Chapter 3: It's Just Business

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"Wait."

They sat in silence together for two very long, awkward minutes in the motel's parking lot - him steeling his nerves, hers unraveling. Someone pulled into the parking lot and she watched him as he studied the vehicle until an old couple got out with their suitcases and enter a room three doors down from hers. When he saw Half-Sack pull in he took a deep breath.

"Can we go inside for a minute?" Juice asked, his hand already opening his door.

"I thought you had to leave?"

He got out of the truck without looking at her, "I do but I wanted to talk to you about something real quick."

But we were just sitting here not talking though. Ronnie looked at him suspiciously but he was already standing at the hood. She got out of the truck not understanding why there was such a change in his mood or what was going on and it was making her antsy as hell. Juice walked on her heels and crowded her at the door while she unlocked it, noting that it had the desired effect. She was getting more unsettled and that's what he wanted - what he needed to be able to do this. Part of him felt like an asshole using intimidation tactics on her but he couldn't go back to the clubhouse without finishing his assignment. Once inside, he nudged her towards the single armchair by the bed. "Sit down."

She sat but looked highly annoyed, "What is wrong with you?"

Juice sat on the bed across from her trying to shut down all emotion. "Who sent you here?"

"What?"

Juice reached behind him and laid the gun from his waistband on the bed, his gaze never leaving her face. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. His hands, now wearing his black riding gloves, clasped together under his chin.

Ronnie felt like time had slowed down. She watched him lay the gun down next to him. When did he put on those gloves? Her eyes flicked around the room as if unsure of where she was. Watching her eyes go from annoyed to questioning to slightly fearful, he hated himself.

"Jay?" She wanted to look away but the look on Juice's face, a calculated calm, was mesmerizing. When he didn't say anything else, a sour taste filled her mouth and she got defensive quickly. "Jay! Quit messing around. What are you talking about? Nobody sent me here!"

Juice remained quiet, letting the silence eat at her.

They were practically knee to knee with him leaning forward closing off even more of the distance. She started to get up, just wanting to put some space between them. Juice was on his feet before she could finish putting her hands on the armrests to stand and she flinched. This is not right.

"Sit. Down." Satisfied that she would stay put, he sat back on the bed studying her face. Ronnie was beyond frustrated with this silence thing he was doing. Finally he spoke, quietly and carefully, "That truck you're driving is not registered to you. You left your job at Mill Street Publishing seven weeks ago but two nice money transfers have hit your checking account this month."

Watching her face fall with every word he was saying made his stomach churn. I have a job to do for the club. For the club, he told himself. Pointing to her bag by the door, he continued. "That bag has a piece in it. And you're booked here for six days, acting like you're here to see me but you got enough clothes for weeks. So, who sent you here, Raniyah?"

Act like I'm here to see you? He knows my reservation information? Ronnie sat with her mouth open, eyes darting, absorbing everything he had just thrown in her face. Somehow, him using her real name hurt - it felt like an insult to go with the other subtle insults to her character he was tossing. She let her eyes come back to his face. That hard, intimidating face he was wearing like a mask. Who are you right now? He looked so sure of himself like he had caught her in a lie, challenging her with the raise of his eyebrows. All of it erasing the laughs they had just shared together. She had let her guard down and he was trampling all over it. She felt stupid, duped. But that hurt had to step aside as anger rose up as the dominant emotion. She wanted to smack him right across his cocky face, her hands balling into fists. No matter how many thousands of miles she was away from where they had created their friendship, he was about to be reminded that she was still a child of Queens-motherfucking-New York.

"Who the FUCK to do think you are? And what do you know about my job? Or MY bank account? YOU HAD SOMEBODY RUN MY SHIT?"

Now her hands were flying with every word and she jumped to her feet. Just as quickly, Juice was on his, grabbing her arm and yanking it to shove her back down in the chair. Raniyah reacted the only way she knew how and swung on him, so he grabbed her other arm, too. Juice squeezed her slim arms tight, snatching her to his chest, trying to control her without really hurting her. Had it been any other woman, he might have given her a slap already.

"Fuck you, Juuuice!" She mocked what she felt was just a made-up, tough guy persona name. "Or whatever the fuck you're calling yourself!"

"Lower your voice and answer me!" He hissed.

"I already DID!" She hollered even louder, shoving at his chest, enraged that he had a hold of her. Instinct made her fight, but her adversary being Jay was watering her emotions down. "I said nobody! NOBODY!"

Having her in his face like that made him lose his cool demeanor entirely. He yelled back, "Bullshit!"

Raniyah didn't want to cry but she was beyond pissed. Her face was flaming and his grip was hurting her. She snatched her arms away, shoving him one more time and sat back in the chair. She definitely didn't want to cry, but defiant tears welled up anyway. He was still standing over her which pissed her off even more. Her first inclination was to crack him with a lamp to knock some sense back into him. She wanted to make him feel as stupid as she did for coming all this way just to be accused of…what? She didn't even know what he was accusing her of. She wanted to hate him for this but she didn't know what was wrong with him. Her stupid heart was still 17 years old when it came to him and this was all going the wrong way too fast for her to get control of it.

Fuck him, don't say it. Don't say it! "I just came to see you."

Ugh, she hated how small her voice sounded, how apologetic. She sat there with her hands gripping the armrests, refusing to look at him. Juice ran his hand over the dark stripe of hair on his head, putting his piece back on his waist. He took a deep breath, re-centering himself by going over the one thing that mattered in his mind.

If I don't do this, someone else will. I have to finish this myself.

He couldn't imagine her sitting there with somebody like Tig or worse, Happy. He repeated the thought a few times, forcing his mind to drown out any sympathy he had for her occasional sniffs.

"Are you calm now?" He spoke more gently this time but was met with silence.

Juice picked up his phone and texted someone. Almost immediately, he answered a knock on the door and a hand gave him a manila file folder. He sat back on the bed and opened it, holding up pictures of two people, a man and a woman in uniform, their names and badges blacked out. He monitored her reactions to each photo, "Do you know her? Him?"

She glared at him with her jaw set for a while before answering. "No…who is that?"

He switched up, "Your truck is registered to Davidson Riley in New Mexico. Who is that?"

"Lena's boyfriend."

"Lena?"

Any part of polite left in her had flown out the window back when he yelled at her. She rolled her eyes, "Oh for God's sake! Yes, Lena!"

Juice was drawing a blank. "My cousin! You met her a few times before they moved…pink and burgundy hair?" Juice looked away trying to remember. "Really? How do you forget that?! Pink and burgundy hair?" Ronnie snatched the pen off the tiny table next to her and snatched the folder out of his hands, writing her full name down on the outside and shoving the folder back at him. "And they live in Nevada, not New Mexico. They have a kid now, too! How'd you miss that in your precious notes on my life?"

Juice exhaled slowly, nostrils flared, jaw clenched. She was definitely back in control of herself, her eyes were dry as a bone. He chewed on the inside of his cheek to keep from going back at her.

He switched up again, producing a third picture. A blonde woman with big, curious eyes and a mean smirk. Her information underneath blacked out like the others. "What about her."

"No."

Juice studied her face, waiting for the slip, any tell that would confirm Clay's concerns. Raniyah glared back, sick of him - confused by him, hurt by him.

"Next!" she spat.

"Deposits."

She crossed her legs, looking him over with something near disgust or was it pity on her face? He didn't know what to do with that. "Well?" he repeated, his impatience with this whole thing was starting to show.

"How come you don't already know?" she challenged quietly, letting the silence boost her bravery.

"Ronnie!"

She raised her eyebrows at him. Oh, I'm Ronnie again? Smacking her lips in a show of annoyance, "My boss was an asshole. His wife was worse. They did people low, so I left and that's…a settlement. You know, the unofficial kind that sweeps stuff under the rug."

"Stuff like what?"

"None of your fucking business, Juan Carlos."

He winced at her use of his legal name. Touche.

She was seething, her leg bouncing a mile a minute. "Are you done?"

He crossed over to her bag, squatting down to pull out the gun that still rested on top, shining his cell phone light on it to jot down the serial number. "I guess you're gonna see if that's registered to me, too."

Juice looked back at her over his shoulder. Ronnie was being sarcastic but her taunt came to a full stop when she realized Jay was legitimately checking. He came back to sit on the bed, reached under the table and pulled out his laptop. He talked and typed without looking at her.

"Guns were never your thing, what do you have it for?"

"Why do you?" she shot back.

His fingers stilled. "To shoot first or to shoot back. Now answer the question."

Silence.

Folding the laptop down a little, he searched her face, "You got it two years ago." She didn't acknowledge the statement. The next question flew out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Did something happen?"

Ronnie folded her arms and focused her eyes on some random stain on the floor. Juice tried not to let his hyper brain wander through all the painful scenarios that make women need a gun for comfort.

"What happened two years ago?" The club didn't need to know, Juice did. She didn't waver from her deep dive into silence and he wanted to shake her.

"Ronnie."

"Leave it alone."

Juice pulled out his phone again, texting back and forth for a minute or two. Then his phone rang, and every second that passed pissed Ronnie off more. Juice finally put his phone back into his pocket, gathering the contents from the folder that he had spread out. Finished, he tapped the folder on his knee, tucked it in with his laptop and looked at her. Gone was the mask of the cold interrogator and his accusatory mouth that had everything to say just five minutes before, seemed to hesitate now. His posture was less tense and but his jaw was set, ready for whatever venom she was going to hit him with…he deserved it.

She rolled her eyes at his softened face. You've got to be kidding me. She had zero sympathy for whatever he was feeling. She could still feel where he had gripped her arms throbbing. And now she was worried about who else was out there looking up information on her. She wanted - no, she deserved an explanation but she'd rather die than to ask him for it.

Juice stood up, straightening his clothes. She looked away, rolling her eyes again in disgust. That's what you're worried about? How together you look right now?

Her silence made him far more uncomfortable than her screaming at him would have. "Ronnie, I uh-," he started, before turning the doorknob to leave.

She spoke without looking at him, "I never asked how you got my number. I guess I know now."

That one stung. Juice closed the door behind him before he said anything he shouldn't.

Half-Sack jumped up from his post as soon as he saw Juice appear. "You done? How'd it go?"

Juice ignored him. In his excitement, the prospect forgot all boundaries and questioned, "She clean?"

"Very!" Juice snapped. "I gotta go back to the clubhouse but-," he looked back at her door. "Stay on her. Call me if-," Juice's shoulders slumped, the last bit of adrenaline from the task leaving him completely. "…if anything."

"Done."

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A/N: Look, I know Juice deserved that smack she tried to give him but hold on...there's no way Raniyah won't speak her piece. Thank you for reading and thanks for the follow! See you next chapter! *kjx*