“Morris is so good,” I say before I can stop myself.

  At the slight innuendo in my voice, Morris flicks a smoldering gaze at me. The man makes me hot just by looking at me.

  “Well, now that my train of thought has completely derailed…” Morris looks at me. “What was I saying, princess? Oh yeah… Monty Mouse has this little voice, and that’s what I heard from you just now. All those giggles?” He shakes his head and holds up a finger for her to watch and wait. “Those were just tiny noises. This—now, this is loud.” Morris throws himself back on the couch and kicks his feet in the air. “Mommy, stop! Stop tickling me!” he booms. He’s imitating Zoey as I tickled her, and the sight of this man, kicking and writhing and shouting, nearly undoes me.

  Zoey is beside herself in a fit of raucous laughter. It’s the most pristine and purest sound ever. Her little face is beet red, alight with freedom and silliness the likes of which I rarely get to see. The peals of her kid laughs are so sweet, so genuine. That’s the girl I want Zoey to be every day. Loud and laughing and happy and free.

  Morris keeps up the silliness, and I finally join in the laughter until tears stream down my cheeks.

  “Now,” Morris says, leaping up from the couch in an incredibly lithe movement. “That’s the last I want to hear about overly good manners, apologies, and noise.” He lowers his face to meet Zoey’s. “I’m a casual guy, Princess Zoey,” he explains. “You listen to your mama, you do as she says. But while you’re here in my place, you can make noise, you can laugh… I don’t care if you dance a kick line across the floor. Got it? Make yourself at home and relax.”

  Zoey looks at me, a small, subdued smile still on her face. I nod to reassure her it’s okay. “Are we staying here, Mama? Are we staying with Morris?”

  I look to Morris, who nods. “You sure are, little lady. We’ll figure out the logistics.”

  He stands up and motions toward me.

  I get up and join him in the kitchen.

  “I’m going to make a quick run back to the compound,” he says. “I’m going to swap out my bike for my truck so we can drive around with the booster seat.”

  I nod. “Do you want me to order anything for later? Is there someplace we can walk and pick up groceries?”

  Morris shakes his head. “Wait for me. We’ll go together when I’m back. Won’t be even an hour round trip.” He looks past me to Zoey, who is fiddling with the remote, scrolling through the menu guide. “Will she be okay until I get back? You need something now?”

  “No,” I assure him. “She’s okay.”

  “And you?” he presses. “I don’t like how our conversation ended earlier. We’re not done there.”

  I sigh. “I know.” I nod at him. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

  “All right, then.” He slides back into his boots and grabs his wallet and his phone. “Just wait here,” he tells me.

  He steps closer to me. So close that I can feel the heat radiating off his body. It’s so cruel. So unfair.

  Every cell in my body wants to sway forward and lean against this man. Find my place, my spot against his chest. How long will it be before he’ll hold me again? Before he’ll take me, press me against the wall, and kiss me like I’m the only thing left on earth he loves?

  That’s exactly the problem.

  I can’t let that happen.

  Men are toxic.

  Dependence on men is my fatal flaw.

  There’s no way in hell I’m getting stuck with some other man—even a gorgeous, sexy, tattooed, gentle giant—while I’m still stuck under one of them.

  Not now, maybe not ever.

  Who knows.

  My taste in men sucks.

  My luck is even worse.

  Maybe this is the time in my life I need to focus on doing something different.

  “Alice.” Morris’s gaze sears my skin, and memories of his kisses, of his hand on my ass, make me wet even as we stand here in his kitchen. Fully clothed, inches apart… The power this man has over me makes me doubt this all the more.

  “Yes?” I ask.

  “Don’t answer your phone for anyone but me, d’you hear?” His eyes are so dark now, I know he’s serious. He’s leaning forward, waiting for some acknowledgment that I’ve heard him. “Alice, don’t answer your phone. Can you promise me that?” he asks.

  I couldn’t promise what he asked me before. That I’d let him take care of me. That I’d trust him, put myself and my daughter and all my failed hopes and dreams in his tattooed hands. I said no.

  But this. Maybe this. Ignoring Jerry and not picking up the phone for one hour… Since it was what I’d planned on doing anyway, I don’t see how it can hurt to agree.

  But no matter what Morris says, it’s not a promise. It’s not a promise to keep, anyway. It’s common sense. I won’t ever answer Jerry’s calls again.

  “I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “I won’t answer the phone. I’ll stay right here with Zoey until you’re back. Then dinner.” I try to brighten my tone a little, pull back some of the weight of my failures, my disappointments.

  “Alice Sparrow,” Morris says. He says my name like he’s tasting it, savoring the shape of every letter on his tongue. The affection in his tone melts a little of my protective shell. But just a little.

  “Morris…I don’t even know your last name,” I echo, trying to tease him, lighten the intensity of the energy radiating between us.

  He gets the joke, and he grins. “Well, you’re wrong there, little bird. Morris is my last name,” he says, grabbing his keys and yanking open the door. He blows me a kiss, and I shake my head. “I’ll be back as quick as I can,” he says.

  I lock the door behind him and then head to the window to see if I can watch him drive away. I can’t. The apartment overlooks the rear of the building, and most of the parking is out front on the street. I listen for the sound of his bike, and find I’m inexplicably sad when I can’t hear the roar of the muffler anymore.

  13

  Leo looks like a kid on his first trip to Disneyland when he pulls in behind me at the compound. I remember that enthusiasm, even though it was over two decades ago.

  Leo seems like he’s a sweeter kid than I ever was. Even with a junkie brother and who knows what was going on with his parents, he reminds me in a lot of ways of myself at his age: wide-eyed, enthusiastic, but at the same time, utterly lost. Belonging nowhere, to no one.

  No family.

  No real purpose.

  Nothing but the clothes on his back and the desperation that drives young men out onto the road.

  That’s exactly how I felt so many years ago after losing my mom and escaping my father’s wrath. It seemed like I’d lost everything.

  My only family.

  The roof over my head.

  The journey brought me to my brothers and the Club. The president at the time didn’t ask a single question. He gave me a room and a key, and before I knew it, this place was not just where I lived. It was home. The only place I could shut out memories of my mom.

  No hospitals.

  No medicine.

  No nurses.

  No bad news.

  No sadness.

  A different me.

  When the Disciples took me in as a prospect, I was fortunate. Things were different back then.

  Rougher.

  A lot of clubs went down really dark paths over the years. Drugs, serious crime, trafficking. There were a lot of outlaw clubs, and when the Disciples found me, I was ripe. I so easily could’ve been led astray. Into hard shit, like whatever Leo’s brother is on, no doubt. Meth, crack, smack, doing it, dealing it… Who knows.

  Shit, I’m forty-five now.

  I consider myself lucky that I don’t wake up every morning in a prison-issue jumpsuit. It would have been so easy to go down that path.

  But the MC gave me what it gave all my brothers. Not just a place to land, but a place to stay. A place to belong.

  A brotherhood that replaced whatever jacked-up family unit we’d left, lost, or had our asses kicked out of.

  Leo parks his truck and looks over the exterior of the compound. “This is it?” he asks, his face barely hiding his awe.

  “This is it,” I confirm. I have a hard time not clapping the kid on the shoulder, so I do. “Come on. We got shit to do.”

  I head into the compound, but it’s early evening and not many people are around.

  “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in.” Midge is standing in the kitchen, making something that literally smells like potato chip pie when we walk in.

  “Midge.” I greet her with a wink. I flirt with Midge to keep her happy, but I have to watch myself. She’s liable to show up in my room thinking the wink was an invitation to more. I don’t, and never will, go there. “This is Leo. He’s helping me with the property we just picked up out east.”

  Midge clucks her tongue and looks Leo over.

  I roll my eyes.

  “Leo, Midge works for the club. Cleans, does some cooking.” I motion to the oven and whatever that smell is. “If that’s what you wanna call what’s happening there.”

  “Fuck me, Morris,” Midge says and means it.

  “I’ll take a rain check. Midge, sweetheart, you seen Tiny?”

  Midge can be a handful, but she’s around the compound so much, she knows most of the business and the comings and goings of my brothers.

  She shakes her head. “Dunno.”

  I see my mistake and quickly move to fix it. “Leo, grab a couple beers from the fridge,” I say.

  Then I sidle up to Midge.

  “Listen, beautiful,” I say, looking her square in the eye. “Tiny was trying to reach me earlier today. You know where he is? I haven’t heard from him.” I give her a smile, laying on the sweetness.

  She bends over and checks whatever that casserole thing is that’s in the oven. “Kiss my ass, Morris. I’m not the boss of Tiny. I told you I don’t know.”

  Leo is holding two beers like they’re grenades that might blow up in his hands if he’s too rough. I stifle the urge to laugh and slap them out of his hands. “They’re just beers,” I remind him. I grab one and twist the top off, then wave a hand to Midge as we leave. “You see Tiny, let him know I was here.”

  “Fuck you twice, Morris. And fuck your friend too.” Midge watches us, eye-fucking Leo as we leave the kitchen.

  “You’re a dirty old woman, Midge,” I call behind us, all but draining my beer.

  “MILF to you!” she shouts.

  Leo shakes his head, and his eyes are wide. “She was…cool. Is she like a housemother or something?” He sips his beer as we head back through the compound toward the bedrooms.

  I have to stop in my tracks and double over. I’m careful not to spill what’s left of my beer as I rest a hand on my knees and wipe the tears from my eyes, I’m laughing so goddamn hard.

  “No, son,” I say, “Midge is the furthest thing from a mother you’ll find.”

  The place is unusually empty and quiet, so I head over to my room, Leo following on my heels like an excited puppy.

  He’s asking me questions about everything he sees.

  Are we all military veterans?

  Are we criminals?

  How do we make our money?

  Do we work for the club?

  Do we all live here?

  “Okay, slow your roll, Diane Sawyer,” I say, shoving open the door to my room.

  “Who?” Leo asks, looking confused.

  I chuckle. “News journalist, she was on TV,” I explain. “Different clubs function in different ways. But only a handful of guys live here. Tiny’s a full-timer, meaning he doesn’t have an apartment or house or anyplace else to go.”

  “Doesn’t he have a family?” Leo asks.

  I shrug. “Used to have an old lady, but that ended ages ago. Most of the ones who stay here fly solo.”

  Leo nods again. “You alone, Morris? No wife or girlfriend?”

  I chuckle. “No. Was never my style.”

  I head into my room and wave him in. He hovers at the doorway, taking in every inch of my space.

  My room at the club is a little bigger than most. Since I’m the VP and stay here most of the time, I’ve got the largest space. And I keep it nice. Tiny’s room, if we’re being honest, looks like a hoarder’s paradise within a couple hours of Midge cleaning. They are constantly at each other’s throats. Tiny accumulating pizza boxes and beer cans and food wrappers, Midge cleaning up after him and mocking him for not eating the “home-cooked” meals she makes and stashes in the fridge.

  A man of Tiny’s stature has to put in the time to earn that nickname. He’d need a dumpster full of Midge’s pies to stay as big as he does. Although, to be fair, the dumpster is about the only place I’d ever put Midge’s cooking.

  I open the top drawer of my dresser and pull out the key to a lockbox, then motion for Leo to give me some privacy while I pull the lockbox from its hiding place.

  I’ve got no secrets from my brothers in the club. They know where every penny I own is stashed, where I keep the weed I every so often like to light up, and everything in between. And I like this kid, but trust is another thing altogether.

  “What about…” Leo pauses. “Alice?”

  “What about Alice?” I echo.

  He nods and stuffs the cash I just gave him for the parts he’ll need to get for Alice’s car in his pocket. “Seems like, I don’t know. I thought she was your girlfriend or something. You guys seem like you’ve been together a long time.”

  I raise a brow at him. “I’ve known the woman since this morning. Met her at a gas station.”

  Leo’s eyes widen. “Wait…what? Are you serious?”

  I nod.

  “Morris, what the fuck, man? You’re going to all this trouble for someone you don’t even know?”

  I level him with a look. “I just told you. I’ve known her since this morning.”

  If the look on his face is any indication, Leo catches the warning in my voice. “Right. Right. Sorry, man. I mean, Morris, I…didn’t mean any disrespect. You two just seem like you have something. I thought…”

  “Never said we didn’t have something.”

  I let that sink in, and it does quicker than I thought.

  “So, okay. Right.” Leo nods, looking like he’s still thinking it all over, but processing it. “So, you like her…”

  I snap my lockbox closed, secure the lock, and motion for Leo to turn away. I secure the box in its hiding place.

  “Why I’m doing this,” I say, “is Jerry Cruz.”

  Leo shrugs. “Whozzat? Should I know who that is?” He pulls out his phone and Googles the name. “Cruise like Tom Cruise?”

  I shrug. “Car dealer in Miami.” I don’t know how to spell that fuckwad’s name, and I don’t want to. “He’s why Alice and Zoey are on the run.”

  “Found him.” Leo holds up his phone to show me. “Looks like a Class-A douchebag if I’ve ever seen one.”

  I can’t resist the urge to put a face to the name. When I look, I’m not at all surprised to see a face that I will fantasize about smashing with my bare fists for a long time.

  “He looks like a dickwad. I can’t picture Alice with a guy like this,” Leo says.

  “Assholes come in all shapes and sizes,” I say.

  I just knew that whatever drew Alice to this shit-eater in the first place—desperation, his persistence, who knows—the kind of modern-day marriage of convenience they ended up with was all that was left.

  “Come on,” I say. “We got people to feed.”

  Leo nods and takes one last look around my room. I have a hand-sewn quilt of the American flag hanging over my bed.

  “What’s that?” Leo asks, motioning to the quilt above my bed.

  “Mom,” I say simply. “She was a quilter. Up until the day she passed.”

  “No shit…” Leo walks closer to inspect it. “She made this?” he asks. “That’s unbelievable, Morris. Really talented woman. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Hand-done,” I explain. I don’t expect him to appreciate the skills my mom had.

  Hand-sewing every quilted square, cutting every scrap of fabric by hand. She never owned a sewing machine, and even though I bought her one the first chance I got, she donated it. Gave it to a friend in her quilting circle when her old-ass Walmart Singer finally took a shit.

  “Mom was an artist at heart. She made beauty with her hands. Loved to work fabric like it was her canvas. That’s why I hang a lot of the quilts she made. Got one back at the apartment. In my bedroom over the bed.”

  “Holy shit,” Leo says, his voice appropriately low with awe. “How long did that take her? Did she only make like two in her whole life? That must have taken forever!”

  I hesitate and check the time. I still haven’t seen or heard from Tiny, and I want to get back to Alice and the kid, but Leo’s questions have got me thinking.

  “Check this out.” I kneel on the floor and pull a custom-built cedar box from under the bed. Inside are four quilts my mom made. “These are the ones I don’t use,” I explain.

  “Girl colors,” Leo supplies.

  I laugh. “Well, that’s not how I would have described it, but yeah.” The quilts I keep stored are the ones my mom made but hadn’t given away when she died.

  When I open that bin, a slight whiff of air greets me, and even though I know it can’t be true, I swear I smell my mom in that moment. The quilts have been cleaned since Mom passed, but somehow being close to these things makes me feel her presence.

  “Zoey would freak,” Leo says, pointing to the quilt on the bottom. “Blue flowers, like her princess dress.”

  I look at the quilt he’s pointing to. It’s an unusual color combination of light turquoise, yellow, and a pale baby blue, just like the color of Zoey’s dress. “Grab ’em,” I say, yanking the plastic from the cedar chest. I hand Leo the wardrobe-style bag and shove the empty crate back under my bed.

  He looks at me. “What’re we doing?”

  “We need more blankets at the apartment,” I say. “No use letting clean quilts just sit here. Now take ’em before I change my mind.”