Brute: The Valves MC by Carmen Faye Page B

right?”

 
    CHAPTER TEN
     
    Placing the plates in the sink, I looked over at Ginger, who was sitting by the window, trying to see in the darkness outside.
     
    “What are you doing, baby?” I asked, smiling.
     
    “Trying to see my house. When will Daddy be home?”
     
    Her sad voice hurt me. Poor baby, she missed him. “It’ll be sometime, baby. But I’m here. Wanna play a game? Or watch TV?” I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her protectively.
     
    “Yeah, maybe some TV. But, just so I know, what games do you have? I’m bored of Jenga.”
     
    I laughed again, steering Ginger towards the living room. “Maybe some cards. Do you know how to play cards?”
     
    She scrunched her nose. “How are you a teacher and not have any games?”
     
    “Well, I don’t teach children at home, baby.”
     
    And immediately as I said that, I knew I shouldn’t have.
     
    Ginger looked up at me, climbing on the cream couch beside the window, with a thoughtful expression on her tiny face.
     
    “Shall we play Jenga, then?” I tried to change the subject.
     
    She wouldn’t have it. “You don’t?”
     
    “What, dear?”
     
    “Have children at home?”
     
    I paused for a second. What should I say? If I told her yes, she’d ask about it, and if I told her no, she’d just do the same. With a heavy sigh, I decided for the truth. “No, baby. I don’t usually have children at home.”
     
    The child looked at me intensely. I could almost see the little wheels turning in her head. “So, if you don’t…Why do you have me, then?” she followed, tracing an imaginary line along the edge of the couch.
     
    I didn’t know how to go about that. I was beginning to see that, despite working with children daily, I knew nothing about dealing with them. I cleared my throat, trying to stall, but Ginger’s interest didn’t seem to settle.
     
    “Okay,” I said, turning to face her. She straightened in her seat, physically prepared to listen. “Your dad and I are…very good friends. And neighbors. And what do neighbors do, honey?”
     
    “They are being good neighbors?” she tried, like she was answering at school.
     
    “Yes, they are being good neighbors. They help each other, baby. And your daddy asked for my help because he has to work. He couldn’t have left you alone on the weekends, could he?”
     
    “But I never was alone on the weekends, Mari. Daddy usually stays home on the weekends,” she said, scrunching her little face again.
     
    My doubt spiked again, but I stifled it. He could’ve changed his schedule. “Are you sure, baby? He does work odd hours and you might’ve not noticed if he changed something.”
     
    “Odd hours?”
     
    “Oh, it means that he doesn’t work the usual hours most people do. Like, during daytime.”
     
    “Hmm, but he does work like that. Sometimes. Sometimes he works nights, but always at home. Before we came here, he didn’t leave a lot on weekends. Maybe once or twice. Oh, one time...”
     
    I couldn’t listen to her any longer. Her voice trailed off in my ears, becoming just a subtle background noise while I was trying to reconcile what I had just learned with present reasoning. It was entirely possible for him to have changed his schedule after he moved here. After all, a change in location would change telecommute time and will ultimately affect working hours. Yes, there was nothing there for me to worry about.
     
    But what does a bouncer do working from home? I turned to ask Ginger but I stopped short, seeing her busy with a pen and my notebook. It didn’t concern her, after all. Or did it? Worry began rising in my core, bringing hints of bile in my throat. What was he really doing? My thought shifted towards his motorcycle. Was he in a riding gang? Was he one of those awful creatures that terrorized passerbys around bars?
     
    And what about Ginger? Poor baby, what she might’ve seen…What did she mean by working from home? Did he bring bikers home,