Page 79 of Smokey's Distraction
“Not exactly. I mean, I haven’t seen him like I see you, but Iknowit’s him.”
Pedersen exchanged looks with the young cop, then nodded. “Okay. We’ll look into it and let you know. We can add you to the patrol for tonight if you’d like.”
“That’d be good.”
After double-checking the windows and doors, the two policemen left. Ashley set the alarm, dragged a chair from the kitchen, and propped it under the doorknob, and then did the same with the door leading to the garage. Then she made sure every blind, curtain, and shutter was closed.
When she finally sank down onto the couch with a glass of much-needed white wine, the urge to call Smokey gripped her, but she ignored it. Her life was complicated enough without tacking on another problem, yet she had the feeling that if Smokey knew about Jeffrey, he’d somehow make it all right.He’d keep me safe.In exchange, though, she feared she’d lose her heart, and he’d leave her broken. There was one thing she’d learned at an early age: men left, and women cried while picking up the pieces.
Stretching out, she grabbed the afghan and pulled it over her. She would sleep on the couch with the lights on, and tomorrow, she’d see what the cops had found out about the dirtbag terrorizing her.
Sighing, she got comfortable and closed her eyes.
14
For the restof the week, Smokey stayed away from the office, having enough going on in his life without adding Ashley to the mix. Since she hadn’t reached out to him all week, even professionally, he’d decided to put her on the back burner until shit with the Rising Order and Ryan’s criminal mess were dealt with. The way the guys had been ribbing him at the clubhouse over the past few days only solidified his resolve not to see her even stronger. The last thing he needed, orwanted,was a steady woman in his life. It was fine for Rock, Throttle, and the others, but he was a confirmed bachelor. Growing up with two fucked-up parents taught him that love was a crock of shit.
The perfect example of that was his parents. His mother was pregnant at fifteen, married at sixteen, and had five boys before she turned twenty-five. When she married, her parents had disowned her because they couldn’t stand Dale Harty, so Smokey and his brothers never knew their maternal grandparents. As far as their paternal ones went, their dad never spoke of them or anyone in his family. As a matter of fact, Smokey didn’t know a damn thing about the old man’s past. All he knew was that the bastard was a mean, angry drunk, bitter over being stuck with five brats and a frigid wife. Because the old man had a sense of loyalty to his family, he would never leave, yet blamed his kids for screwing up his life and took his frustrations out on them. He believed that corporal punishment—and a lot of it—was essential to keeping them in line, but he never laid a finger on their mom. He only went as far as emotionally pushing her to the side unless he was drunk, which was when he’d tell her how much he loved and needed her. Smokey’s mother had lived for those moments.Yeah … pretty fucked up.
Smokey turned into the lot of the shelter and parked near the smoking corner where Gavin, the gangly, dark-haired teen, was leaning against the wall, lighting a cigarette. It had taken Smokey over three months to get the quiet and angry boy to interact with him, but he understood Gavin, because he’d once been just like him.
“Hey,” Smokey greeted as he approached him.
Gavin tipped his chin up at him. “Hey.”
“Smokey, my man. Gimme some.” Little Ricky held out his hand, palm side up, and slapped it against Smokey’s. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout. What’s happenin’?”
“Not much.”
Little Ricky came off as a tough kid, full of false bravado, but Smokey saw the scared little boy inside.
“How’s school going?” he asked him.
Little Ricky took a puff of his cigarette before answering. “I hate that shit. I don’t need it.”
“I hear you. I hated school too, but I got my GED. You need to do that if you hate the assholes in high school.”
He laughed. “I don’t hate the chicks. It’s just the homework bullshit that’s crampin’ my style.”
“Maybe you can get one of those cute chicks to help you study.”
A large smile spread across the teen’s face when Smokey winked at him.
“I like the way you think, dude.”
Clapping him on the back, Smokey turned his attention to Gavin. “How’re things going with you?”
He said nothing, his dark eyes darting from Smokey to Little Ricky, and back to Smokey again. “Okay,” he muttered.
Little Ricky laughed. “All he’s been doin’ is waitin’ for that chick to come by again.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Gavin said in a menacing tone.
Ignoring him, Little Ricky continued. “Can’t say I blame him. The chick’s sexy.”
Gavin’s lips thinned as he glared at the teen. Sensing a fight was about to break out, Smokey stepped between the two boys and pointed to his Harley.
“I got some custom artwork put on my bike. Go check it out.”
