Logan
Logan glanced around at the chaos, trying to decide how to handle the unforeseen boom in traffic. The toy drive was just supposed to be a local event; where did all of these people come from?
The Satan’s Chaos First Annual Toy Drive was looking to be an unprecedented success, one that had blown both Logan and Blade’s hopes completely out of the water. The whole damned garage was flooded with bright toys and bows and ribbons and strangers with cameras. News vans lined the streets outside, drawing onlookers from the streets, curious to see what all of the fuss was about.
“I’m curious to know what all of the fuss is about, too.” Logan glanced around, watching as the camera crews tracked down all of his people, doing short interviews on the charity work. Logan heard the phrase “Bikers Gone Good,” so many times from the reports’ mouths that he wanted to gag. Like we’re the first group of guys to clean up our acts and do something worth doing.
“So, Mr. Pendergrass, you’re the leader of this group, is that right?” some lady in a red suit was asking him, her stage makeup giving her a strange, clown look in real life.
“Uh, yes. I’m the president of Satan’s Chaos. I organized this toy drive as a symbol of our newfound devotion to the community; all the proceeds and toys will be split up, half going to St. Mary’s Children’s Hospital and half to the Hope for the Holidays foundation.” Logan blinked at the too-bright camera lights, trying to figure out how to get out of more of these interviews.
“But you were a criminal operation before.”
Logan winced as the reporter shoved the microphone back in his face. “I wouldn’t say that,” he laughed, then suggestively slow winked at the camera, making the woman in red laugh. “But this year, we made a bit more money than usual. So we’re giving some of it back to the community. Most of the donated money for this has come from Francesca Savoy. The rest has come from the profits from our new garage, the SCMC.”
The reporter asked a few more questions, and Logan steered her away from any questions about Francesca. Instead, he talked about the garage and the people who had devoted their lives to it, including Blade and a few others. The press looked a little disappointed as he clearly kept maneuvering around questions about America’s favorite reality TV star.
The cameras packed up eventually and left, leaving Logan with massive piles of toys and a shocked group of Chaos boys.
“What was all that about?” Blade asked, scratching the shaved sides of her hair. “That was way more’n we were expecting. Did you call someone, boss?”
Logan shook his head. “I think this calls for a round of drinks though, doesn’t it, boys?” A cheer filled the room from the men and women who Logan was lucky enough to have on his side. It didn’t turn out like I thought it would, but it’s not such a bad life. He winced a little whenever he thought about Francesca or his son, but at least he still had all of this. After he gave them some money, they brought back several pizzas and a drum of beer from somewhere, breaking open both and passing them around.
Logan’s phone buzzed loudly just as the last of the pizza disappeared. It was a number he didn’t recognize, but it was the same area code as Francesca and Nikki’s numbers. Frowning, he stood up from the celebration and walked away, putting the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
A familiar, not wholly unwelcome voice answered from the other side. “Greetings! Merry Christmas and all that jazz. How yah been, Logan?”
“Just fine... Quentin, right?”
“That’s right. Quentin Maloney. The one Francesca tried to get to make you fake IDs and all that,” he said, chuckling. “Been awhile since you’ve been around though.”
“You helped me get out of jail; I never thanked you for that.” Logan swallowed hard, not sure exactly what to say to this guy. He seemed like one of those slimeballs who straddled the good and bad parts of the world without having any moral issues at all. Logan hoped he wasn’t coming back for some sort of reconciliation for helping him.
“Not a big deal, Logan; the lady was paying me anyway. I just called to see how you were enjoying your Christmas present from me and Nikki.”
Logan blinked, his mouth turning down into a frown. “You sicced the news vans on us for our charity event?”
“Yeah, some pretty nice work there, wasn’t it? Lucky for the girlies I know people who know people. You’ll be needing all of that good press in a few days. Keep your eyes on the entertainment news on TV, would yah? I think you might find some of the upcoming stories really interesting.”
Before Logan could question him further, Quentin hung up. Logan didn’t like the smug sound of that little dirt bag’s voice at all. What the hell was all that about?
Putting down his phone, Logan pushed the thoughts of that odd conversation out of his head, determined to celebrate with his boys, no matter what Nikki and Quentin were up to.
# # #
Francesca
When Francesca’s phone rang, she almost threw it out of the window instead of answering. The cameras were in her house again and the producers were arguing over the best way to have Francesca and Davis’s engagement play out on screen. Francesca’s mother was there, trying to dominate the conversation, and Davis, who was supposed to be in today’s filming, was nowhere to be found. How are we supposed to shoot the engagement shots today if he doesn’t show up?
Francesca imagined he was passed out somewhere, his face buried in between some nameless woman’s boobs. But she didn’t bother calling him; if he didn’t show up, it would just be one more day she could put off this fake engagement that she didn’t want anything to do with.
Glancing down at her phone, Francesca saw Quentin’s name flash across the screen. She picked up the phone, stepping out of the kitchen and into the dining room where it was a little quieter. “Hello, Quentin,” she said, unable to keep the frown out of her voice.
“Good morning, darlin. It’s always a pleasure to hear your sweet voice,” Quentin answered, his voice laced with sarcasm. “I look forward to our conversations, I really do.”
Francesca took a deep breath. “You’re right; I’m sorry. I am glad to hear from you, I think. What can I do for you?”
“I need you tah do me a big favor, Francesca. Turn on your TV and switch to channel five. You can thank me later!”
The undeniable sound of a phone being hung up rang in her ear and Francesca gaped at her cell phone. What a jackass, hanging up on me. Grumpy and frowning, Francesca stepped into the living room, where the cameras were already up and rolling. Francesca’s mother and Marston were chatting on camera when she walked in, plopping down on the couch and turning on the TV.
Diane turned on her almost immediately. “Do you mind, Francesca?”
“That you’re doing this in my house? Only a little. This is important.” Francesca waved at her to be quiet, and a few of the cameramen had to cover their mouths to keep from laughing out loud on the cut.
Francesca flipped on the TV, ignoring Diane, Marston, and the half dozen still-running cameras around to flip to channel five, as directed. “This better be good,” Francesca thought, clicking the TV box controller.
Her jaw nearly dropped to the floor as she saw the news story currently in progress.
“Davis Thorne, boyfriend of superstar Francesca Savoy, was outed by a long time secretary for his laundry list of alleged illegal dealings,” the news anchor was saying, her voice and eyes empty of emotion. “The man, who is supposed to be a main player in the upcoming season of the Diamond Savoy TV show, will most likely be spending the season in jail instead.” The news anchor began to list the charges, a glimmer of glee at Davis’s misfortune glowing in the depths of her eyes.
The cameras zoomed in on the TV and the Savoys’ horrified expressions with glee. This wasn’t the engagement episode they had been hoping for, but they would still get something worth putting on TV.
Francesca ignored the sudden uproar around her, her eyes locked on the screen.
In a horrified second, she realized her mistake. “What Davis has done is even worse than Logan, and I was going to let him raise my child.” Tears sprang to her eyes, blurring the footage before her. “I never should have let him into my life or my house. I never should have left Logan behind.”
The front door opened and slammed shut. Francesca barely heard it over the sound of Diane panicking and the sound of her own heart breaking into pieces. “What have I done?”
Breathing heavily, Davis tumbled into the living room, his pale face red from exertion. “Babe, you won’t believe what’s going on.”
Francesca glanced at him and snorted indelicately. “I might believe it.” She pointed to the screen. “Tax evasion? Embezzling money? Drugs? All of this is true, isn’t it? This is how you made your greasy money?”
“I didn’t hear you complaining when I spent that money on you, Francesca,” Davis snapped, his eyes on fire. “But come on, Babe. We’re going to have to make a run for it. Get out of the US government’s reach.”
Francesca laughed. “Like I’d go anywhere with you now. Slimeball.”
Davis slapped her across the face, his eyes burning with hate. “So you can go back to your biker asshole? I don’t think so. You’re coming with me.” He grabbed onto her arm so hard Francesca was sure she would have bruises.
Balling up her fist, Francesca pulled back as hard as she could, punching Davis in the nose with all of her might. Blood spurted from his nostrils, and his head snapped back. Davis yelled out, releasing her arm as Francesca scampered back away from him. She knew the cameras were still running, but she ran back to her fireplace and grabbed the fire poker off of the stand, holding it out like a sword in front of her. “Touch me again and I’ll brain you, you stupid douchebag. I don’t want you. No one wants you. You’re just a slimy asshole who can’t see past his own sense of entitlement. So get the hell out of my house. Now.”
Davis touched his face, seemingly shocked at the blood spilling from his nose. Tears streamed from his eyes as he turned them on Francesca. “You broke my nose!”
“And next I’m calling the police to tell them where you are! Get out of my house!”
Sirens pulled up the road, screeching and loud, pulling into Francesca’s driveway. Davis, looking panicked, stood up, his face full of rage. “This is your fault, you dumb bitch,” he screamed, blood still pouring down his face. “If I go to jail, it will be your fault!”
Francesca laughed in his face, bitter and angry. “If you go to jail, it’ll be your own damned fault for all of the illegal stuff you did, Davis. None of it will be my fault.”
The police charged into the house, a thunder of boots on through her normally quiet kitchen. One of them men leapt forward, slamming hard into Davis’s knees and instantly bringing him to the floor. Diane screamed and Marston dove out of the way and to the couch, not wanting to be caught in the line of fire if Davis tried to flee.
Francesca dropped the poker. It clattered loudly to the floor as the police officers swarmed her home. She stared at the police and at Davis with dead eyes. She was exhausted; she felt like she hadn’t slept in a week. Cradling her stomach with her left hand, Francesca watched as the police dragged Davis out of her house, kicking and screaming, his curses finally quieting as they shoved him in the back of car.
“This is amazing!” one of the producers gushed, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Nothing makes better TV, Francesca!”
“Thank you for your concern; my life has just been ruined on camera, but at least you’re happy,” Francesca snapped, her face a mask of rage. Tears poured down her face as she turned on the producers. “You people are the worst, and I want you out of my house. Now.”
There was something icy in her voice that made all of the crew fall silent. They packed up their electronics and cameras and lights and left, leaving Francesca alone with her regrets.