by Karen Renee
“Do you have bungee cords? Or else you need to take your truck.”
His jaw clenched. “Woman, what the fuck are you on about?”
“I am not leaving my fabulous dinner behind. That may sound silly, but I assure you, it would be a crime to—”
“Get a prospect to handle it,” he muttered, pulling his phone from his back pocket. His eyes speared me with impatience. “You better be ready to go when I’m done.”
I shook my head, letting his words roll off me.
I grabbed my bag and my jewelry box before heading to the garage.
Tucking my duffel at the bottom of the saddlebag, Har made me jump when he asked, “What’s with the fancy jewelry box, Combes? I understand you keeping it close when moving, but we should be back tomorrow.”
I blew out a breath. “I know, Har. But I can’t afford to lose what’s in here, and I don’t have the cake for a safe deposit box.”
He stroked the leather box. “Got a safe in my room at the clubhouse—”
“Thanks, but I’d rather not have to bug you when I need to get my security key.”
His head tilted. “Security key?”
I grinned. “Compliments of my identity theft, I have a two-factor authentication for my financial log-ins and stuff. Massive pain in my ass, but that fucker isn’t going to steal from me again.”
He raked his hand down his face. “All right. Leave you to it—”
His words fell away when a Hyundai Accent pulled into the drive. Har jerked his head toward the front of the house. The engine cut off, and a lanky man with wild dark curls on his head unfolded from the car.
I turned back to Har when he spoke.
“He’s here for your food. Hang tight. Once he’s out, I’m gonna lock up the house and we’ll ride.”
WHEN I CUT THE ENGINE to my bike, I couldn’t help but notice the shiny red chopper next to me. Even though the sun had set, there were florescent lights making the parking area bright and the chrome on the front suspension of this bike gleamed. The leather seat would only accommodate one rider, and at the base I saw the belt-driven primary drive hidden by a flame-shaped chrome cover.
I dismounted and muttered, “Damn.”
“What’s wrong?” Har asked.
I shook my hair out as I took my helmet off. “That bike is sweet.”
He sidled up to me. “Not as sweet as you.”
I scoffed. “You know what I mean.”
He stared at me. “I don’t. Only thing sweeter than you would be you on the back of my bike.”
God. When he said things like that I couldn’t believe he was the President of a motorcycle club.
I bit my lip as I debated whether I would like being on the back of his bike and not in control. As good as he was with my body, I had no doubt I would love riding at his back.
“Never knew you were so sweet, Har.”
“That is not me being sweet, babe. We need to get inside. See the damage.”
The prospect pulled up in his car and carried my Instant Pot inside.
“Come on. Hate to tell you this, but it isn’t likely you’re gonna have any leftovers.”
I dug out my stuff, and followed him. “He could put it in your room. I mean, it’s just a pot plugged into a wall outlet. It could easily sit on a dresser or in the bathroom in Sammy’s room.”
He gave me a glare. “You ain’t in Brute’s room.”
I nodded once. “Right. So, the bathroom in your room. I presume you’ve got one.”
He opened the door for me, shaking his head. “Fine, but you’re not gonna make a good impression keeping your food all to yourself.”
The smell of smoke smacked me in the face. Thankfully, the smell dissipated as I followed Har past Brute’s room to the end of the hall. His room had a similar set-up, but with a single king-sized bed. He took my jewelry box from me and put it in a safe which was tucked in a corner.
I set my duffel on the other side of the bed. When he straightened from the safe, he said, “You got more in that box than just some security key, Steph. Don’t know why it’s secret, but I’ll let you have that privacy. Now, do you want to go out and meet everyone? I didn’t get a good look, but it seemed a couple of the sweet-butts’ cars are still here. They can be catty and say shit to rile you up.”
I shrugged. “Guess I’ll come meet everyone. Did the fire get the liquor stash? Or can I get my hands on a cocktail?”
He grinned. “We’ll get you a drink, honey.”
In the hallway, the prospect approached. “Plugged that thing in, but it’s beeping like crazy.”
I smiled. “Thanks. I’ll go take care of it.”
A weighty arm settled on my shoulders before I could step forward. “We’ll go, baby. You’re stickin’ with me for right now.”
I swiveled my head, giving him a confused look but shrugged. “Okey-dokes.”
While I fiddled with the pressure cooker, an older woman with graying brown hair bustled up to Har. “It’s about time you got here. I tell you, I don’t know what’s worse. Some of these damn girls or your men.”
Har sighed. “Sandy. I do not need—”
“I know you don’t need the drama, but it don’t get more dramatic than a bottle of fire comin’ into the clubhouse.”
The uncooperative lid on my cooker kept me busy, but I felt eyes on me, and I looked over my shoulder. Sandy’s face slowly went from outright concern to almost-motherly delight. “Well, no wonder you’ve been scarce, Har.” She smirked before she turned to him. “And it’s about time you found someone worthy of your time.”
“Oh, it’s not like that,” I started, but Har glared at me.
Sandy laughed. “I love it! ‘It’s not like that.’ Honey, who are you trying to fool? Me or yourself?”
“Where is Joules? He needs to get you in line, woman.”
Sandy’s eyes narrowed on him. “Considering it’s his science-minded ass who kept this place from burning to the ground, you need to watch it, mister.”
A stout, burly man with a gray beard hanging to his chest walked into the kitchen. “Do not give my president a hard-time right now, Sandy. We got enough on our damn plate.”
Her angry eyes flashed at him and the tension between them made me fear they’d shout the place down.
“Sandy?” I started, and all three of them looked my way. “I’m Stephanie, it’s nice to meet you.”
She opened her mouth, but closed it and gave me a shrewd smile. “It’s nice to meet you, too. How old’s your Harley?”
Har tilted his head back and spoke to the ceiling. “Fuck. Me.”
Har
HAR WATCHED BRUTE TRUDGE toward the back door carrying a shop vac. “Jesus! I’ve vacuumed for nearly an hour. Why does something still smell?”
Har leaned toward the counter where the pressure cooker sat. “Sure you’re not smelling this?”
Brute looked at it. “What is it?”
“Pot roast.”
“First good news I’ve heard all day. I’m takin’ this thing out to the shed. Then we can eat that shit.”
“You can’t, it’s not finished yet,” Stephanie said, closing the refrigerator door she had been crouched behind.
Brute’s eyes widened at him. “Hell, you brought her here?”
“After what happened the other day, brother, you shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Sorry,” Brute muttered, ambling out the door.
Sandy looked between him and Joules. “Did he just invite himself to your dinner?”
Har shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Listen, I’m leaving Stephanie with you. Any of the bitches get catty with her, shut that shit down.”
From the corner of his eye he saw Stephanie fold her arms under her tits and affect an angry-woman pose. He ignored it, because otherwise it would turn him on. Sandy looked between the two of them, her face gleeful.
“Michael. I do not need to be left with anyone. I can take care of myself.”
Sandy threw her head ba
ck and laughed. “I love this! She calls you Michael and she makes pot roast. Put a cut on her already, Har!”
Brute came back in time to hear that. “You aren’t puttin’ a cut on Stephanie.”
“Oh my God, I need a drink.”
He glared at her. “You drink whiskey sours?”
“I have.”
He looked at Joules. “Bring me two whiskey sours.”
“That’s so sweet of you, tellin’ my old man to bring me a drink,” Sandy said.
Joules sighed. “Woman, you know better.”
He ambled away and Sandy smiled at Har. “It’s all gonna be fine. I know your lady doesn’t need me lookin’ after her, but I’ll step in if Layla or anyone gets feisty.”
Brute stalked over to him. “You may have just got here, but you need to see the damage.”
He nodded and looked at Stephanie, “I’ll be back.”
He followed Brute, but grabbed his drink from Joules when they crossed paths. Halfway through the common room, Wreck stopped them.
“When do we roll out, Prez?”
The tone of his voice bordered on disrespect, but not enough for Har to call him on it. Especially since he suspected that was Wreck’s aim.
“Soon as I see the damage, we’re having church. We’ll discuss rolling out at the table.”
Wreck stared at him longer than necessary and Har raised an eyebrow.
“There something else you need, Wreck?”
“Damage ain’t that bad, thanks to Joules. Pool table’s shot to shit and we gotta get a new window, but we should be takin’ out whoever the hell did this to us.”
Har nodded. “You’re right. First, we need to all be on the same page. Sooner you let Brute show me what’s what, we’ll gather. Anything else?”
After a beat, Wreck shook his head. “No.”
As they approached the pool table, Brute muttered, “He’s right. And he’s wrong. The damage was limited to the pool table, but that was dumb luck on our part.”
He wanted to believe they had luck on their side, but something told him they didn’t.
The pool table still had fire-extinguisher residue on the felt.
Har shook his head. “Gonna have to get rid of the table. Those chemicals are corrosive. How do you figure we got lucky?”
Brute dipped his chin. “Some new chick convinced somebody to open the windows. The damn bottle flew in and hit the pool table. Joules happened to be behind the bar and was quick as hell with the extinguisher. Had that bottle hit a closed window, fire would’ve gone everywhere.”
“Really? Windows were open?”
Brute nodded. “Even Roman couldn’t believe our luck at that.”
“You sure a woman insisted on opening that window? We never open the fuckin’ things. I can’t believe a groupie—”
Brute shook his head. “Roman, Block, and Cynic tried to keep people from splitting, but you know how some groupies get when they hear sirens. They took off, and I’m not sure I’ll ever find out who insisted about the window. Besides, it doesn’t matter, man.”
He arched a brow. “It doesn’t?”
Brute dipped his chin. “It doesn’t. You really think some woman’s tied up in this shit? Nah. But, supposedly it was a black Audi which tore through the forecourt to lob the damn thing.”
Har sighed. “According to?”
“Wreck. And Massive.”
Har stared at him. “Is that it?”
Brute shook his head. “No. Mensa and Tiny were outside and saw it, too.”
“All right. Let’s gather everyone up.”
CYNIC CALLED THE MEETING to order, but before Har could speak, Wreck did. That made Har wonder if he had a death wish or if he was just stupid enough to speak out of turn.
“Brink would’ve had us goin’ after the Miscreants by now. Not sitting around this table with our thumbs up our ass.”
Cynic leaned over the table. “Do you need the gavel shoved up your ass, Wreck? You know better than to speak before the president does. What the fuck?”
Wreck glowered at Cynic.
“For now, let it go, ’Nic. He brings up a decent point. You’re certain it’s the Miscreants. Know Inch has a black Audi, but so do plenty of other people in town.”
“Not one that’s tricked out,” Massive muttered.
“Let me back things up, Massive. You and Wreck couldn’t make church after you were attacked...” He let that hang for a moment. “But, I asked Inch point-blank if he or any of his men cornered you and Wreck. He said he didn’t, and they have no interest in our weed.”
Wreck glared at him. “You believe them over your brothers?”
Har grimaced. “Normally, I wouldn’t believe anyone over my brothers. But, Massive shoulda had the ability to fight off two, if not three of their men, easy. In fact, Inch knew who you two were and he wouldn’t want to run up against Massive. Neither one of you showed your faces at the table that night. What the fuck? Why did Layla take you two home?”
A heavy sigh came from the end of the table, and Tiny spoke. “Permission to speak.”
Har nodded.
“We need to be focused on what happened today. All due respect, it don’t help to rehash shit that’s already gone down.”
Har stared at Tiny for a moment. “You know I don’t fuck around when shit needs to be dealt with.” He looked at Wreck. “But I’m not putting other brothers’ lives on the line because you say it was Inch or some other member of the Miscreants.”
He looked at Block. “You got the surveillance feeds?”
Block nodded his bald head. “Yeah. It was an Audi that drove in, but it wasn’t the kind Inch drives. This was an A3 and Inch has an A7. Big difference. Also worth noting, the person who threw the bottle was white.”
“Don’t mean shit,” Massive said.
Har turned his hands up at an angle for a moment. “You’re right. That kind of thing could easily be hired out. But Inch wouldn’t hire someone to drive an Audi which would bring him to mind.”
“What are you saying? We’re gonna sit on this?” Wreck demanded.
“I’m saying, I want to know why you and Massive lied about who attacked you.”
Wreck glared. “You don’t believe your own brothers? Where’s the weed, if the Miscreants didn’t do it?”
“That was my next question. The Miscreants are dealing meth and coke. They don’t need our product.”
“They do if they want to shove us out of dealing marijuana, and you’re perfectly fine with that. Gives you more time with your fresh side-piece.”
Har did his damnedest to keep a bland expression, but Cynic must have felt the tension coming from him and Brute.
“You need to stand the fuck down, Wreck.”
“Don’t you call my sister a fuckin’ side-piece,” Brute said.
Wreck tilted his head and stared at Brute. “Thought it was stepsister? And who gives a fuck? We’re letting a gang push us around. I never thought I’d see the day. We should be pushing them around. Thought this club stood for something.”
Har didn’t want it to come to this, but the words spilled from his mouth.
“You renouncing the club?”
The air went electric.
Har kept at him. “All other chapters except Vegas and Des Moines have withdrawn from any drug trade. What is it we’re supposed to stand for, in your eyes, when you can’t answer a simple question?”
Wreck and Massive were both silent, but held Har’s stare.
Har broke it to look at each brother seated at the table. “I won’t put anyone’s life on the line without good reason.” He stared at Massive and Wreck. “The two of you haven’t given straight answers to a single question. You both want the club to move into harder drugs and balk the loudest when someone suggests getting out.”
“You,” Massive declared. “You are the only one who—”
“Wrong,” Roman said from the other side of the table.
Wreck narrowed his eyes at Roman. “Never
heard you say shit about us getting out.”
Roman tilted his head a fraction. “No. But you’ve damn sure heard Gamble say something, or Mensa, or Joules especially. It isn’t just our president who wants to put drugs behind us. There are other ways to make money.”
“Smack is damn lucrative when you have the right customers,” Massive muttered.
Block shifted in his seat. “Smack comes with a thousand times more risk, too, Mass. We got the cake for brothers bein’ arrested, arraigned, and all the legal fees that go with that shit? As treasurer, I can tell you we don’t. Lucrative or not, smack doesn’t make up for the headaches and hassles that come with it.”
Silence fell within the room.
“Not to beat a dead horse, brothers, but where does that leave us with the shit that went down today?” Tiny asked.
Har’s lips tipped up a touch before he looked at the huge man. “It leaves us adjourned for now, until I have more information. Also leaves Massive and Wreck a thousand dollars poorer since they spoke out of turn, and neither answered direct questions from me.”
“The fuck?” Wreck shouted.
Cynic moved to Wreck’s side, but before he could put hands on the man, Block asked, “We doublin’ that?”
Har shook his head. “Should, but we’re not.”
He swung the gavel against the table. “We’re adjourned.”
With his seat closest to the doors, Har was the first to stride out to the common room.
He saw a prospect cleaning a table. “Where’s Layla? She here?”
“Yes, sir. Far end of the bar.”
Moving down the bar with a steady stride, he stopped close to Layla’s back.
She sat with a groupie he’d never seen before and two women who hadn’t been around in over six months. Next to one of the women sat Sandy, and then Stephanie. He felt Stephanie’s curious hazel eyes on him, but he couldn’t spare her a glance.
“Layla.”
Slow and meticulous, Layla put her martini glass down before swiveling on the barstool to face him. “Yes, Harm?”
“You’re in my room. Don’t stop to talk to anyone. Nobody. Go. Now.”
Her brows lifted. “Sure.”
Sliding off the stool, she smiled, and to an outsider like Steph, it would appear knowing.