Beyond the Cut (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #2)
Sarah Castille
ONE
Fear is the enemy. I will master my fear before it masters me.
SINNER’S TRIBE CREED
Dawn Delgado had to hand it to Kitty’s Wig Emporium. They made damn good wigs. Well, except for the ill-fitting tribute to 1980s hair bands perched on her head.
She shoved yet another errant blond curl under the elastic. What the hell was going on? After twelve months of trial and error, Kitty’s wigs were usually a perfect fit.
Her phone alarm went off and she yanked the wig down; it would have to do. If Shelly-Ann recognized her, she’d demand more money, but if Dawn didn’t make it out the door in the next two minutes she’d miss the three thirty P.M. bell.
Tucking the last stubborn curl behind her ear, she grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the hall closet and raced out the door of her tiny rental bungalow. Spring had come early to Conundrum this year, which in Montana didn’t mean soft April showers and lovely May flowers, but freezing rain, the occasional snowstorm, and gusting winds. More than enough incentive to cover the one-mile distance that much faster.
By the time she reached the throng of mums, prams, dogs, and nannies heading toward St. Francis Xavier’s Elementary School, she’d given up all hope of the wig staying put. With one hand on her head, she slowed to a walk and then took up her usual position under a huge chestnut tree across the road from the school entrance. Although she was late, the girls would be later, dragging their feet down the school steps, the only unsmiling faces in a sea of cherubic grins.
They hadn’t always been unhappy. One year ago, they’d had warm clothes, plenty of food, and a mother’s love—things their aunt, Shelly-Ann, couldn’t be bothered to give them, no matter how much blackmail money Dawn paid to spend a few extra hours with her girls every week.
Shelly-Ann’s blue Volvo stopped in the school pickup zone just as Maia and Tia exited the school, dressed in identical faded pink jackets, worn jeans, and white sneakers. Matching pink headbands decorated with sparkly purple heart stickers adorned their long blond hair.
Although her seven-year-old twins always dressed the same, anyone who knew them could easily tell them apart. Maia, the older by two minutes, was always in the lead, protecting her little sister while at the same time dragging her along as she indulged her insatiable curiosity about the world. By contrast, Tia preferred to stay in the background—watching and assessing before diving in. But then Tia had a good reason for her reluctance to embrace the world: She had borne the brunt of her daddy’s rage just before they left him for good. Jimmy hated his daughters, even more than he hated his wife. Dawn had celebrated the day their divorce went through, not realizing what Jimmy had planned for retribution.
The door of the Volvo swung open and Shelly-Ann barked from the front seat, her voice so loud, Dawn could hear her harsh words over the rumble of a motorcycle as the bike filtered through the SUV blockade. A kind, gentle auntie Shelly-Ann was not. But then she was from Jimmy’s side of the family, and she had supported him when he took Dawn’s daughters away.
The girls flinched as one, and Dawn took an involuntary step forward and away from the shelter of the tree. The wind gusted around her and with a delighted whoosh swept the wig off her head and carried it in a tumble down the street.
In that moment three things happened.
First, a biker pulled his motorcycle over to the curb and shouted her name.
She recognized the rich, deep baritone of Cade “Raider” Tyson’s voice before she saw him dismount his Harley, his three-piece Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club patch clearly visible on the back of his cut—the sleeveless leather vest worn by all serious bikers. She heard that voice on street corners, in restaurants, and in bars. She heard it in her dreams and when she waited tables in Banks Bar. That voice had coaxed her deepest, darkest fantasies from her lips and made her believe, after two wild nights, maybe dreams really could come true.
Second, Cade’s damn loud voice carried over the after-school chatter and the whistle of the betraying wind; it carried across the street and into the ears of two little girls who only saw their mommy once a week for three hours in the playground while Shelly-Ann had her nails done, and on the rare occasions Dawn had the cash to buy a few extra hours with her daughters.
Third, Maia and Tia spotted Dawn at the same time as Shelly-Ann, who cussed loudly three ways to the Sundays she was forced to bring the girls across the city for their access visit. With a glare for Dawn, she reached across the seat and tried to pull the girls into the car.
But although Shelly-Ann was fast, she wasn’t fast enough. By the time her fingers had breached the doorway, Maia and Tia were already halfway across the busy road, their arms outstretched, their twin voices screaming, “Mommy!”
Dawn’s blood chilled for many reasons, not the least of which was the fact that she didn’t have any extra money to give Shelly-Ann to keep her unauthorized appearance a secret from Jimmy. Also, her daughters were running through school rush-hour traffic heedless of the danger. And to make matters worse, it was Thursday. Payday for Shelly-Ann.
Usually, she would stuff the wig in her bag and meet Shelly-Ann in the parking lot behind the school to pay her for the extra visits Jimmy didn’t know about—school plays and concerts, trips to the mall, and hikes in the mountains. This time, however, she didn’t have any cash to spare. She’d taken a third job and dropped her college courses to pay a lawyer to help her overturn the court’s decision to award custody of the girls to Jimmy—the result of a setup involving a shady private investigator, a Baggie full of crack, a corrupt judge, and a fabricated video of Dawn allegedly buying drugs—and after last month’s outrageous legal bill, she had nothing left.