Club Scars by Mara McBain

weekend.”
    Kat turned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
    “It’s fine. If we have to go without one for a while I’m fully capable of washing dishes, and it’s just the two of us dirtying them. It’s not like the clothes washer going down. That would be an emergency.”
    His thumb caressed her jaw as he searched her face.
    “I’ll see what things look like.”
    Kat leaned up to kiss him.
    “I can’t believe you thought I was crying over a dishwasher.”
    “You’re hormonal.”
    “I’m hormonal every month. Normally you just tell me to take a fucking Midol and get over it,” Kat said with a grimace.
    “I see what I get for trying to be nice.”
    “Don’t get all mushy and sensitive on me. I need my tough old man.”
    “That sounds kind of familiar,” Crux murmured, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
    “Hmm, a wise ass, I mean wise man, told me that recently.”
    “Do your damn dishes. You’re about to get a wet ass.”
    Kat whirled around to shut off the faucet, cursing under her breath as suds crept onto the counter. Crux smacked her ass and gave it a grope before heading back to his project.

Eight

    John Merrick leaned back in his chair listening to the investigator’s report. The search of the low-life’s hovel hadn’t turned up anything useful. The animal was smarter than he’d given him credit for. He didn’t shit where he slept. It didn’t mean that he was clean. It meant that he was careful. What was interesting was that Croston had called the whole crew together for a meeting as soon as the law had left. While not a direct hit, perhaps they were on the right track and the attention had rattled the hoodlums.
    He grimaced. Unfortunately, the search, and subsequent humiliation, didn’t seem to have shaken Katrina’s devotion to her greasy biker. After the gang’s women had stayed around into the early morning hours to help her clean up, Katrina hadn’t hesitated to step out in public today. A sneer curled his lip. She’d held her head high in the face of certain gossip and censure in the small town. It would seem stronger methods would be necessary to reverse the brainwashing.
    He rubbed his forefinger across his upper lip in thought. The life Katrina had embraced after fleeing his home had shocked him. He ground his teeth. The fact that his flesh and blood could allow a deformed heathen like Croston to touch her sickened him. They were a real live beauty and the beast. He’d never understand what his striking daughter could see in someone like that. Overlooking his hideous disfigurement, as if one could, Katrina had been raised in the lap of luxury and refinement. The shack she lived in now was little more than a garden shed. She hadn’t just settled; she’d crawled into a hole. That Katrina had rejected him and everything he’d given her, only to sink so low, was a slap in the face that still stung.
    He realized the private investigator was no longer speaking. The man stood silent, awaiting his orders. John stroked his goatee with long fingers and then tapped his lips with a forefinger. There had to be a way to get Katrina to see the folly and futility of her life. For all of her headstrong ways, she wasn’t a stupid girl. She was his flesh and blood after all. He just needed to break the spell and the twit would crawl back home where she belonged.
    “Continue the surveillance. I’ll be in contact.”
    The taciturn, former military man nodded his head and spinning on his heel, left the room.
    The leather executive chair squeaked in protest as John leaned back and kicked his feet up on the corner of his desk. Lids slowly drooped over his eyes. His fingers drummed on the polished wood before him. What was it going to take? He could admit to himself, he had underestimated Katrina. Her perseverance would’ve been impressive in different circumstances.  What fueled her burning resolution to defy him? What did she hope to prove? She had to know that she would never win.