His Old Lady - Debra Kayn Page 0,27

over, and she didn't want them rifling through her things—no matter how mundane they were.

Visiting the bathroom one more time before she left, she came out and found Curley at the door, leading to the garage. She stepped out, sensing him following.

"I'll swing by tomorrow." He pushed the button for the automatic garage door.

She stood by the car. "Why?"

"You're due at work on Tuesday."

"And, I'll be going," she said.

"You won't be." He walked toward the driveway. "I'll have something else for you to do to earn money."

"Curley." Her throat tightened. "It's not only me. I won't disappoint my friends. Not having a job is devastating to all of us. Stephanie's a single mom. She needs the money to raise her child. Don't mess this up for me, for us."

He refrained from commenting. His stubbornness would be the death of her.

His cheek twitched, and before she could figure out what he was thinking, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. Holding his mouth on her, he inhaled deeply before pulling back. "Drive safely."

Her heart rate fluttered. He'd left her trembling. Why would he kiss her when he acted as if she was a burden?

She opened the car door. "I'll tell Uncle Walker you said hi."

"Don't bring me up to him, Faye." He walked out of the garage and got on his bike.

She slid into the driver's seat and watched him in the rearview mirror. Uncle Walker wouldn't talk about Curley. Curley wouldn't see her uncle. She was starting to think every Tarkio Motorcycle Club member was insane.

Chapter 12

Faye

The guard left her in the chair in front of the Plexiglass that would separate her from Uncle Walker. She wiped her palms on the thighs of her jeans. There was never a time when she comfortably walked into the prison and remained at ease.

Everything about the place made her feel dirty.

The guard on the other side of the room eyed her as if he could read her thoughts. The criminals partitioned from her gawked as if starving for the sight of a female. She could sense the way they wanted to touch her and imagine what they'd do if given a chance to be shut in the same room with her.

The penitentiary was an old and rundown building with years of grime, sweat, blood, and bodily fluids caked on the floor, walls, and ceiling, adding to the odd musty scent hanging heavily in the air.

She tapped her foot against the sticky surface, impatient for Uncle Walker to be led into the small area on the other side of the protective glass. There were times she'd waited for up to an hour only to be informed the visit was canceled, with no explanation, and she'd made the trip for nothing.

Motion from inside the secured room brought her to the edge of her seat.

Uncle Walker shuffled his chained feet forward, clasping his hands in front of his body to hold the cuffs still. Three feet of iron links secured his wrists to his ankles. It was absolutely ridiculous how they treated human beings in prison.

What could he do while visiting her when there was unbreakable glass between them that was thick enough, they had to talk through a phone?

She smiled, knowing her uncle had few bright spots in his days. He was serving a twenty-five-year sentence and had nine more years left. To her, he'd already been gone a lifetime and missed out on so much.

The thought made her sad. It wasn't fair.

Uncle Walker was alone. Confined. Miserable.

The jury only judged him on his crimes. They never looked past the murders to see the person who took care of his young niece when nobody else would or religiously took Grandma June to church every Sunday morning and picked her up after the potluck. They never heard how he often donated his money to his MC brothers, because they were struggling through hard times and had several mouths to feed at home. They never heard about how he'd sit on the edge of her bed and tell her wacky stories to get her mind off why her life was different than the other kids at school. They never witnessed him hugging her, drilling in the fact that she was loved.

They only saw a killer when they looked at the big man who wore his hair too long, left his beard uncut, and had tattoos snaking up both arms.

She studied Uncle Walker. Beyond the dedicated blood relative who loved her, his brown eyes were