“Let him,” Archer argued, coming up on my other side. If I could’ve, I would have hugged the guy. “Anyone one of us would do the same if we had an old lady.”
“Fine.” Flick stood and shook his head. “It’s your fucking head.”
I nodded. Slade growled. And Archer… he slapped me on the back and whispered, “You owe me big time, asshat.”
* * *
We got to the outskirts of St. Louis around six, the sun barely hanging onto the sky. “We’re goin’ in around seven. Bone and his boys are on their way.” Flick scratched at his jaw, an unlit smoke hanging out of his mouth. He was straddling his bike to my left, eyes scanning the perimeter, his doo-rag on.
Bone was his old Marine buddy from a different club an hour or so away from St. Louis, I’d come to learn. We were riding heavy as it was, at least forty of my brothers had come along, but Flick wanted to be prepped in case there were any surprises. This sort of collab wasn’t one I’d come to know within the club. Archer and Slade were right when they said shit was changing for the better. It was like Pops being put away had inspired a rise within it in the last few weeks.
For the first time in all my years as an RD, I felt a true brotherhood within the group.
We were waiting for Slade to come out of a McDonalds’ bathroom now. Archer was to my right, reading something from an old magazine. He looked so fucking calm, almost bored. I knew better, though. The guy was just as anxious and primed for a fight as I was.
I blew out a cloud of smoke and tossed my cigarette onto the cement, crushing it with the toe of my boot.
“You ready for this?” Slade asked as he stepped through the doors and off the curb. The button of his jeans was open and his fly was down. A mother and her daughter raced around him to the front of their car, eyeing his tats like he’d curse them from one look alone.
“Fuck yeah,” I growled.
“Do me a favor, would you?” Slade put his hand on my shoulder.
“What?”
“Keep a clear head while you’re in there.”
Keep a clear head? Yeah, fucking right. There’d be no clear head till I had Summer in my arms and Pops beaten bloody.
Our contact pulled into the lot forty minutes later. He was Flick’s age, but bald. His eyes were evil-looking, red clouding the whites. When he pointed that gaze at me, I knew right away I wouldn’t get any respect.
His bike rumbled, not once did he turn off his engine. He looked at Flick, then the rest of the brothers we’d rode up with before he spoke.
“This it?” he asked.
Flick nodded. “Simple. It’s how we roll.”
The guy shoved some glasses over his red-rimmed eyes and nodded. Then he was off, no warning as he moved toward the street.
“Bone, I take it?” I asked, eyeing the back of his cut. A devil with fanged teeth and pointy ears sat in the middle of it.
“Said he was an old buddy. Didn’t say he was a good guy.” Flick took off before me, forcing me to hit the road hard. We followed as a crew, not taking long to catch up. Driving through backroads, along a couple of abandoned streets, I searched for landmarks, things to remember in case shit went bad.
What felt like forever later, we pulled up to a small backroad just a few miles off some country road and slid off our bikes.
“We’ll head the rest of the way in on foot,” Slade announced once engines were off.
Quiet, so as not to warn anyone we were coming.
“Slade, Arch, Hawk.” Flick nodded at each of us. “You all follow me. Bone and the rest of the boys are gonna watch our shit. We’ll call in backup if need be.” He motioned his chin toward his bald friend, along with the rest of our brothers. “We go in there, all of us, shit could get real crowded, real fast.”
Nobody argued with Flick’s logic, and if the snitch who’d called us was telling the truth, that it was just the four of them, we wouldn’t be there for long.
Guns locked and loaded, we rushed down the path, a single-file line of deadly stealth. Trees covered our heads like canopies, and the stench of dead animal filled my nose. Sweat dripped down my temples, my cheeks, the back of my shirt, but none of that mattered. I was too lost in my memories to care.
This entire situation, the environment, it reminded me of the night Summer and I had camped. Something lodged inside my throat at the memory, but I cleared it away, not wanting to clog up my head.
Bottom line? I needed her back. And I needed it to happen now.
A good few minutes passed, then five, then ten. Impatient, I picked up speed, pushing away branches and swatting bugs out of my face. Nobody questioned me, just kept pace with a once-upon-a-time rat.
“Something don’t feel right.” Slade broke in first.
“We got this, boys, no worries.” Flick reassured us, his gaze flitting left and right even with his confidence.
Just then, the sound of a door slammed ahead. I froze, hand on my gun as I looked up through the woods. A rusted, silver car with Wisconsin plates sat outside a broken-down house.
“How we gonna do this?” Archer asked.
A woman’s voice cried out before anyone could answer. “Please, don’t make me go. Please…”
My body grew rigid. “That’s Summer,” I growled. The door shot open then, and out popped—“Fucking Pops.”
No. No, no, no, no. Fuck.
With his arm latched around Summer’s shoulders, and dressed in cop blues, he led her down the steps, grabbing her by the hair. I jerked forward, but Flick grabbed me by my shoulder, a finger to his lips. Summer stumbled and fell to her knees, crying out. My stomach grew hot with mad fury and I shoved him back and drew my Glock.
Years of pain.
Years in prison.
Years of hell that he stole away. Not again. Never again.
Refocusing on Summer, I watched as Pops grabbed her by the hair and tossed her into the backseat of his car.
“What the fuck are we waiting for?” I hissed.
Another voice slipped through the air. I jerked my head back to the house door, finding Lisa stumbling down the cabin’s front steps. Behind her stood a younger dude. Our informant? Had to be.
“Now!” Flick yelled, taking off, his gun blazing. He shot the front tire, then the front bumper.
Someone went for the windshield next, but before they could get the back, I yelled, “Not the windows.” They might hit Lisa or Summer if they did.
Flick hid behind a tree, Archer too. The rest of the brothers scattered, dispersing in the trees. Shots rang out from all over, a few from Pops’ end, nearly hitting my head in the process. I fell to the ground, burying myself behind a downed tree. Archer dropped next to me, a Holy shit muttered under his breath.
“Drop your motherfucking weapons,” Slade roared, his back to a tree near Flick.
Sweat dripped over my eye when I looked up again. They’d stopped shooting, but I couldn’t see or hear them now either. This was too damn easy.
“Fuck, where are they?” I roared.
Death.
Murder.
Kill.
Three words I was ready to use. It didn’t matter if the guy was my own flesh and blood. He had my life in his hands, and I’d do anything to keep it safe.
“Good to see you again, son.” Pops laughed from somewhere up ahead. “Was wondering if you were gonna show.”
I stiffened and glanced at Archer. He shook his head, a silent way of saying, Don’t take the bait. A minute later Pops popped out from behind the car, dragging Summer along with him.
“Let her the fuck go. It’s me you want.” Taking things into my own hands, I tucked my gun into the back of my pants, instinct leading me closer to the cabin, hands up.
“The hell, man?” Slade hissed, attempting to stand. I jerked my head no—this was my job, not his.
“Awww, look at you.” Pops chuckled. “Getting all worked up over some pussy.”
Summer cried out as he put his gun to her temple. Tears streamed down her pale
cheeks and everything inside of me fell apart at the view. Blood dripped across her temple. Down her cheek. Landing on her chin, where it was caked across her face. She swayed, both knees bent. Terror filled her blues when they met mine, and from where I stood, I could feel her quiet plea as much as I could see it.
I’d never fucking forget that look for as long as I lived.
“Get the fuck down, Hawk,” Archer whispered, his hand on my calf, pulling on my pants. But that wouldn’t hold me.
“You’ve ruined me,” my father shook his head. “You realize that, right? So, we gotta do it the RD way now.”
“How so?” I growled. Another step closer, then another, until I was ten feet ahead of my own flesh-and-blood old man. I’d never hated someone as much as I did him.
He shrugged. “An eye for an eye.”
“I’m the one you want.” I took a step closer, ignoring Flick and Archer. Slade was gone, maybe going to get help. Not that it mattered. My father wanted vengeance on me and me alone.
I could see the man’s bloodshot eyes from where I stood. See the yellow on his teeth too. See the numbers perfectly tatted across his cheek. Prison numbers. They were new.
“Niyol, no, please,” Summer whimpered, struggling against my father’s hold. All that did was piss him off more, and he slammed her down on the ground.
“I’m gonna kill you.” My words were calm. Deadly. Yet I shook all over. My hands, my legs, my shoulders. “I’m gonna shove my gun inside your mouth and pull the motherfucking trigger, you hear me?”
Pops laughed at that, head tipped back, eyes to the sky. “You got some good and worthy goals there, boy.” He lost his smile. His lips going flat. Stoic. Evil. Murder. Death just seconds from his hands. “Goals that’ll never. Fucking. Happen.”
The gun clicked.
Like a bull seeing red, I charged him, head down. His weapon went off, pointed at me. Seconds later, a shot of pain slammed into my right shoulder. It was nothing compared to what I was about to do to him though.
I knocked the gun from his hands, grabbed it, and shoved the barrel against the center of his head, using my other hand to hold against his neck, I straddled his gut. Something wet spilled down my forearm, onto his chin, blood likely. I knew I’d been shot, but I was numb to everything but my hate for my old man.
Instead of being met with a plea for his life, he laughed. Laughed. His face red, gasping for air. “You ain’t… got the guts… to kill me.”
I opened my mouth, to tell him how fucking wrong he was, only for another voice to butt in first.
“He may not, but I sure as hell do.”
Jerking my head up, I spied the beat-up, bloodied face of my stepmom hovering.
“Lisa. Step the fuck back. I got this.” I blinked, suddenly dizzy… my world spinning.
“Let me go!” Summer’s voice cut through me like a knife, painful, pleasuring… mine. My instinct to protect her had me loosening my hold on my father’s neck. His eyes slid shut, but he wasn’t dead. Still, taking the chance, letting him go completely? I couldn’t risk it.
“It’s fine, Summer. Stay back,” I managed, eyeing Slade, who was holding her back.
My stepmother dropped to her knees in front of me. “Go to Summer.” Lisa motioned her chin over my shoulder. “You’re going to need her now.”
I gave my head a fast jerk, slipping off my father’s gut, landing on my knees beside him. My head spun, her words didn’t make sense.
“I’m sorry, Niyol.” She began to cry, tears dripping as she looked at Pops, then me, then Pops to me. I blinked, trying to make out her face, my eyes narrowing, shutting… “I’m so, so sorry,” she repeated.
Before I could ask her what she was sorry for, I was on my back, flat, a gorgeous, familiar face hovering over me.
“Niyol.” Summer shook as she laid on my chest. “You’re okay. Things will be okay.”
Little did either of us know that things never would be okay again.
Forty-Three
Summer
Two days had passed with no word about Niyol’s condition, other than the occasional ‘He’s alive,’ thrown at me by Archer. Out of the forty-plus club members who had been in Springfield for my and Lisa’s rescue, all but three had come back to Rockford: Niyol, Flick, and Slade.
I wasn’t allowed to stay with him, no matter how much I’d begged. Apparently, they only had so many places for people to get treated there, and since my injuries weren’t nearly as bad as Niyol’s and Lisa’s, I was forced to leave after being treated briefly by some hairy-faced doctor, within the walls of a crappy building that served as a motorcycle compound, for my concussion and dehydration.
I didn’t ask why I wasn’t taken to the local hospital because, truth be told, I already knew why. These club people didn’t mess around when it came to anything related to the police or hospitals.
Three hours after that, while Ny was still in surgery to get the bullet removed from his shoulder, I was whisked away in a strange car, driven back to the Red Dragons’ compound without even knowing if Niyol had made it through surgery. Archer said the rush for me getting back was for my own safety, which I didn’t understand. Niyol’s father was in custody with the police again, as was his little minion—as far as I knew—and, well… who else was there that might want me dead? Or kidnapped, or whatever it was that Charles had planned on doing to me and Lisa.
Lisa, who was able to stay at the compound. With her son.
A son who, technically, didn’t even know he had a mother at all.
Now there I was, alone with nobody but my scared, lonely heart… oh, and some bikers who I was oddly coming around to—including Archer. Big men, all different shapes and sizes, skin tones and languages, nationalities, it was a melting pot. The best kind. Intimidating or not, I could see why Niyol loved it here. He was exactly like them.
The second I was settled into a dorm at the compound, I called Emily to let her know I’d left St. Louis, but that her mom was still staying with Niyol. I asked her if she wouldn’t mind coming to be with me until they were brought back to town. Her response, though, made sense, even if it hurt: I love you, but I can’t go to that club again.
Part of me wanted to tell her that she’d be forever a part of the club, even if it was only by blood. But it wasn’t my place to tell her the truth about who her father was.
That was her mother’s job.
Knowing that Lisa had walked away from Niyol when he was only two wasn’t something I could wrap my head around. Worse yet, she’d kept the truth from Emily. I’m sure she had her reasons, but until I knew what they were, I couldn’t get behind them—or her. Nor could I fully support her being around Niyol either. When I’d told Flick the truth about what Lisa had admitted to me before being put inside that car, while Niyol was in surgery, he explained how he already knew. I didn’t like that he’d hid it from Ny either, but he told me he had his reasons. And I, oddly, chose to accept his answer.
Guess the fact that I’d nearly died at the hands of an escaped convict was proof that there were worse men in the world than a bunch of bikers to be around.
I paced the length of the bar. It was the first time I’d shown my face in this area since I’d arrived. I’d slept a lot over the past two days, recovering from my injuries. I was lonely, though, missing Niyol so badly I’d do just about anything for companionship.
The main part of the compound—which, apparently, they called the clubhouse—wasn’t as crowded as I figured it would be. There were no scantily clad women lounging around, no raucous parties with endless flowing drinks either. Instead, only a few members of the club lined the length of the room. Other than that, it was quiet. Painfully so.
“You gotta stop pacing, Feisty. It’s givin’ me a complex.”
At the end of the bar, I glared at Archer. I hated the nickname he’d labeled me with more than I did Niyol’s Princess.
He was sitting on a stool, long, muscular arms stretched across the old wood of the bar top. His
dimpled smile was smug, and one piece of wavy, blond hair hung over his clean-shaven baby face.
“Giving you a complex?” I jerked my head back, laughing. “You’re pretty much the epitome of badass, while I’m the lone girl who may, or may not, belong here. I am the complexed one.”
“Aye, maybe that’s why everyone’s avoiding you.” A breath whooshed from his mouth before he leaned back in his seat and winked at me. His Irish accent grew thicker with every drop of liquor he drank. And believe me, the guy drank a lot.
My face burned as I slouched down onto a stool beside him. Sure enough, when I looked around, various odd glances flickered my way. Some held disgust, some disinterest, while some gave me the heebie-jeebies, straight up.
Deciding it was better to get my questions out of the way, I leaned forward on top of the bar, mirroring Archer’s position.
“I need answers, please.”
“Nope.”
I groaned, determined not to give up. “Is Niyol healing from his injury okay? Does he know about Lisa yet? And where is Charles? Back in custody with the police?” I rubbed my hands over my upper arms, a small chill rocketing through me at the thought of that awful man.
I wasn’t immune to everything I’d been through; someday I was sure I’d crack completely. And out of all the images, that one of Niyol, strangling the life out of Charles, having no mercy in his eyes whatsoever, should have scarred me the most. Yet after everything that had happened, it barely fazed me. I was numb, possibly in shock. The only thing I really wanted now was a sense of normalcy.
“You don’t need to worry.” Archer leaned across the bar once more and tried to pour himself a drink from the keg. Of course, he failed—the fact that he’d been drinking since he rolled out of bed that morning didn’t help matters. “Things are best if you don’t know what’s going on. Trust me.”
With a scowl—and a sure-fire plan in mind—I stood and walked around the bar, grabbed his mug, and poured from the keg. I slammed the glass in front of him and finally said, “Tell. Me. What. You. Know.”
Her Wild Ride: An addictive, steamy biker MC romance suspense novel Page 27