“Mick,” the man said after giving Reece’s hand a deliberate, manly squeeze. Not too firm to make it a contest, nowhere near weak either, and Reece returned the gesture. “I got a title, which means I’m top dog around here, but no one uses it. Everyone just calls me Mick. You’re welcome to do the same.”
Friendly, approachable, the title didn’t matter. The job did.
It was then Reece remembered he liked this guy.
“All right, Mick,” Reece agreed.
To Reece’s surprise, Mick invited, “’Spect, this early, you could use some coffee. Why don’t you come around?”
He hadn’t expected this to be that easy.
Then again, he’d chosen Gnaw Bone because people were that easy, his woman being one of them.
But even if Gnaw Bone wasn’t so friendly, he still would have come for Zara.
He followed Mick to a coffeepot in a common area. Mick poured and slid the sugar Reece’s way. Reece took care of his mug, Mick took care of his, and then Mick looked to him.
“Why don’t we have a sit down in my office?” Mick asked.
Reece lifted his chin and followed Mick into an office that looked like the man who used it had not only been there a while, but also, he was busy.
“Jane, our girl up front, wants to tidy up. I just don’t let her. If she did, I wouldn’t know where anything was,” Mick explained the mess as he rounded his desk and sat down, flicking his hand at the three chairs across from it. “Take a load off, son.”
Reece did, took a sip of coffee, and trained his eyes on the cop.
Before he could say a word, Mick smiled and stated, “Glad you came down. Best we get things ironed out between us before we gotta iron them out during a situation. Been meanin’ to come speak with you, things got in the way. Glad you reached out and beat me to it.”
Reece felt his brows draw together as he replied, “Not followin’.”
“The Dog,” Mick returned. “Been around years, Reece, as you probably know from the last time you were in Gnaw Bone. Know things can get rowdy there. Know past management of The Dog preferred to deal with things on their own. It’s good you know now that I don’t turn the other cheek, son, not ever. But if the parties involved are good with walkin’ away without callin’ a cruiser, I’m good with that, long’s there’s no coercion for them to come to that decision, no weapons involved, and no lengthy hospital stays. You with me on this?”
He was talking about fights at The Dog and how he wanted them handled.
Reece had been handling bar fights for twenty-two years. He usually handled them by stopping them before they started. If that didn’t work, he’d do it Shaughnessy’s way.
So Reece told him, “I can agree on that. But that’s not why I’m here.”
It was then Mick’s brows drew together. He took a sip of coffee as he cleared his features.
Then he asked, “So, son, why’re you here?”
“Zara Cinders is livin’ with me,” Reece said as answer and Mick nodded but it wasn’t lost on Reece that Mick’s eyes grew even sharper.
Zara was liked. This was not a surprise. She was extremely likeable and she’d been around Gnaw Bone since birth so most everyone knew just how much there was to like.
Zara was also protected and this was also not a surprise. Kids who came from families like hers, if the town gave a shit, tended to be that way, too.
“Yeah. Hear you gave her a job, got her out of those apartments,” Mick said. “Good owners. Just lazy. Keep tellin’ ’em they should do somethin’ about their locks and peepholes before somethin’ not good happens and they keep tellin’ me they’ll get around to it. Zara, she’s a good gal. Well-liked. Glad you got her out of there and in a job where she can back get on her feet.”
“You don’t understand me,” Reece said. “She’s livin’ with me, as in she’s mine.”
Mick had no response but Reece again saw the man’s already acute attention that he hid behind his good-ol’-boy ways get even more acute.
Reece didn’t need a response.
He kept talking.
“Came in ’cause we were at The Rooster last night and Dahlia Cinders dropped by our table. She told Zara she had to speak to her father. This conversation did not go well, no information was shared, and it was, thankfully, brief. Zara’s worried, though. ’Spect, you know what went down, you know why she is. I’m wonderin’ if there’s somethin’ I need to know. That way I can cushion the blow when it’s time that she does know. And I figure, the person who knows the most around this town is you.”
There was a hint of surprise in his eyes when Mick asked, “Her father hasn’t called her?”
“They don’t speak,” Reece explained.
“Yes, I know, but…” Mick trailed off, looked to his desk, took a sip of coffee, then looked back at Reece. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, son, and I’m sorry that you’re the one’s gonna have to tell Zara. But, two days ago, Xenia passed away.”
Just as he thought.
Reece’s eyes slid to look out the window as his lips muttered, “Shit, f**k.”
Nearly nine years ago, Xenia Cinders got high at the same time she got drunk. For reasons known only to her, and locked away now for near on a decade, she left her house, wandered into the street, and was hit by a car.
The car wasn’t going that fast. Her body took some damage but not much. But luck that didn’t shine often on the Cinders girls didn’t shine on Xenia that night. The hit she took meant she landed with all her weight and a goodly amount of momentum on her head. The head trauma was extreme and irreparable.
She was brain dead.
Unfortunately, her body didn’t know that.
Also, unfortunately, for a reason in the beginning but after that reason was no longer a reason it ended up being just plain stubborn cruelty, even though Zara had begged her parents to turn off the machines and let her go, they’d refused.
So now Xenia had lived an extra nine years without lifting a finger, blinking an eye, eating a bite of food, enjoying a drink, or actually living at all.
“You know anything about it, you know it’s a blessing,” Mick said quietly and Reece looked back at him.
“Not sure Zara’s gonna look at it like that.”
“I can see that.” His eyes grew sharp again. “You care about her though, son, enough to make her yours, you’ll guide her to that.”