Chapter 5
Vincent reminded her of the boys her parents provided foster care for after she moved out. All teenagers with violent histories, some physically abused, others severely neglected. Each carried a serious chip on his shoulders. She gazed out the driver’s-side window of Vincent’s Silverado. He was standing at the doorway to a house on San Saba Drive in Portland, an upscale neighborhood. Everywhere she looked reminded her of traditional Texas suburbia: cookie-cutter houses with lush lawns, flower beds, two late-model cars in the driveways, covered porches, and cobblestone walkways. Did one of the club members live there? She didn’t see any motorcycles.
The front door finally opened and Tina eyed the pretty blonde. She smiled and invited Vincent inside. Curious to a fault, Tina tried to occupy herself with the radio, then the CD player. She hit play and Mötley Crüe came on, “Ten Seconds to Love.” She giggled at his taste in eighties glam rock. Something she’d have to tease him about later.
Seriously though…Her mind played mental ping-pong all the time. Maybe that’s why she could multitask so well. What if he was making a drop—drugs or money? Would he jeopardize her safety like that? She knew better; he’d done nothing but treat her with the utmost respect. Too much, really. Which drove her crazy. She preferred her men a little more callous; alpha males turned her on. Hell, Vincent turned her on. She wanted to tap into his bad-boy side, unleash the antagonistic nature she knew he possessed.
Why didn’t he open up like other guys?
Twenty minutes flew by and still no Vincent. Bored with her iPhone, Tina opened the glove box to explore. She found some loose photos on top, four pictures of Vincent and his sons. The sunny-faced eldest had copper-colored hair; the younger, blond curls and wide blue eyes. Both favored their father.
Looking up as the front door to the house opened, Tina quickly returned the pictures and closed the glove box. He wouldn’t appreciate her riffling through his truck. He climbed inside and smiled.
“Sorry, it took longer than I expected.”
“No problem,” she said, feeling guilty for snooping. She stared out the windshield.
“Hey. Something wrong?”
She looked at him. “Of course not.”
“Still dying to know what I’m doing?”
“Honestly?”
He patted her knee. “I wouldn’t expect anything else from you.”
“Don’t believe it for a second—I’m pretty crafty.” There, she’d lightened the mood.
He chuckled in appreciation. “My ex-wife lives here. I dropped off some money for my oldest boy’s birthday.”
Tina welcomed his sudden openness. “Having a party?”
“Next Saturday.”
“I bet you’re excited to spend time with him.”
“I’m not invited.” His tone intensified. “I get one weekend a month. Terms of the custody arrangement. Unless Laura gives me special permission to attend family functions, I’m screwed. Seems the court system doesn’t appreciate my lifestyle.”
“That’s bullshit,” she said. “I know violent felons who win shared custody, sometimes sole custody.”
“Laura had an affair with the judge’s son while we were still married. Still is.”
Tina snorted. “Can you prove it?”
“Absolutely,” he said, starting the engine. “They post pics on Instagram and Facebook all the time.”
Tina unbuckled and twisted around so she could look him directly in the eyes. “That’s a conflict of interest for the judge. He needs to recuse himself and let the court reassign your case. You have grounds for a new custody hearing.”
“I know.” He made a U-turn and headed for the highway. “Avoiding the legal system is my way of staying below the radar.”
“Family court is different.”
“Is it?”
“Aren’t you a bank loan officer? Surely the judge took that into consideration.”
“I retired early.”
“Oh.” At twenty-something? So he relied on his income from the MC. Tina sighed. Why did he accept that botched custody agreement without a fight? One weekend a month? “I could take a look at it.”
“Not necessary,” he said flatly. “But I appreciate the offer. Sometimes life doesn’t give you what you want.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of man who subscribes to that kind of hopelessness. Do you have a criminal record?”
“No. Not even a speeding ticket.”
Not wanting to press him any further, she repositioned herself. His hands-off approach with his children didn’t make sense. Maybe he didn’t want to spend more time with them. “Can we stop for a cup of coffee?”