CHAPTER THIRTY

Lydia Beeson seemed as if she was born to be Joseph Ryan's girl. As Ruby reached for the Grey Goose vodka the tall woman had ordered, she felt her gaze fall on her like a shadow over the sun. Dark and beautiful, Lydia’s eyebrows were effortlessly groomed, her wavy, waist-length black hair as thick as a curtain, touched with golden highlights. She wore a lacy blouse under her expensive leather jacket and pants and metal-studded, knee-high Frye boots. She looked like Vogue Magazine's idea of a biker chick; everything about her was carefully airbrushed and polished. Meanwhile, Ruby's hands were all raw and puckered from the citric acid in the lemons she’d been chopping. She also reeked of booze, having spilled half a glass of Canadian Club down the front of her shirt.

 

"Oh, you must be Ruby," Lydia said. "I'm so sorry; I didn't recognize you. I was picturing a little girl. Kyle used to tell all of us so much about you, and I guess I just had an image in my head." She laughed. "Stupid, I know. Oh, sorry, I'm Lydia, Joe's fiancée. Joe told me all about what's happened lately; he was so adamant about making sure you were safe." She wiggled the fingers of her long, tanned hand, and the clear facets of the diamond ring seemed to shoot out and reflect the glasses hanging over the bar.

 

Ruby stuck out her hand absently to shake. Acid had gotten underneath some raw skin on her thumb, and it was agony.

 

"But then, Joe always was sentimental about stuff from the past. When he told me he wanted to propose, he asked if I could use my grandmother's ring, which was just sitting in a box. He didn't want it to be from some generic chain store. He wanted it have meaning. Isn't that just the cutest thing? Anyway, I wanted him to come back with me, but he said he had some other business to take care. But he wanted me to come back and make sure you know that it’s all over. The situation with the Reapers, everything." She raised her eyebrows, like some kind, benevolent princess, waiting to be thanked, as if it were all her doing. "Awesome, huh? I'm so proud of Joe. I told him he could handle this, and he did."

 

"I--" Ruby stammered, feeling idiotic, realizing that she'd been holding the button down on the tonic pump and the glass was overflowing. She dropped it and shoved the half-full glass across the counter to Lydia.

 

"Now that the coast is clear, I bet you can't wait to get out of this place.” Lydia rolled her eyes as if she were in some conspiracy. "I mean, I feel right at home because I grew up with this stuff. Ask anyone. I'm just like one of the boys," she laughed, catching the eye of a guy across the room and giving a little wave. "But for someone who's not used it, it can be a little hard to take. So where do you think you'll go? Back to Oakland?"

 

"I--don't know." Her body, brain, and mouth were paralyzed. It reminded her of when she was ten and had been stung by a hornet, leaving the stinger in her skin. She'd been utterly helpless, unable to claw it out as it drove itself deeper, injecting more venom with every squeeze.

 

"Hopefully not too far away. We're thinking next April for the wedding. Save the date. You're like family now, after all. Ruby?" Lydia blinked her big eyes, eyelashes going up and down like a baby doll. "Hey, where are you going?"

 

She ran into Regan at the door of the Curtis' house, back from her visit to her mother. The younger woman held a stack of mail in one hand and in the other, a manila folder full of papers, trying to brace the door open with her knee. She wasn't well-rested herself, dark circles gathering under her eyes. But as Ruby explained her encounter with Lydia, Regan's face went pale, almost greenish. She dropped the folder in the front hall, and papers scattered all over the floor like autumn leaves.

 

"There's got to be another explanation," she said hollowly, staring at the mess.

 

"The explanation was the half-ton rock on Lydia's hand," Ruby snapped. "And Joe told me they were involved."

 

"But--but they broke it off!" Regan insisted.

 

"That's what he said, too. When he was trying to get me into bed, coincidently."

 

Regan's face changed at that, a question poised on her lips. Did he succeed? But blessedly, she didn't voice it. "Where is he now?" demanded Regan, going to the door, looking sideways as if she could spot him coming.

 

"He's not back yet. And I'll be gone by the time he gets here," said Ruby with steel in her voice. "I'll leave the pants in the hamper."

 

"Wait!" Regan cried, grabbing her shoulder. "You're leaving?"

 

"What else am I supposed to do? He clearly sent Lydia hoping I’d get the point and leave. I won’t give him the satisfaction of begging him for an explanation.”

 

"But--but you and Joe--”

 

"Me and Joe?" Ruby let out a bitter laugh. "That's a joke, Regan. There was never a “me and Joe.” I can't be with a guy who treats me like that. And he'll only treat me worse if I keep giving him chances to do it. These are his true colors; I should be glad he showed them to me sooner rather than later. You and your family have been great, and I love you for it. But we all know I don't belong here," she said flatly. "And I never did."

 

"You have every right to leave, Ruby. Hell, I'd rip his nuts off myself if a guy did that to me." Ruby turned. "But please--just wait. Wait for him to come back and explain. Then, if you decide it's not enough--" She looked toward the horizon, eyes narrowed as if she could spot Joe coming and squash him like a bug if she squinted hard enough.

 

Ruby just stared, and Regan piped down. She recognized the glinty resolve in her eyes; people usually did, eventually. Kyle himself knew she’d flatten him like a steamroller if he tried to get in her way.

 

"Okay. Wait." Regan dashed up to her bedroom and returned with a wad of cash. "Your tips from the bar. You earned them,” she added. “And keep the pants."

 

"But--" Ruby looked down at the pants she'd been wearing for a day and half, shocked at how comfortable she'd gotten in an article of clothing that wasn't her own.

 

"I told you, they look better on you," Regan said. She grabbed onto Ruby's wrists and came closer, close enough to smell her perfume – some bright, citrusy celebrity scent – very innocent and young. Ruby forced herself to look past her at the highway, so the sisterly concern in Regan's humongous chocolate-brown eyes wouldn't cripple her. "And I want you to remember this: you do have people here who care about you. Joe or no Joe."

 

"I was taking care of myself long before this," replied Ruby with a short gulp, hugging Regan despite her inclination to start separating herself now before she could be fooled again into thinking this could be her home. "It's time I reminded myself how."

 

***

 

"So it isn't enough to come back and ruin my life, you've got to ruin hers, too?" Joe demanded, hands paused on the strap of his helmet, too paralyzed to get his fingers to work right. His heart seemed to knock dizzyingly, sickly, against his organs. His vision was clouded, blinking at the slender outline of a woman he had hoped never to see again, like a bad movie stuck in rewind.

 

"Who said anything was ruined? You flatter yourself," Lydia said, placing her drink down resolutely and stepping over to him, reaching up with nimble fingers to undo the strap and toss the helmet on the table. "Trust me; she got the better end of this deal," Lydia continued, stepping back critically with her hands on her hips. "She gets some R&R at a villa in Mexico; I'm left...here," she looked around with a dismissive sniff. "Oh well, it's nothing some new curtains can't fix. At least until we get our own place. There's a new gated community being built up in Walnut Creek. I toured the model home last month: six bedrooms, granite countertops, a pool; it's to die for."

 

"Are you crazy?" exploded Joe. "I'm not moving in with you."

 

"What, you want to stay here?" She laughed. "Now who's crazy?"

 

"I'll ride down to Cabo if I have to. But I'm bringing her back."

 

"For Christ’s sake, Joe," she said, rolling her eyes at him as if he were a child who'd just called the sky purple. "When are you going to grow up, stop thinking with your dick, and start using that big, sexy brain I know is in there?" she said, cupping his chin and murmuring low into his ear, her glossy lips brushing his skin. He felt himself tense, and she touched his wrist, tracing the flexed nerve underneath the tattoo on his arm. "You'll bring her back here, seriously? To do what? Sleep on the futon and look pretty on the back of your bike? She's a nice girl. You know she doesn't want that kind of life."

 

"And you do?"

 

She smiled serenely. "I was born to it. And so were you--well, adopted, at least. I belong here. I know this life."

 

"Ruby's tougher than you think."

 

"Maybe. But think about it. Has her presence been anything more than liability to you? You want to keep her safe, but the fact is, you’d be putting her in danger every time some new gang of thugs puts a target on your back. You think she wants that after what happened to her brother? Besides, she was dying to get out of here; you should have seen how fast she turned tail when I told her it was safe to leave." Joe swallowed and stared at the floor. That's exactly what he'd been afraid of – that Ruby thought there was nothing here worth staying for. Honestly, he should have been ashamed to think that he, or this mess of a life he led, had ever had any appeal for her.

 

Lydia hooked her arm around his, ushering him out of view of the main room and into the storeroom where he and Ruby had been just that morning. The memory of that moment made his whole body stiffen, as well as his cock, and against his better judgment, he allowed her to push him down on top of a waist-high stack of boxes. "If you really care about the poor girl, you'll leave her alone and let her sort out her life in peace. You know that's what she wants, anyway. Joe, this is the way things should be. You. Here. With me. We just...fit."

 

She slung one long leg over him like saddling a horse in reverse, scooting herself forward with a punchy little movement. He clenched his jaw against her caress of his thigh, and the twitch in his jeans that was so aggravating, more of a robotic response than anything, was the one Lydia was counting on. She'd told him to use his brain, but at the same time she was counting on his cock cowing him into submission, as it had so many times before. Her lined eyes twinkled, her skin in its made-up retouched perfection, her perfume like vetiver and gasoline, she was this airbrushed biker girl out of some photographer's portfolio. He had wanted it, before. He’d thought, as the charter president, that it was his right, his prize. But that was before he knew it was all an illusion; that he’d been poised to marry a plastic doll, a paper centerfold.

 

The worst part was, Lydia was absolutely right. Ruby's independent streak was the fiercest – and most aggravating – part of her personality. She had hated being beholden to him, to Fox, to anyone, and she hated that her life circumstances kept putting her in that position. If Aaron Beeson could help her get on her feet again, Joe would be an asshole for trying to interfere, for trying to pull her back down to his level, back in the muck of poverty and petty thuggery. She deserved better than that; she wanted better than that. The only reason she'd been with Joe to begin with was out of desperation; she had no one else. She deserved peace now to begin her real life. By sorting out the circumstances of Kyle's death and ensuring she'd be safe to live her life, he'd done his part in giving that to her. Now the best he could do for her was backing off.

 

So why did he feel this all over ache, as if he'd been battered in a boxing ring? It would be so easy to submit, he thought as he sighed and settled into Lydia's grip, feeling himself harden automatically as she slid her hand expertly beneath the waistband of his jeans, curling downward like the smooth, dry scales of a serpent. He closed his eyes. He was going to let this happen, he realized, proving that he was no better than what he'd been told he was as a child: worthless. He was a slave to his basest impulses, willing to surrender his morals in exchange for a little temporary pleasure. That wasn't what a leader did. That wasn't what a man should do. Nobody had taught him that, but Ruby had seen it in him. She believed it. And she hadn't been wrong.

 

He grabbed Lydia's wrist.

 

***

 

“So what, you just let her walk out?” Joe asked Regan, knowing that by using such an accusing tone, he was treading dangerous waters. She'd been sitting on the porch, arms crossed, waiting for him, like some kind of sentry lioness. Joe had the feeling she'd be stroking a shotgun if she had one.

 

“Who are you, Castro?” Regan asked. “I didn’t let her do anything. She wasn’t a prisoner here, and if you think I should have locked her in the basement or something, you have more problems than I can help you with. Scary problems."

 

Joe looked down, ashamed of how possessive he sounded. "But didn't you explain about Lydia?"

 

"I explained exactly what I thought I knew about you and her. But Ruby tells me she comes into the bar showing off an engagement ring the size of Plymouth Rock. How am I supposed to explain that?"

 

"It's complicated," he said after a second.

 

"No, it's actually pretty simple, Joe. Are you engaged to her or aren't you?"

 

Joe gritted his teeth, knowing the answer he had to give. "Yes, I told Aaron that I'd marry her. But I had no choice, Regan. You wouldn't understand."

 

“Seriously, Joe?" Regan exploded. "Oh, you are too much. You really think I don’t know about hard choices?” Regan asked, biting her lower lip and resolutely opening her handbag. She took out her cellphone and swiped through to a photo, turning it around and handing it to Joe, who started, trying to make sense of what he was looking at: a baby boy, maybe six months old, but his curly chestnut hair, gray-green eyes, and olive skin was unmistakable.

 

“His name’s Kyle,” said Regan quietly. “Kyle Axel Clarke, Jr.” Joe wanted to say something, but he was speechless. There wasn't anything he could say that wouldn't sound inadequate. Regan's tone was still severe, but there was pride and excitement behind it. He was a little overwhelmed himself, but it was a good kind of overwhelmed, like winning a sweepstakes he'd forgotten he'd entered or had forgotten even existed. The problem was there were tears in Regan’s eyes. He knew there was a reason he hadn’t known about this child. "Your dad and Holly don't know, do they?"

 

“That would mean they’d find out I’d lied to them about being pregnant, not to mention about being with Kyle in the first place,” she finished quietly. “And now it’s too late."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

Regan closed her eyes, seeming to curl into herself, as if the memory of what she'd done stabbed at her like a knife. "I was crazy after Kyle died. I didn't know half of what I was doing. I thought if I had this baby, I wouldn't be able to bear to look at him. I went down to Arizona to stay with my grandma for a while to figure things out, and I called this number on a flyer on the wall of the bus station. I didn’t know what they were, but they got me to sign away my parental rights to him. They told me he'd go to a good family, but I don't think he did..." She sniffed, swiping at her moist eyes fiercely. "I just want to be with him, Joe. To be his mommy, and to see Kyle's eyes shining at me again,” she sobbed. “I know I did wrong. It was all my fault.”

 

Joe sank to the ground, overwhelmed. God only knew what these people had done with the poor kid. The knowledge that Kyle's only son could be in the hands of the same sadists he'd encountered in the foster care system made him want to pummel someone, to destroy things with fire. But none of his rage was at Regan; she'd been young and afraid and had only done what she'd thought was right. His rage was at the system that had almost broken him, and now had its claws into his best friend’s son and Ruby’s nephew.

 

Joe threw himself down on the porch chair next to Regan, looking down at the floor to gather his thoughts. “Did Kyle know?" he asked gently. "Did you tell him?”

 

“Yes," she responded quietly. "I finally got up the nerve, only a few weeks before he died. He agreed not to tell anyone else because we still weren’t sure whether I was going to...go through with it. You should have seen him, Joe. He was so happy; he was like a kid. He told me he loved me and that he'd be there for us no matter what happened. Forever. And now--" she shook her head. "Now he has no one. Not Kyle, not me. It’s such a mess, Joe, and I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry for everything. Please don’t be mad.”

 

“Regan, of course I’m not mad,” he said. “Not at you, anyway." He had a better idea now why Kyle had been so blind to the trap Fox had been setting; the looming responsibility of his impending fatherhood put the kind of pressure on him Joe couldn't even imagine, the desire for financial security at any cost clouding his judgment. "And you're not alone. You've still got me, at least." Regan raised her head. "I know; I'm the last guy any kid would want for a father figure...but..." A little smile flickered onto Regan's face. "Anyway, we have to tell Colt."

 

"No!" Regan yelped, grabbing his arm. "Not yet. Please. I know him. He'd hit the roof, start threatening to beat people up, and just make things worse. If I have a chance of getting him back, I've got to keep my head. I've been going over to my mom's, and she's been trying to help me, but it's so..." She glanced around the scattered papers at her feet and sighed hopelessly. She sank down on the bottom step, hugging her knees. For someone with such a delicate image, Regan did not cry often; she was much, much tougher than her fragile looks suggested. But now she looked shaken, like a willow branch defenseless against a strong wind. He gathered her into his arms, and it wasn't just his imagination that she cuddled into him with an exhausted little sigh, caressing his back through his jacket, an almost automatic response.

 

He could admit now that they’d wanted to bang each other a long time ago and high on hormones, but there was none of that left. Now both of their hearts lay elsewhere, and the ache of separation was a physical pain they shared. But at the same time, it seemed to strengthen them, galvanizing them in a tougher steel. "You have a plan, don't you?" Regan sniffed at last, squeezing his arm curiously. "I can feel it. All swirling around in you."

 

"Like usual," he said with a confidence he hoped to force himself to feel. "I do. Sort of."