“That’s why I find cases like Paul and Karla particularly fascinating,” I concluded. “Because it shows our folly in believing monsters must be ugly and warped by trauma. The truth is much more chilling. Some people are born monsters, and they are even more dangerous than those who are bred by circumstance.”
Eric played our little musical diddy through the speakers to signal the end of the podcast. I affixed a smile on my face so my listeners would hear it in my tone. They liked the contrast of my bubbly personality to the morbid content of my show.
“Thank you for joining us this killer Monday on Little Miss Murder,” I sing-songed. “Next week, we talk about Belle Gunness, the woman who was married to murder.”
I waited for Eric to signal, then flipped off my mic and pulled the heavy headset from my head. A long tendril of blond hair caught on the plastic, and I grumbled under my breath as I detangled it.
“You don’t seem yourself today,” Eric noted as he came into the booth and perched his hiney on the edge of the table. “Are your ribs bothering you?”
I simultaneously shook my head and freed myself of the headset, tossing it on the table so I could run my hands over my aching scalp. My hair was thick enough to give me headaches without the addition of the earphones, so I was used to the ache after an episode.
“No, I’m okay. It’s just been a weird few weeks.”
Eric pulled a face. “I’d say. Almost dying in a fiery car crash, then being accosted by your dead date’s mum? Weird is an understatement.”
“We produce a show about murder and study criminal psychology,” I noted dryly as I stood and stretched languidly. “It’d have to get a lot weirder than that to faze me.”
“Touché.” He watched me as I moved through my short stretching routine. Even though his hair hung in his eyes, I knew the cast of his gaze. His tongue toyed with the silver ring through his lip as he studied me hungrily. He’d been toying with the idea of asking me out for a while now and only my expert maneuvering had kept the opportunity from appearing.
“Auntie Bea,” a sweet, throaty voice called from the hallway, and a moment later, my sister appeared holding her son, Monster, on her hip.
Behind her, Cleo carried my niece, Angel, while Cressida, Harleigh Rose, Lila, Maja, Tayline, and Hannah brought up the rear.
My biker babes.
Instantly, Eric was forgotten as I skipped toward my family and embraced them each in turn. If I hugged Cressida a little longer than the others, it was only because she’d been gone for four months, and I’d missed her like crazy.
“How’s my grumpy nephew today?” I asked as I approached Loulou last.
We kissed each other loudly on the cheek before I bent to run a knuckle over Monster’s suede smooth cheek. He scowled at me, but I didn’t take it personally because that was basically his fixed expression.
I laughed when he grunted at me and shoved his fist in my hair so he could grab it in his strong little fingers.
“Sorry,” Lou said unapologetically. “He’s a possessive little monster, and he likes pretty things.”
“Do you think I’m pretty?” I cooed to him before sneaking a quick kiss to his chubby cheek that he immediately recoiled from. “I think you’re very handsome, too.”
“Isn’t he?” my sister declared proudly. “Just like his daddy.”
Harleigh Rose snorted as she bumped Lou gently with her hip. “Let’s hope he grows up prettier than that old guy.”
“If he’s ugly, what does that make you as his daughter?” Loulou countered sweetly.
H.R. flipped her the bird, and we all laughed.
For the first time in days, I felt settled, that disconcerting restlessness fading. This was the world I knew; this was my safe place in it all. These people—these fierce, feminine women—gathered around me because that was what they did during or after times of trouble.
“What are you guys doing here?” I asked as Maja wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me into her side so she could kiss the top of my head.
“Girls’ night,” she declared.
Maja had been Buck’s Old Lady for twenty years. She had serious biker babe attitude from the tips of her Farrah Fawcett-flipped hair to the end of her spike heeled feet. I’d never seen her in anything less than highly bedazzled, skintight jeans and heels at any hour of the day, even when shit with the club hit the fan, and everyone else looked like shit. She was our matriarch in a group of mostly young Old Ladies and their friends, but she seemed comfortable taking a back seat to Lou, who was technically higher-ranking because she was married to the prez, and even Cressida, who’d briefly occupied that role when King took leadership while Zeus was in prison.