Vacant MC (The Nighthawks MC Book 11) Page 4

  “I’m not a girl pony,” said Damia, clearly. “I’m a girl… a big girl.”

  “That you are,” said Robb. “So, don’t let the vet look at your teeth. Make sure she looks at the pony’s teeth instead.”

  That bright laugh came again. “Vet Varner doesn’t look at my teeth,” she said. She snapped her jaw like a snapping turtle. “I’d bite her if she did.”

  That one made Robb laugh. “I bet you would, little filly. I bet you would.” He took a chance and took some straw out of her hair. “There, now. Time to clean up before the vet comes.” Inola handed over a credit card, and he ran it through his phone attachment and gave it back. “If you don’t mind, I’ll run that card the other direction. I want two bags of that young man Alo’s feed, for horses, and one for rabbits. My wife done got it into her head to make a rabbit condo like yours, raise us up some of those soft, furry rabbits. Angora style.”

  Inola took his card and ran it through her own phone attachment. “I’ll help you put it into your truck.”

  “Do you want to see our rabbit condo?” asked Damia.

  “Yes, please, little filly,” said Robb. Inola gave him his card back, and a receipt. He took it, put it in his wallet, and followed Damia to the rabbit condo. The rabbits had food, water, shelter, and a little cooler to keep them cool in the desert heat. They stayed in their warren, coming out to hop around, but only at dusk and dawn, being wary of owls.

  Inola and Henry stood there, gaping, as David, who had been watching from the porch, joined them. “What just happened?” asked Inola.

  “I think our singing is working,” said David. “She is healing, and coming out of her shell, bit by bit.” He nodded. “I am very thankful for the doctors that taught us how to enter her brain and break the locks. Now, I am also thankful for our songs and for love, and for also allowing her to live as she is most comfortable.”

  “Let’s sing over this pony some more,” said Inola. “It is powerful medicine.”

  “Yes,” said David. “It will calm the horse, for when the vet is here.”

  All three of their voices rose, melding in the summer morning. People working inside the house turned off the air conditioning and opened the windows. Robert and Triesta came out, a wrench in each of their hands, to listen. Little Nico, who had been crossing over to visit with Richard to learn more about motorcycles, ran back in and told everyone to come out. Robert and Triesta both put down their wrenches and passed a cloth back and forth to wipe their fingers. They stepped out into the sunshine and walked to the paddock. Robb stayed, without knowing why, after Damia finished showing him the rabbit condo.

  Damia ran back to the paddock, let herself in, and then, to everyone’s shock, joined in the song, with her voice just under Inola’s. Robert had the presence of mind to take out his cell phone, open the camera app, and record a video. Robert and Triesta waited, then Robert sang counterpoint in Zuni, Triesta winding her voice with his. They went back and forth, in Ute and Zuni, changing songs twice. The vet arrived, took out her equipment, and hauled only a little of it, as Little Nico and Tam rushed out to help her. She kept her mouth shut. Being half Paiute herself, she relished the songs.

  The last notes faded away. Doctor Lucy Varner stepped forward, and Little Nico opened the paddock to let her in the gate. Damia said, “Vet Varner! Blaze needs immu…”

  “Immunizations,” said Varner. “Long word for a short girl. Let’s take a look, shall we?”

  David and Henry got out of the way, holding hands, walking back up to the house. Henry snagged his coffee cup on the way. He was startled by a hug from Robert. “Glad you made it home alive,” he said.

  “With this to come home to?” He paused, working on not crying. “I will come home,” he said, looking into Robert’s eyes, then into David’s. “I will always come home.”

  Ivy worked to take the video of her daughter’s singing and conversation calmly. An overly-emotional reaction would send their entire house of cards tumbling down. She held Kiya, bounced her, and let the triumphant tears flow. Aiden beat on a plastic drum with a rubber drumstick, and with the hand not clutching the stick.

  “You go, little man,” said Ivy. “Taking after your mama, I see.” She looked back on all the things she had to do to get there, to their house with the soft blue kitchen walls, the glass backsplash, the sanded wooden floors of the living room. She sat down on the rug and played with her babies.

  Callie came up, saw her wife’s tears, and stopped short. She’d been upstairs cleaning while Ivy did the downstairs, the laundry, and did baby-carrying with each task (to keep them engaged and happy).

  “What happened?” she said, developing a knot in her stomach. “Is everyone…”

  “Fine,” said Ivy, and passed over the video. Ivy snatched a ball from Kiya’s hands, making it squeal, and rolled it back in-between Kiya’s legs. Kiya squealed again.

  Callie watched the video once, then again. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “That’s… beautiful.”

  “At first, I was resentful,” said Ivy. “A real asshat. How can other people get my daughter to open up, and I can’t? I’m her mom. I should have the magic key or something. Then, I realized two things. First of all, I didn’t resent the doctors and therapists that worked with her on the ranch. Why would I? They were unlocking her, slowly. Then, I realized, we all have keys. What I was really resentful about was that I didn’t have all the keys. I should be overjoyed that we all had them, and that we could all open one of her five million locks. So, then, I became,” she paused to wipe her eyes again, “grateful for all the people here with keys.”

  Callie wiped her own eyes and gave her wife and herself tissues. They finished crying, and Callie knelt, and hugged her wife from behind. “Where are those Owl Pack people? We need a babysitter.”

  Ivy grinned and sent a text. Soon Chogan Little Deer, the Apache elder and medicine man (visiting to help with the Wolfpack and learn the strong medicine of the ranch) was there. Josh and Nick, Nantan and Chayton’s boys, were with him too. He sat on the floor, and the boys made a ring around the babies.

  “Go,” he said. “When I heard the strong medicine this morning, I knew you would need time together.”

  “Thank you,” said Callie. He nodded and made a shooing motion with his hands.

  Callie took Ivy’s hands, helped her stand, and both moms kissed the babies before running upstairs. Callie ran the bath while Ivy undressed. Then, Callie undressed. They both tucked their hair up and climbed into the hot water. They both cried their eyes out.

  “Turn around,” said Callie. Ivy did, and Callie washed her back. It turned into a massage that made Ivy groan.

  Ivy laid her head back on her wife’s shoulder. “We are so damn lucky.”

  “We are,” said Callie. She held her wife close, then began running her fingers over her breasts.

  “Mmm,” said Ivy. “You can stop that… never!”

  Callie’s hands wandered down, then stroked her wife’s stomach, her back, her thighs. Ivy arched and groaned. Callie slid her fingers in, and Ivy pressed against her wife as Callie’s fingers went in and out. Callie kissed Ivy’s neck, her ear, then wantingly thumbed her clit, until Ivy came in a rush. Callie let Ivy float while she washed her, from face to toes. She rinsed her off, held her one more time, and pushed her gently to the side.

  “You need lunch before work, and so do I.” Callie watched her wife’s gorgeous backside as she rose and levered herself out of the tub. Callie finished washing herself and smiled.

  “I wish I had time to do you,” said Ivy.

  “Too short of time,” said Callie. “You must do it tonight.”

  “I will,” said Ivy. “Love, I will.”

  Nefarious Plans

  Sigrun and Wraith figured out where to put the home office. They found a corner, put black shoji screens all around it, and hung three monitors on the wall they got (cheap as chips) from Daisy Chain. Daisy sent over an amazing desk, that had drawers where they could direct
ly plug in hard drives, with its own power and cooling system, and USB and HDMI ports built in everywhere.

  Daisy hooked her in and got everything set up, by sending her main setup man, Dave, along with the screens, desk, and truck. Dave was a black-haired little person, and a setup genius. He used a stool to get around, and soon had a lightning-fast system.

  “Gaming,” he said, pointing to one screen. “VR,” he said, pointing to glasses. “Do you want your dashboard on the right screen, or the middle?”

  “One more screen, just below,” said Wraith.

  “I’ve got it in the van,” said Dave. “Gonna cost you.” Wraith handed over the company credit card Gregory had messengered over, and Dave was quick to run it. He came back and set up the screen below.

  “You are a setup god,” said Sigrun.

  “I know,” said Dave. “The drink holder is for covered drinks only. You spill, you die. I will kill you myself with my smallest screwdriver. Not a good way to go.”

  “Understood,” said Wraith. Sigrun held up her fist. “With your shield.”

  “Or on it,” said Wraith.

  “Valkyries are weird,” said Dave. “The ottomans open up for storage. One red, one gray.” He handed them over, and soon the bags were torn open and the flattened cubes made into boxes. Wraith and Sigrun put the padded tops on. “Double chairs, both top of the line, was the first order, but then I heard you were poly, so three.” He pointed to the three black chairs with levers on each side for movement up and down, and back and forth. “We have a pneumatic piston system for earthquake areas.” Wraith and Sigrun didn’t know if he was joking, so they wisely said nothing. “Battery backup system.” He pointed into the drawer. “And here, the two backup hard drives, all three with encryption.” He opened a silver, lightweight laptop. “Let me walk you through it.” He did, to the point that both women were screaming for algorithmic mercy by the end. “Never store any passwords where someone can see them. There is such a thing as industrial espionage. All of this is Agency-level encryption, firewalls behind firewalls. Any questions?”

  They were both sweating and slightly sick to their stomachs. They both shook their heads, and Dave left in a hurry, in his van with his dual toolboxes, large and tiny, before they could recover. They didn’t have time to wave out the window or thank him as he drove away.

  “Ohmigod.” Wraith carefully lowered herself onto the couch.

  Sigrun went to the refrigerator and came back with two sodas. “That was… disturbing.” They drank Coke in silence.

  “What the fuck do I need on my dashboard?” asked Wraith.

  “What do you want to measure?” asked Sigrun. They took out their tablets, made lists, and compared them. Wraith’s was far more detailed. They narrowed it down. “Number of current clients, number of clients per day, number of operatives working with clients per shift. Should that be a matching function? Number of operatives per client per shift? Vegas is a 24-hour town. Then cost per client. Just gives an idea of what to charge, do not want to cut corners with people’s safety. Shift rotation, who’s on what shift. Be sure everyone’s fed, with snacks and liquids all day. Desert heat is unforgiving.”

  “What the fuck. So, clients and operatives matched with them per shift, with food/water/snack times, and the cost per client. Will that include hidden costs, like gas for the bulletproof vehicles?” asked Sigrun.

  Wraith raised her eyebrows. “Someone’s been talking to Lily.” Sigrun preened. “Actual and hidden costs. The whole shebang. We have to know what to charge clients. And where all the money goes. And no skimping on food, liquids, snacks, or safety.”

  “Okay,” said Sigrun. “Let’s call Daisy Chain to…”

  “Already got code from her for it. Just gotta plug in numbers that change in real time from different sources,” said Wraith. She stood, stretched, arms and legs only, careful to keep her torso from moving. “Okay, potty break, then dashboard. Then Thai chicken pizza and cherry waters.”

  “Deal,” said Sigrun. “I’ve got a mural to paint.” She brought out two more colas, took one, and gave the other one to Wraith. “Good luck,” she said. “Frequent rest breaks, or I’ll come back and send you to Valhalla myself.”

  “On it,” said Wraith. She picked up the cola as the door shut, and then made her slow way back to the desk. She added a part for resources they used and needed to replace, like ammo, then used the restroom, and sat down to work.

  Wraith found herself exhausted by pain and by trying to focus through the pain. She made her slow way to the kitchen, took a tablet, washed it down with cherry water, and zapped the pizza. She took it out, cut it up with a pizza wheel, and ate it standing up. She rose up and down on her toes, then touched her toes, to stretch out tired muscles. She put the rest of the pizza away, finished off the cherry water, cleaned up, and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She then went to the bedroom and stared at Saber’s empty side of the bed.

  “Shut up,” she told her negative self. “He’ll be back when he’s damn good and ready, and not a moment before.” She slid under the sheets, put on her eye mask, and was asleep in moments.

  She woke up to snoring. Not Sigrun’s delicate snorts. It was the buzz-saw snoring of a truly exhausted… man. She couldn’t turn her head, but she could stroke the arm around her waist. He’d showered. The hairs on his golden arm were slightly damp. She held his arm, stroked his hand. She fell asleep again, something in her shoulders began releasing, some tension in the pit of her stomach now also melting away.

  When she woke again, Sigrun was jumping up and down, trying not to cry out with excitement. She moved the arm holding her, and Sigrun helped her sit up, then stand up. “Feed us, then we’ll…”

  “Yes,” said Sigrun. The women padded into the kitchen. “I love you,” said Sigrun.

  “I love you too,” said Wraith. Both women embraced, tears running down their faces. “Thank you for all your help. You have been wonderful.” Although Sigrun had showered, she still smelled of paint and turpentine, and warm air and desert dust. “You finish your mural?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Outlined it, painted it, cleaned up, then pizza. Had over twenty of us. Lovely scene, horses and desert air, with Lake Mead shimmering in the background.”

  “You drew it?” asked Wraith, letting her go.

  “I did,” said Sigrun. “It’s the farm, with a lot of poetic license.” She turned and pulled the still-warm fettuccini (with chicken in an alfredo pesto sauce) from the oven.

  “Save some for our love,” said Wraith.

  “Bought two. He’ll heat it and eat it later, probably at three in the morning when he wakes up.” She pulled out a half loaf of garlic bread and cut it up. Wraith got out the forks and soup spoons for twirling pasta, and two cherry limeades.

  “Good,” said Wraith. “Let’s eat before I eat you.”

  Sigrun tinkled a laugh. The women sat, and they held hands a moment, thankful to the gods for their husband’s safe return. “Saber looks thinner,” said Sigrun. “Have to fatten him up.”

  “He always looks that way on a job,” said Wraith, taking a hunk of the crusty bread. “He usually plays junkies. He sometimes bulks up for hitmen. I saw him once wear a suit and play a banker, another time a CEO.”

  “That’s what the Armani is for!” said Sigrun. “Wondered why that was in the closet of a biker.”

  “You didn’t see mine?” asked Wraith, spearing a piece of chicken.

  “Saw it,” said Sigrun. “Just thought you had really good taste.”

  Wraith choked, swallowed, then laughed. “True, but, sadly, I’m usually playing a junkie whore, or a gunrunner, or a cartel bitch. Not so much with the Armani.” She sighed. “Used to.” She held up a hand to collect her thoughts, ate more fettuccine, chewed, and swallowed again. “It’s a game you have to get out of, go into management, eventually. I have no urge to go into management. None whatsoever. At all. Sending people out into situations where they have a high chance of dying. Making case
s that stick in court. Mopping up fuckups and badly planned raids. Dealing with the locals and other agencies.” She rolled her eyes. “Just shoot me.”

  “Isn’t that kind of what you are doing now?” asked Sigrun, taking her own pasta and bread.

  “Sort of is, sort of isn’t,” said Wraith. “We usually just do protection. Our operatives generally want to stand out. We can hide them, but probably won’t take the prostitute or junkie path.” She laughed. “Or prostitute AND junkie path. Some of them would shoot me if I tried.” She laughed again. “No, probably pretend to be band members, or groupies, or… wait, too old. Managers, hangers-on. CEOs.”

  “Does the fact some of them have blades for legs and robotic arms interfere with anything?” asked Sigrun.

  “Nope, makes it easy for people to underestimate them, actually.” Wraith speared a piece of bell pepper. “So much better than hospital food. Thank you for breaking me out.”

  “Home health nurse was great,” said Sigrun. “Let’s remember her. Georgia Dasker?”

  “Yep,” said Wraith. “Once she figured out I understood how to move and what not to do, she trusted me. Believed in me. Few do.”

  “It’s like they have checklists in their head, and if you correct their mistaken beliefs, they just keep going down the checklist, ignoring you,” said Sigrun. She shuddered. “I want my drugs, and to lay still. Got it. Everything over that is just silly.”

  “Yes,” agreed Sigrun.

  “She should be by in half an hour to check the wrappings and the meds,” said Wraith. “Murder movie marathon?”

  Sigrun shook her head. “Nope. Sexy medieval people.”

  “Good choice,” said Wraith. They finished. Wraith got her plate to the sink, then said, “Thanks for doing the chores, baby.”

  Sigrun fed Roxie (the smoke-gray cat) her treats, one at a time. “All part of the deal,” she said. She filled up the refrigerator and then the dishwasher, she brought over some peach teas, and the two of them got comfortable and settled into their chosen show.