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I arrive at the club after finding the tattoo studio abandoned and arranging for one of the officers to get the place secure. A unit was dispatched to Luke Robinson’s place not long ago, and Roswell’s taking care of it. I just hope that Luke has got what he deserved for what he did to the kid I just watched get loaded into an ambulance.
There’s no certainty that there won’t be any lasting damage, but the boy’s alive, which is much more than I expected when I found Clarkson trying to resuscitate him.
Turns out the old man had been a paramedic before he retired, and that is what saved the boy’s life.
The clubhouse is deathly quiet when I walk through the doors, and the sound of my voice echoes back at me when I shout out a hello. I was expecting some of the girls who hang out here to be around, but there’s nobody. A small gurgling sound makes me look over to the corner where Squealer’s twin brother is sitting on one of the leather couches. I make my way across the room, and when I get close enough to look over his shoulder, I see Dylan playing on the floor in front of him. Screwy’s huge body looms over him, his eyes staring at him intently.
“Hey,” I smile at him, but he doesn’t look away from the little boy who’s happily jangling a set of keys in his chubby fingers. “Squealer told me to come and relieve you of your duties.” I crouch down and shake the keys, suddenly feeling out of my depth. I’ve never been a maternal person or spent much time around kids, I can’t even remember ever being one myself.
Screwy’s eyes flick to mine, but he doesn’t say anything, and his expression is unreadable.
“I guess we’ll just hang out here and wait.” I position myself on the couch opposite and watch Screwy’s eyes continue to focus on the infant as if he’s guarding the most precious thing in the world.
I guess to Ella and Nyx, he is. And this just proves the big silent brute has a heart under all those muscles.
It’s very strange looking at someone who’s so similar to Squealer and yet so different.
My cell ringing interrupts the awkward silence, and I quickly delve into my pocket to retrieve it.
“Monroe,” Roswell barks down the phone at me.
“How's it going?” I respond, smiling at the tiny infant as he starts to climb up my leg. I guess he is kinda cute if you’re into that sort of thing.
“Luke Robinson’s been taken to hospital for treatment, but we have enough evidence here to arrest him for supplying the Scott boy. I’m staying with him and reading him his rights as soon as he’s capable of hearing ‘em,” Roswell informs me.
“What about Nyx?” I flick my eyes over to Screwy, who narrows his eyes at me curiously.
“We’ll sort Nyx an alibi in case this piece of shit or any of his buddies are brave enough to press charges.”
“His wife’s at the hospital giving birth, Chief. I’ll be an alibi if he needs one. He was with me when I got the call to go to the boy. When I told him what happened, he flipped. We can fix the report to say he came with me to help.”
“You’re fitting in nicely, Deputy,” Roswell teases. “You at the station?”
“It just so happens I’m at the club now.” I shake the keys when Dylan drops them and return the smile he gives me.
“I’m watching Nyx’s kid while he’s with Ella. Everyone else is out of town.”
“You really are settling in. Should I be worried?” the old man chuckles.
“No sir, no cause for concern,” I tell him, and when I look across at Screwy, his eyebrows knit together. I wonder what's going on in his head and if he approves of whatever it is I have going on with his brother.
The doors to the club open, and Abby rushes inside, looking around, surprised to find the place empty. “Okay, what happened?” she asks, staring at the emptiness.
“Ella went into labor, and everyone's left town for a wedding!” I explain, standing up and making my way over to the bar.
“Yeah, I forgot about that. I thought I was gonna be late to start.”
“You look pleased with yourself.” I pull out a stool, deciding Screwy’s doing a good enough job with the kid.
“I am. I just had a meeting at the college about starting a course in January. There’s some funding available, and if I can get myself a part-time job, I think I can afford to go back to school.”
“That's awesome,” I tell her. Moments like this, I know she’d prefer to share with Dan, but I like that I’m here for them.
“I’m gonna speak to Prez, see if I can still stay here, I won’t be able to help out as much with studies and a job, but I doubt I’ll be able to stretch to renting a place on my own.
“Move into my place.” The suggestion rolls straight off my tongue. Abby’s been spending a lot of time at my place; the spare room’s practically become hers anyway.
“You don’t mean that,” she laughs as she lifts up the hatch of the bar and grabs a cloth.
