The place was simple and easy to clean thanks to all the kids. The TV was big and currently blaring Nickelodeon. There were a couple of old leather sofas that were easy to wipe down, then there were around six or so chests that bracketed each sofa, and each held toys. On one wall, there was a long dining table, more of a banquet table than anything else. Kids ate there, and when they were old enough, they would do their homework there also.
Not much had changed except for the fact the walls were painted a robin’s egg blue, when, before, they’d been a sickening yellow. The carpet had been replaced by cream tiles and a dark blue rug, and the leather sofas were no longer black but brown.
When I looked around, measuring the place up, I saw the kids were staring at us. Most were Amaryllis’s age, but there were a couple a few years older. The eldest was around eleven, and I tipped my chin at the kid who gulped, then pointed at his chest as if to say, ‘Me?’
Nodding, I waited for him to approach, and when he did, I squatted down to his level. “That’s the Prez’s daughter. If anyone so much as prods her, you tell them that whatever they do to her, I’ll do to them back. Twice as hard.”
The boy gulped, his eyes huge in his skinny face as he whispered, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Name?” I asked. “Just so I can tell your parents that I warned you.”
It might have seemed cruel, but these little fuckers were spawned by bigger fuckers. They all had attitude problems—I’d been one of them, so I knew. This little shit here was, without doubt, the ringleader by age alone.
“Lawrence.”
I cocked a brow at him. “Lawrence. Who’s your daddy?”
“I’m Wheels’ boy.”
“He’s still here?” I said with a laugh, pleased by that. Most brothers stayed for life, but that life could run short. I was glad to know the SOB was still on this plain and wasn’t messing around with my dad and the devil.
“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry. I’ll tell the others.”
“Good. I’m putting her safety on your shoulders, Lawrence. Don’t you dare let me down.”
He gulped again, then in a squeaky voice, inquired, “Are you Lucie?”
My eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask that?”
He shrugged. “I just… I saw a picture of you and my mom told me some stuff.”
“Who’s your mom?”
“You threatening my boy, Lucie?”
I straightened, preparing myself for a catfight, then my mouth dropped open and I squealed, “Dorie?”
The brunette grinned then launched herself at me. “What the hell are you doing back here, Lucie?”
I shrugged. “Home. It was time I showed my face.”
She reached up and pinched my cheek. “And what a face. No wonder Wolfe stormed inside here looking like someone had set his cut on fire.”
Snorting, I told her, “You know him and I always did raise hell together.”
“Something like that, that’s for damn sure.” She cocked a brow. “You here for good or just a little while?”
“For good.” I pointed at Amaryllis, who was picking through one of the many boxes in the room. “She’s mine.”
A gasp escaped Dorie, and I nodded before she even asked, “Wolfe’s? What the—” Dorie’s mouth worked for a second and she shook her head. “You were pregnant when Bomber—”
“Yes.” I didn’t want to talk about it. Not now, at least. “Where did Wolfe go?”
“He’s in his office.”
Daddy’s office.
I gnawed on my lip, but before I could say another word, Dorie called out, “Lawrence?”
Her son stepped over to her, his chin lowered. “Yes, Momma?”
“Did you break that window?”
The kid licked his lips. “No.”
Dorie narrowed her eyes. “Did. You. Break. That. Window?”
I had to stop myself from smirking because, shit, not only was it hard to imagine little Dorie being a mom, but reprimanding an eleven-year-old?
I wasn’t even fucking sure when that had happened, because she sure as shit didn’t have a kid when I’d left.
Lawrence’s shoulders dropped. “How did you find out it was me?”
“Your father told me.”
“And he ratted me out?” Lawrence scowled, his small hands balling into fists that settled on his hips. “That’s not fair.”
“You know what’s not fair? How many shifts I have to take at the diner to cover you and your incapability of aiming your goddamn baseballs at the batter! No allowance for two months.”
He scoffed, “I ain’t had none for three months anyway.”
“Looks like you’re out of dough for longer then, doesn’t it?” I tacked on with a smirk.