I lean a little closer to the window and see that her face is flushed bright red and droplets of sweat trickle down the sides of her face.
“Hey,” I say again. “It’s too hot for you to be in there with the window closed. Open the door. Let in some fresh air. I’m not going to bother you.”
She rolls down the window—a slow, cranking motion—another inch, though, and my stomach turns over. The black eye looks fresh.
I don’t want to scare her, and fuck knows I don’t want to get involved in whatever this is. A tiny part of me hears alarm bells blasting through my memory banks at all the black eyes I grew up watching my mom cover with layer after layer of makeup. The way she looked at me, her head low, reminds me of what this girl is doing right now.
“What’s your name?” I ask cautiously, shoving aside the memories.
She won’t respond. Doesn’t even acknowledge that I spoke.
“Listen,” I say, my heart at war with my head. I should not get involved. The last time I got between a woman and the shit-for-brains who beat her…it cost me everything. My career, my family. My future. Whatever this is, I don’t need to get any closer than I am.
But then I hear a whimper. That’s when I almost fucking lose it.
“Do you have a baby in there with you? Open the door and let in a little fresh air. You two have got to be hot. I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”
I take ten steps back and hold my hands up in front of me. “Go on now. Open the door.”
She blinks at me through the window, and I wince at the way her swollen lid tries to close.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, that looks like it hurts, and my ulcer bubbles up pure acid at the thought of what she’s going through right now.
Her face disappears, but then, slowly and carefully, the driver’s side door creaks open. No wonder shedidn’t want to open it. If she’s hiding out from whoever gave her the beating, that loud-ass door is like a siren.
When the door opens a crack, I wave at her in greeting. “Can I come a little closer? I have water in my bike if you need some.”
She looks away from me but shakes her head slightly. “No,” she whispers but then repeats it a little louder. “No water. Thanks, though.”
I take one step closer to the truck. “Hey, what’s your name?” I ask again, gently this time. But then I’m at a loss. She’s got to know what we’re doing here.
I draw in a deep breath and try to shove the memories away. This woman is not my problem.
Not my problem.
Not my problem.
“I’m Claire,” she says softly, as if just by knowing her name, I have the power to hurt her. And God, she doesn’t need more of that. “And, uh, this,” she says, her eyes never leaving mine, “is Aurora.”
She nods a little, and I take a few more steps toward the truck. I stand a safe distance away, but I can see through the crack in the door that she’s holding a sleeping baby in her arms. No wonder she’s hot. The baby’s silky brown hair looks wet and stuck to her little head. The kid’s feet are bare, and she’s wearing just a little T-shirt and a diaper that, from the looks of it, desperately needs changing.
Claire doesn’t look so good herself. Her messy brown bun is matted and tangled, and the shorts and tank top she has on look like she’s been wearing themfor a couple of days—at least. Claire is skinny—too skinny—for somebody who’s got a little baby. To make things worse, the arm that clutches her daughter is covered in faded, hand-sized yellow marks.
I’m simultaneously nauseated and infuriated, and everything comes rushing out of me at once. “Are you with them?” I ask, my question coming out angrier than I intend. “You with Mad Dog?”
She bites her lower lip and shakes her head. “No…no. He’s my ex’s half brother. My ex…died…a couple days ago. I have no place else to go, so Mad Dog is…”
She swallows, and her eyes flutter shut. I don’t know what that means, what Mad Dog has been doing to her, but then it hits me.
“Anthony?” I ask. “Your baby’s daddy is—was—Anthony?”
She nods, but there’s something strange in her face when I say his name. She doesn’t look like a devastated widow. And I start to wonder if maybe that black eye is about three days old…
Just then, the sound of tires on asphalt distracts me from the conversation, and Claire slams the truck door closed like the devil himself is after her.
I look up and see Viper give me a wave as he pulls around the back of the warehouse. I check my phone. I have a text from Phantom giving the all clear. Viper’s going out back to get the product and to hand off the money.
The deal’s almost done.