by Drew Elyse
We hadn’t said much after that.
It took another half hour before I was ready to go. All the instructions for taking care of my injuries, including the fact that I had to be checked on consistently when I slept because of the concussion, were repeated to me and a very focused Park. If I’d had any plans to slack on any of it, Park’s riveted attention on Jim made it clear that wasn’t going to happen.
I’d dismissed the offer of a wheelchair, but Park insisted on being close and offering support as I slowly made the walk—slowly, painfully—out of the room. We barely made it down the hall before we hit the waiting room, and I saw the full force of support I had at my back.
It was a sea of muscles, tattoos, and leather. Nearly the entire Savage Disciples club was there. Only a few faces were missing, probably because a lot of the men and women waiting there for me were parents, and someone was watching the kids. Sketch was on his feet in a second, moving away from where Ash had been pressed to his side and coming right toward me. The raw intensity of his presence might be intimidating if I didn’t trust him implicitly.
“He’s fucking dead.” It was a promise. “No one will lay a fucking finger on you again.”
I wanted to say that I was alright, that his anger wasn’t necessary, that I didn’t want them to do anything, but my throat had closed up. I knew that the club liked me, that I’d become a fixture at their parties and I was welcomed warmly every time. That they’d all been there, waiting in obvious distress for hours because I’d been hurt stole the words from me. I’d known I built a sort of family for myself since I came to Hoffman and took the job Carson offered, but I hadn’t realized until that moment how large it had become.
“You’ll have brothers regularly patrolling Park’s place and keeping an eye on yours until we get this shit sorted,” Sketch went on.
“You don’t—”
He cut off the words I was trying to force out. “You do not ever feel unsafe. Not again. Yeah?”
There was only one acceptable answer to that, so I gave it. “Yeah.”
Just then, there was a commotion just beyond my gathered party. Stomping feet and a raised voice demanding, “Where is she?”
If I hadn’t known that voice for years, thought of him like a father, I might have been terrified given all that had happened. Instead, even beyond the bevy of bikers ready for vengeance, that one voice made me feel more calm.
I saw the familiar, weathered Panama hat he always wore before the group parted to let Carson through, and he came right at me.
“Got here as fast as I could,” he swore as he pulled me into a hug, and for the first time in hours, I breathed a little easier.
Chapter Eight
Braden
I woke up for the first time in fucking weeks feeling hopeful.
And nervous.
Today, I was going to track her down, wherever the hell she might be, and we were going to do this right.
No more Jackson.
No more secret life.
No more lies.
Just Jess, even if I had to bust my ass to show her that she should give me a real chance without it all in the way.
With the evidence I’d gathered in front of them, four of Coranco guys flipped to save their own skin. It was a stupid move because even protective custody only did so much. It wasn’t something we just let happen, but even sectioned inmates ended up on slabs sometimes, and Coranco was a vindictive asshole. I’d been sent in only after one of his many side chicks was wrongly suspected of spilling secrets to the cops. They’d found her dumped in a ravine, mutilated before she’d finally been put out of her misery. If he could do that to a woman he was actually involved with, there was no telling what he’d do to a turncoat foot soldier.
But that wasn’t my problem.
I’d done my job, and the charges had been filed. Now, I was washing my hands of it until they needed me on the stand.
Which meant getting back to life.
Step one was officially moving to Hoffman.
Until I’d been tapped to do this undercover job, I’d been living in Salem and working for the PD there in the state’s capital. There wasn’t looking to be opportunity anytime soon to advance aside from in seniority, and while I liked patrol work and felt nothing but pride in that position, I’d gone into law enforcement to be a detective. In Salem, I wasn’t convinced that opportunity would be in front of me anytime soon. In Hoffman, it could.
Now, with my assignment with Coranco over, I could openly move to Hoffman, find myself a place, and settle in.
Then, go after my girl.
I’d thought about calling her a thousand goddamn times, but I hadn’t had so much as a phone up at the cabin. Just a radio I could use in an emergency to call in to the nearest town. In the last week since I’d finally been freed from that damn place, it’d been even harder.
I kept playing over that night. I’d made her promises that it had to seem like I’d broken by now. Fuck, the last thing I’d said before I’d walked out the door that morning was one.
“Tonight.”
Leaving that way, even if she might now understand some of why, had me convinced a phone call now wasn’t the way to go. I needed to be there, finally, like I’d said I would be. I needed her to see me and feel that heat between us so she couldn’t convince herself it was all shit.
I’d had to go into the department the day before and officially become part of the HPD, and now I had the day to win her back.
I’d been buzzing up to her apartment for five minutes. I didn’t see her car around, so it was probably a fruitless effort from the start, but I was here, so I tried. I’d come here first in hopes it was one of her days off. It’d certainly be easier if she was home for the day. Instead, now I was going to have to go barging in on her at work. Not ideal.
But waiting any longer seemed like the wrong move. Even if she just told me we’d talk later, at least it was something. Since I hadn’t done a damn thing the first time around to show her I wanted her until the end, she deserved to know it now.
I got back in my car, reversing out to head to the shop. As I was getting close, my ringtone filled the car, the dash screen informing me Jack was calling. The one boon of not being a detective yet meant I wasn’t on call any time for my open cases, so it probably wasn’t work-related. If the day before was anything to go on, it’d be a mix of giving me shit, and reminding me to give her the spiel about keeping quiet even now that the case was over since we didn’t need it going up the food chain that he’d shared that kind of privileged info.
Clicking a button on the wheel, I sent him to voicemail. He’d made his point already. Anything else could wait until later—hopefully much, much later.
I was man enough to admit how fucking nervous I was walking up to the door of Sailor’s Grave. The drive over had only given me more time to fixate on what that initial reaction was going to be from her.
If I tried to be positive, it was somewhere between the openly appreciative looks she gave me the first time I walked in—though it took a minute to notice them since I’d been deep in my own appreciation of her—and jumping me right there. Anywhere in that’d be fucking ideal. On the other hand, I knew it might be somewhere more in the range of the attitude she threw at me our night together—which also didn’t sound all bad because she did angry hotter than any woman I’d ever seen—to telling me to get out and walking away.
Though the really disturbing thought in it all was that she wouldn’t give that first fuck I was there.
Shaking it off, I forged ahead. I knew all the possibilities. I’d had nothing but time up in that cabin to think of them all. In any version, it was worth taking the shot. If it all went to hell, I’d bought that.
She wasn’t behind the desk.
There were only two artists in, each with clients at their stations. The low walls that bordered each station were all decorated by the artist that worked there. It should’ve looked a mess with all the different styles and col
ors, but it worked. Now, being back for the first time since being inside of Jess’s apartment, I wondered if it was her idea to do that. Her space was the same in a lot of ways. Messy, vibrant, but still appealing because it was so clearly her.
After a minute, one of the artists, a solid looking dude with full sleeves and a barbell through his left eyebrow, got up and came to the front.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Jess, is she here?”
He did a halfway decent job of keeping his face neutral, but I’d been trained to spot things others didn’t. For just a moment, he’d looked wary.
“She’s not in.” That was it, not even a suggestion I come back another time. The implication clear that if this was the only way I had to reach her, I had no business making a point to do just that.
Maybe she’d started something with this guy, or he at least wanted to and that had him warning me away.
I refused to acknowledge the first.
“Is Sketch?” Aside from the hours of his work on my skin, him being my contact with the Savage Disciples as they helped inform on Coranco meant he knew me well. If I gave him some of the story, he might give me her number.
The pierced eyebrow went up a bit, probably not expecting I’d ask after anyone but the hot receptionist. Could be that with all that was her up at that desk, this kind of thing happened regularly.
“No. He’s got some shit going down today, won’t be in.”
Wonderful.
“Right, thanks.”
Strolling out, I reached for my phone to find I’d left it in the car. Apparently, I was going to have to hunt her down. I didn’t even have Sketch’s number in my own phone, but I knew Jack would have it. If I had to deal with his diatribe and shit shoveling, so be it.
When I was in my car again and grabbed my phone from the cupholder where I’d dropped it, I saw Jack had called me twice more while I’d been inside. I called through right away.
“About time,” he snapped in answer.
“Look, I know you’re—” I started, but he cut in.
“Your girl got attacked last night.”
Everything stopped.
In the academy, they taught us how to handle high-pressure situations. They taught us to not be surprised by the unexpected. They taught us how not to freeze no matter what was thrown at us. In the line of duty, it never took long to take those lessons to heart. Every rookie has a moment that teaches them to put that shit into practice. Then, if they have any hope of continuing to carry that badge, they don’t freeze again. My rookie year, I’d learned during a routine traffic stop for a busted brake light. When my partner had been going back to the car after running the driver’s ID, the passenger tried to pull a gun from under their seat. I froze up for half a second, but luckily my partner, a seasoned veteran, did not.
After that, I’d never so much as hesitated on the job again.
But right then, I fucking froze.
“What?”
“Andrews called me. He took her statement, recognized the address, then remembered her from the day we moved everything out of the apartment. He didn’t know she had shit all to do with you, but he still wanted to throw it out there in case there was any chance it was connected to our case. Some fucker broke into her place and beat the shit out of her. Neighbors called because of the noise, but he was gone by the time units got to the scene.”
Fuck.
Throwing my car in gear, I demanded, “Is she at the station?”
“Hospital. He got her statement there. Said they’re releasing her soon, but that’s all he knew.”
“Right.”
I didn’t bother with anything else. Hanging up, I drove as fast as I could, breaking traffic laws I was meant to uphold. None of that shit mattered.
Only Jess.
I pulled into the first spot I saw, unwilling to waste a minute scanning around for another. Fuck if it’d be closer, I could get to the doors faster from where I was.
And I did.
Because I fucking ran.
It was as I was approaching the doors that I heard the sound of motorcycles revving to life. Not one or two, but many. Too many to ignore. There was only one reason to hear that sound in Hoffman.
I whipped around, knowing what I’d see already. A mess of brothers from the Savage Disciples MC, some with their old ladies at their backs, getting ready to ride out. And, slightly apart from the others, Sketch.
My feet changed course before I had conscious thought, jogging to where he and his wife were ready to take off while I called out to stop him. She noticed me first, her hand around his middle moving to give a tug on his leather cut. His attention bounced from her to me, and he relaxed back, a sign he wasn’t leaving until he heard what I wanted.
When I got to him, my breathing was elevated, but I didn’t know if it was the race through the lot or the adrenaline that had been coursing through my system since Jack called me that did it. I also didn’t give a shit. I needed answers, and he could get them to me faster than asking the staff inside, even if I flashed my badge.
“Where is she?”
To my surprise, his brows pulled in, and his fully inked arms crossed over his chest. I saw Ash’s lips pull in at his change in posture.
“Why do you want to know?”
The underlying implication that I couldn’t be trusted with her whereabouts rankled me, but I tried to remember that he was trying to protect her. After whatever the fuck happened to her, that was good. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know there was anything between us. Fuck, that was all me.
None of that kept my blood pressure from rising, though.
“Look, I get you’re looking out for her, and I’m glad, so I’ll tell you that you weren’t the only one I got to know while I worked that case. We didn’t get the time I’d have wanted and that I’m trying to get now, but that doesn’t change that she already matters to me. You know what I’m about, and there’s no fucking way I’d hurt any woman. But near the top of that list is Jess. Right now, the only thing that matters to me is being there for her, so I need to know where the fuck she is.”
Before he could decide how he felt about all I’d said, Ash spoke up in a voice that managed to be soft even as she projected over the low engine. “She already left.”
“Firefly,” he warned.
She turned in to him, even as his eyes remained on me. I knew she was talking right in his ear, but I couldn’t hear even a whisper. Fisting my hands, I fought to stay still and wait without losing it.
Finally, he closed his eyes, frustration bleeding from him. Whatever she’d said, she’d gotten through. If I didn’t think it’d buy me an early grave, I might have fucking kissed her.
“She’s staying with Parker, one of the guys from the shop,” Sketch begrudgingly shared, then gave me the address. “We’ll have one of ours keeping an eye, but you got the pull to add blue patrols onto that, it’d make us all sleep better. Park can handle himself, I know that. Doesn’t mean it should get to that point.”
“It won’t.”
There was no way in fuck the asshole behind this would ever get that close to her again. I didn’t care if I had to owe markers to every cop I knew and spend every hour I wasn’t on duty outside her place. No one would be touching her again.
Sketch jerked his chin at me, but I was already fixing to take off. A couple steps away, he called after me. Looking over my shoulder, I waited for him to say what he needed.
“You hurt her—in any way that can come about—I don’t care what job you have, I’ll make you disappear.”
I returned that nod and went on my way. Normally, a threat like that would have my hackles rising and might even get the cuffs out. From him, knowing he cared about Jess, I’d take it.
I’d also take the knowledge of where to find her. I’d take that and run.
Chapter Nine
Jess
It took over half an hour to actually get out of the hospital with Carson and Jean f
ussing over me. Mostly, that consisted of Jean asking a million questions about what I might need from any store on earth that she could go run around to get while her husband demanded plans from Parker, Liam, and the Disciples about how I was going to be kept safe.
“You oughta come stay with me and Jeany,” he’d grouched—more than once. “Take you up to the cabin and shoot anything that comes in range. That’ll keep you fuckin’ safe.”
God save me from well-meaning but overbearing macho men.
“It’d be good for you to get out of town and into the mountains where it’s peaceful,” Jean had chimed in as well.
Oh, I’ll tack on that I could do with saving from the sweet women of macho men, too.
I’d done my best to evade by using excuses like their cute, but demonic fur babies that made my lungs seize up and my skin break out in hives, even the fact that it’d be better to be in town in case I needed to be back at the doctor. It was my third try that’d garnered a reaction.
“I can’t just take off. I still have a job to get back to.”
Both Carson and Sketch honed in on me.
“Not right away,” I tacked on before either of them blew their tops. “But once the bruising goes down, I’ll have to get back to the shop.”
Sketch was eerily quiet, where Carson could rarely be said to be that.
“You’ll go back once you’re damn well healed and that motherfucker’s been dealt with,” the old man snapped.
Making a sincere attempt at not sounding like a petulant teenager, I shot back, “You aren’t the boss anymore.”
He gave me a withering look before turning to Sketch. Neither of them said a thing, just exchanged nods and I knew the actual boss wasn’t going to be swayed, either. Taking a deep breath, I decided the best plan was to get out of there and tackle that fight another day when I was less sore, more rested, and better prepared to win.