitter disappointment coats my tongue. I often pride myself on not being naive. But, oh boy, was I ever. I let myself believe that the men who make up Hell for Leather were different. Special. Worth loving and supporting. I should have known better. Rotten produce only ever gets worse.
I slam my palm against the window and growl-screech before running that same palm down my face and taking a deep breath. First things first, Reece needs to stop crying. The noise in the wagon mixed with the static in my head makes coping nearly impossible.
Scanning the interior of my vehicle, my focus lands on a bundle of string lights stored in the mesh netting behind my passenger seat. Pretty lights make just about everyone in the Universe happy, and it has been a while since I strung them up. I crawl forward, knees depressing the full-sized mattress, and pull out the bundle. A small black device tangled in the twisted wiring — the prepaid phone Coty gave me a while back in case of emergencies — snags on the mesh as I yank the lights free. I remember deciding way back then to stash it at the bottom of this pocket due to its accessibility near my head while sleeping. Never touched it since.
As quickly as possible, I plug the lights into the portable power station between my driver and passenger seats and set them to twinkle. The little bulbs shine to life, flashing rhythmically. Reece immediately hushes, sniffles, and hiccups, eyes drawn to the brightness.
“You like that, hm?” I chuckle lightly.
Reece plops to her butt, races toward the distraction on hands and knees, grabs a handful, and immediately brings them to her mouth. This time, I stop her. “Nuh uh.” Eyebrow raised, I wag my finger. She obeys, pulling the lights away from her bubbly mouth and shaking them with an excited squeal instead. Putting my keys in her mouth earlier was nasty enough. Reece needs to get hurt chomping on a bulb about as much as I need to forgive the men of Hell for Leather.
I reach out and pinch one of the lights, testing the heat before finally releasing a pent-up breath and relishing my win.
My mind circles around to all my available options. Manifest and you shall receive. I return my attention back to the prepaid phone and press the power button. Having gone unused, over time the juice must have drained completely; it stays off.
My power station has saved my ass many times over the years. Now is no different. I pull out the universal charger set stored in the glove compartment with several of my other tools and plug in the old device. While waiting to get enough charge, Reece and I string the lights around the upper interior of my trunk and backseat sections. Having the faux stars lining our sleeping area provides a calm ambience amid the chaos.
Reece lies backward, little body forming a depression in the mattress, and her eyes rivet on the sparkly distraction. I reach over, pull the phone cord as far as it will reach, lie beside her, and try to power it on again.
This time it does work; the cheap flip phone screen flashes to life, and after about a minute, it cycles on completely. A string of incessant chimes goes off. Reece darts her hand out, instantly intrigued by the new toy. I reach above us and flick our fancy lights to make them sway. Her focus returns to the mesmerizing twinkling. My focus returns to the phone to determine the cause of so many notification dings.
Text messages. Dozens of them. Each one with a timestamp — once a month for the past three years.
The sender is nameless because when Coty gave me the phone, he instructed me not to store any contact information. No big deal. I never bothered to even turn it on. Until now.
:Unknown: I will tell the secret to you
Scrolling further back in time, I skip several and read another.
:Unknown: I don’t enjoy it here
And another.
:Unknown: Shall I tell you the secret
