“You got me?” he asked.
“I got you,” I answered softly.
His eyes moved over my face before they locked on mine. “Do not be scared of me,” he ordered, his voice still firm but also weirdly gentle.
“Okay,” my voice was trembling even on that one, two syllable word.
His eyes held mine captive then he let me go, stepped away, ripped my resignation letter in half and dropped the pieces on my desk.
I stayed pressed against the wall and watched him, knowing I had just lied. I knew he was a scary biker dude and now I knew he was seriously a scary biker dude.
“Get your purse,” he demanded as he walked to the door that led to the garage and unlocked it then went on to say unbelievably, “We’ll get a sandwich together.”
I swallowed and my mind raced for excuses why I couldn’t get a sandwich with him because I needed him to go out and get his own sandwich so I could get in my car and drive to Vancouver.
“Uh…” I mumbled, he turned, his eyes slicing to me and then the sound of someone trying the handle of the door to outside could be heard.
Tack’s eyes went to it and my eyes went to it.
Then we both heard a girl’s voice from outside. “Dad! Are you in there?” The handle turned again, its sound desperate. “Dad! Open up! God! Open up! Mom’s bein’ a bitch!”
I stared at the door.
Tack moved to it. Then he unlocked it and opened it.
Then two teenagers were in my office. Two teenagers that were most assuredly of Tack’s loins. Two teenagers who were visibly in the throes of a serious drama.
Oh hell.
Chapter Seven
Tabby and Rush
“Mom’s bein’ a total bitch!” Tack’s daughter cried again, approximately a second after she cleared the door.
I stared at her. She had Tack’s hair except long, its glorious waves cascading down her back well past her bra strap. She also had his sapphire blue eyes, hers were flashing because she was pissed way the hell off. She was petite and slim but rounded, wearing jean shorts, a sweet Harley Davidson tee and flip-flops. Her blemishless skin, every inch of it, was tanned a beautiful brown. She was a teenage knockout. And she was pacing with extreme, teenage girl agitation.
“She is, Dad, totally,” Tack’s son stated and I moved my stare to him.
He was near to the spitting image of his father. The same height though Tack’s son didn’t have the muscled bulk of his father but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a lean, sculpted body. Like his sister, he had his Dad’s hair and olive skin tone. He was wearing his Dad’s uniform of faded, fitting-too-well-for-peace-of-mind jeans, motorcycle boots and t-shirt, his announcing he was a fan of Black Stone Cherry. He didn’t have the goatee and he had his mother’s light blue eyes but other than that, Tack was written all over him. Unlike his sister, he wasn’t pacing. He was standing, his hands on his h*ps but he looked angry, if not as angry as his sister.
“This isn’t somethin’ you both don’t know,” Tack’s voice rumbled into the room.
The girl whirled to face her Dad and leaning in, she declared, “All right, then she’s bein’ more than the total bitch she normally is!”
“No joke,” the boy put in. “She’s all over Tab like a rash.”
“Why?” Tack asked.
“Because she’s a bitch?” the girl asked back.
“I need more than that, Tabby,” Tack told her.
“She took the keys to Tab’s car and grounded her and swear, Dad, totally swear, there’s no reason,” the boy informed Tack and Tack’s gaze went from his son to his daughter.
“Is there no reason, Tabby?” he asked.
Hmm. The way Tack asked that it seemed maybe Tabby was a bit of a wild one.
“You know I’ll tell you like it is, Dad, but Rush is right. She’s off on one and… again… because she’s a total, freaking nutcase… she’s takin’ it out on me,” Tabby said.
My eyes slid to Tack to see his jaw was clenched.
Tabby kept talking. “I can’t live with this shit anymore. I kid you not, no more. I never know when she’s gonna blow or freak out about something or get in my face or… or… whatever. And that douchebag of a husband of hers, he gets in on the act –”
“How?” Tack barked. He said that one word so forcefully, so abruptly and so angrily, it startled me so much I jumped. Both Tack’s kids went still and their demeanor instantly turned cautious.
“He’s just a dick, Dad, you know that,” the boy said quietly and carefully.
“How’s he a dick, Rush?” Tack asked curtly, only a slim edge of patience in his tone.
Rush and Tabby looked at each other then back to Tack.
“He’s the one who took my keys,” Tabby stated softly. “Says I don’t pull it together, he’s gonna sell my car.” I held my breath when Tack’s scary biker dude vibe filled the air again but Tabby went on, “The problem with that is, I don’t know what I gotta pull together because I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“He just wants to sell her car because he’s a lazy f**k,” Rush muttered under his breath, eyeing his father who was at that very moment yanking his phone out of his back pocket.
“Dad –” Tabby started.
“Quiet,” Tack ordered, beeping buttons on his phone.
“I wanna live with you,” she ignored him in order to continue. “And, just to say, I’ll lose my freakin’ mind that douche sells my car.”
Tack put his phone to his ear and scowled at his daughter. What he didn’t do was reply to her. Instead, he spoke into his phone.
“Shut your f**kin’ mouth,” he growled into the phone. I held my breath again at his vicious tone and he went on, “That shithead thinks to sell my girl’s car because he’s a lazy-ass motherfucker and can’t pull his finger out to get himself a f**kin’ job, he buys himself trouble. And I’m warnin’ you, Naomi, it’s trouble he don’t wanna have. I gave Tabby that car, that car belongs to her. It don’t belong to you and it sure as f**k don’t belong to him. You get his shit sorted and you get your shit sorted and you do not use my kids to sort it. Are we clear?”
He listened for approximately two point five seconds then went on.