Cocky Secrets (Cocker Brothers #29)

81. Honey Badger

EIGHTY-ONE

Honey Badger

M eg feels better to me than riding my Harley through the warm summer wind on Route 66, and that was the best feeling I’ve ever known.

On the road I’ve met lots of people.

We’ve come to the rescue of thousands over the years. When human beings are grateful and freed, you hear a lot of personal stories they’d never normally tell a guy like me. Gushing and relieved, they’re often hell bent on sharing something that you can take with you. So many stories of marriages that lasted longer than anyone would have guess when they walked down the aisle. And some of those people had known when they saw their husband or wife for the first time, that they were the one.

I used to think those people were crazy. But then I’d never met Meg yet, had I? Nope. Was it an inner sense that told me to shape up, get my act together, and hit the road searching for her? Why didn’t I do it earlier?

I guess I wasn’t ready, would be my normal answer. But that’s lazy. I don’t know if there’s destiny, but if there is I think you make your own. No one else is going to do it for you because they’re too fucked up over what they’ve gotta do.

Now this ginger beauty I want to stare at for hours is guiding me through the two main streets that make up this throwback town. The only way I’m stomaching Christmas being shoved down my throat is that I’m with her. The happiness on her face is making me smile, and I have to focus on that in order to let go of the past. At least for tonight.

She knows everyone, which could be a problem. So I ask her, after she introduces me to another one of her old teachers, “You rooted into this place?”

She glances to me, taking my hand. “It’s where I grew up. I love it here.”

Someone just poured wet cement into my chest. “Huh,” I mutter as it hardens.

She gives my hand a squeeze and bonks her shoulder into mine. “Why do you ask?”

“You know why,” I mutter, my eyes on a bundled up old woman waving at Meg. “She’s tryin’ to get your attention.”

“Oh, hi Mrs. McIntyre!”

“Hi, Margaret! Is this your new fella?” She ducks around pedestrians to get to us, a muffler in her hands. “Hello, I’m Lizzy. A friend of Margaret’s parents.”

I offer my hand. “Honey Badger.” She blinks at the name, just like everyone else we’ve met has. Her fingers are cold so I point to her muffler and say, “You need a thicker one of those.”

Her laugh has a twinkle to it. “Oh, I get cold easily. They should make these with electric warmers in them.” She leans forward with excitement at the idea. “Wouldn’t that be nice?” This woman is pure goodness, and I wonder if she ever saw a bad thing happen in her whole life. No one I’ve known is this bright.

Meg gives her a warm smile with years of familiarity behind it. “You should tell someone to invent it. It’s a wonderful idea, Aunt Lizzy.”

My eyebrows twitch, and Lizzy explains, “She’s always called me that because her mother and I were friends since we were three-years-old! Isn’t that incredible! We were practically sisters. Oh, I miss her so.” She’s eying me like she wants to ask me something.

“Yes?” I say with a smirk, waiting for the bomb.

“You’re a biker, aren’t you?”

“I am. But we’ve redefined the breed.”

She tilts her head and glances to Meg with curiosity, before returning to me. “Well, you must understand I represent Margaret’s parents, so I’m a liaison of trust if you will.”

“I get it. She’s safe with me.”

Her eyes crinkle up as she inspects me. “I believe you. You have a nice aura. Well, you two run along now. I’d heard you had a fella.” Off of our expressions she hastily explains with a mischievous smile, “News travels fast in a town like ours. And everyone’s out tonight! With tomorrow being Christmas Eve everyone will be home then. This is their last chance to hear the carolers and ride in the coach!” She pats my forearm. “So nice to meet you, Honey Wagger.”

As she heads off Meg and I cut a look to each other, both of us trying not to laugh while the old lady can hear. She slips her arm through mine and clasps my hand, leaning in to whisper, “Honey Wagger? Can I call you that now?”

Holding back a grin, I give her a blunt, “No.”

She laughs, “And you have a nice aura. I think it’s black.”

“Stop it.”

She kisses my cheek while we continue down the street. Meg buys gloves because she forgot hers. I pay for them, and she doesn’t argue. Instead she looks at me like she did when I finally opened her door after she gave me the clue that I’m supposed to. I’d done it by instinct after she was attacked — never thought to do it again.

At The Truffle Shop I buy up a ton of ‘em because they’re fucking amazing. Meg explains that each one is hand-painted, but all I care about is the taste. Damn, that’s some good chocolate. “I’m gonna try and bring these back to Louisiana, but I don’t know if they’ll make it.”

As we go from store to store, I’m digging into my memory banks for what I’ve seen my brothers do with their women, how they’ve acted. I’m trying to figure out how to behave before she figures out I’ve never done this before. Sex, I’ve done. But not this.

The Ciphers are a gruff bunch, but they’re gentlemen. I’ve never been one, but I wanna learn. Even if it means I’m gonna get a load of shit for it when I get back home.

We head into Café Mekka, a coffee shop with a splash of hippy. Local art covering the walls. Longhaired people lounging around, some strumming on guitars while talking with their friends. I barely get a once-over in here so I nod approval, and order my girl a hot chocolate, and a black coffee for me.

“You want espresso?”

“Fuck no.”

The messy-haired lady smiles at my answer and heads off to make it.

The tip jar has a hand-written note: Improve your karma. I throw a twenty in and mutter to Meg, “Need all the help I can get,” with a smirk.

She leans into me and lays her cheek on my collarbone, gazing at the guitarist who just found a melody he likes. “That’s pretty,” she whispers.

“You’re pretty.”

She glances up and holds my eyes with a growing smile. “Where did you come from?”

“Hell,” I smirk. “But I’m glad they let me out.”

She hits my chest and burrows in again, listening to the music with me until our hot drinks are set on the counter behind us. I pay the lady and watch Meg’s ass as she heads for the self-serve station where cream, stir-sticks and things like that are kept. Following her I prop my chin on her shoulder to look over it and see what she’s doing.

“More chocolate?”

“I like to add the powder, too. And a dash of cinnamon?” She thinks about it, then set the spice down. “No, too much maybe.”

A couple gets up from a worn out couch that’s seen a ton of asses. We head for the thing and I take off my jacket so Meg can sit on it. She watches me with curiosity and I explain, “This thing isn’t good enough for you.” The smile in her eyes says everything so I grin, “Surprising you, huh?”

“You are.”

“I’ll keep that up.”

She teases, “I hope so,” before sitting on my jacket and blowing steam a few inches off the cup.

“Hold onto that thing,” I mutter as I plop down and groan at the comfort of sitting on a weathered couch. I’m not too good for this piece of shit. It’s just right for me. I kick my feet up and lean back, drinking my coffee with lips that can weather the heat.

Meg turns to face me. “Tell me about The Ciphers.”

Satisfied that all the noise of this place will drown out the secrets I’m about to tell, I launch right in, “Last month we stood vigil over a shelter for battered women in Omaha. We got word that the employees weren’t cut out for keeping the abusive men away. The men knew it and had banded together to ‘get back what was theirs.’ We showed up and kicked the shit out of a couple of creeps who’d sent their wives to hospitals. That spread to the other cowardly fucks and they backed off. We sat vigil there for a couple weeks. A couple guys are staying there until who knows how long. They’ll report back how it’s going and when it’s safe, they’ll return to their wives.”

Like she’s in a trance Meg whispers, “I don’t know if it’s terrible or amazing.”

“Terrible?”

“That there are men who would do that in the first place,” she explains. “I can’t believe they banded together!”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, it’s fuckin’ crazy. They’re cowards. We’re stronger than you women, physically. Can’t deny that. And they use that shit to force loyalty. But when another guy stands up to them and tells them to knock that shit off, they skulk into the shadows like the lowlifes they are. Or they come back with a gun. That’s the worst, when they’re armed. We’ve gotten really good at removing bullets from each other.”

“You don’t use doctors?”

I shake my head once, sucking on the inside of my teeth. “Nope. What we do isn’t legal. Can’t have the cops sniffing around.” Before she gets nervous, I tell her, “It should be legal, but it ain’t. We’re doing the right thing. Those women were in danger. And now they’re learning there are men who can be trusted. That they don’t have to be with a guy they’re afraid of. Ciphers watching over them, making sure they’re good, havin’ conversations with them when we don’t want nothin’ – that’s opening their minds up. Changing how they think. It’s another reason we left some on vigil, not just for show so those evil fucks would stay away. No, it was because Scratch – our V.P. who runs everything and got the first call about what was happening out there – he saw the terrified ladies were opening up a little. He decided we could do more good if we stuck around. Help them gain some trust and maybe a little self-respect. Then I headed here, since I wasn’t one of the guys chosen. I’m rougher than most of them.”

Meg covers my hand with hers, clasping it. “You’re wonderful.”

I don’t know what to say to compliments so I just squeeze her gentle fingers and drink my coffee.

She sips from her cup, too, but her eyes are locked on me. Can’t say I mind. Every man wants to be a hero to his woman. In fact, that’s all he wants. Even if it’s just a smile for takin’ out the damn garbage. I didn’t have a woman, but anytime one of the ladies at the house thanked me for something I did, my whole fuckin’ day was made. That’s all it takes. A little appreciation and we’re goin’ nowhere.

“Antonio, what I don’t understand is, how do you get these calls? Where is your home again?”

“South Vacherie, Louisiana.”

“And this shelter was in Omaha?”

“Yup. When you help people, shit goes viral. Not on the Internet, but mouth to mouth. We get calls from all over the country because someone told their friend’s cousin’s babysitter’s dog about us, and that’s all it ever takes.”

She smiles, “What kind of dog?”

“Saint Bernard,” I smirk.

When she laughs her blue eyes brighten to where I can barely look at her she’s so pretty. With a tug on her hand I beckon her to lean in for a kiss. She tastes like chocolate and beauty, and when she straightens up again, we stare for a few beats where we silently tell each other we wish we were alone.