by KB Winters
“You know this is about her. I know you do.”
For one brief fucking moment, yeah, I thought it was about her. But then I grew a fucking brain.
“You don’t think this has anything to do with the bullets we pumped into Brendan and his friend at the bachelor party? Because that’s what my money is on. They already came by my house and blew up one of my cars. That was just a taste. A teaser.”
Jasper said nothing, and I leaned back, appearing as relaxed as I could in the face of another fucking accusation. “How would they know where she is?”
I let that accusation linger in the air, my gaze fixed on Jasper.
“None of us said one fucking thing.”
That was what his mouth said, but his uneasy glance at Cal told me he wasn’t completely sure.
“Then there’s no reason to think anyone outside of this room knows where she is or who has her.” I finished off my drink and slammed the glass down hard as fuck. “This is retaliation for killing Brendan and that fucking Jack, plain and simple. I don’t know about you guys, but I plan to make them regret they fucked with my girls. My money.”
“You’re gonna use her as an example?” Jasper asked as he lit a cigarette.
Fuck no. “No. I’m going after what they care about. The money and the drugs.” Savannah had given me enough information over the past few days that I could hit them where it would leave a scar.
“Yeah? How do you plan to do that?”
I smiled at Jasper’s attempt to get intel from me. I might be a new Prez, but I wasn’t green to the game. “I have my men working on it. You should do the same.”
Virgil’s phone rang, and he picked up with a gruff, “Hello?” His thick brows dipped lower and lower as the call went on.
“We’re on our way.” He shoved the phone in his pocket and sent a snarling smile to his brother.
“Let’s go baby bro, your woman is in labor.”
Jasper stood at the same time as Cal, staring him down since they were face-to-face. “Don’t forget what I said, Calvin. If we catch her doing that shit again, she will have to be punished.”
Cal nodded and looked at the ground, waiting for Jasper to step aside. “I’ll deal with it,” he growled and followed Virgil out the door.
Terry followed a moment later, leaving the pub in silence until Cross broke it. “What do you plan to do?” His question aimed at Jasper.
“For now, I shut Lucky Lopez down until further notice, which is gonna cost us. Which means is has to fucking cost them too.”
He glanced at me, green gaze serious. “I’ll take the Crusaders and you handle the Jacks?”
“Or we both hit them both.” I didn’t want a war, but I wouldn’t back down from one either. “If they think we’re acting together, that puts everyone in more danger. Let’s retaliate independently and put the fucking fear of God into these assholes.”
A slow smile crossed Jasper’s face. “Yeah. Okay.” He tossed back one more drink and sighed. “Now though, I gotta get to the hospital.”
And I had some shit to do.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Savannah
Being stuck inside, even when I had no place to go, felt as much like a prison as not being able to go anywhere upon threat of violence. Or death. Of course, Charlie was not the same as the Black Jacks, not in any comparable way. But staying inside all day and all night was fucking with my head.
I couldn’t relive all the orgasms Charlie had given me since Sunday, even though nearly a week’s worth of pleasure was more than enough to keep my mind occupied for at least some of the day. Between thinking about those orgasms and touching myself while thinking about them, there were still too many damn hours in the day and nothing to fill them.
I cleaned Charlie’s house and washed the laundry. Scrubbed the floors and the walls. I’d even pulled the fridge out and cleaned behind it, all in the name of finding something to do each day. Now, I was so bored that there were only two things left to do—snooping and cooking.
Today’s boredom was cured by…snooping. Not because I was trying to find out if Charlie had any deep dark secrets. He’d already told me about the bullying and his concern about leading his MC, but he hadn’t shared much else with me. He’d left me so damn curious; I was burning up inside.
His dresser drawers were more organized than I would have expected of a twenty-five-year-old bachelor. Boxers on one side of the top drawer, boxer briefs on the other. Briefs, thankfully, nowhere to be found. The other was filled with socks, folded into pairs but tossed in carelessly which meant he wasn’t a psychopath. Thank goodness.
Under the t-shirts he kept his personal stash of weed because Charlie smoked a joint each night to help him sleep. I smiled at his small stash because it was just so typical of him, to keep a little for himself while there was a big jar of it downstairs for visitors, which lately was just me.
The other drawers were filled with pajama pants and workout clothes, nothing of any interest at all.
His closet was more of the same. Ten pairs of jeans in different washes, a couple leather vests that documented his rise within the Reckless Bastards, a suit and a few nice shirts. The closet floor contained six pairs of shoes, sneakers and shit-kicker motorcycle boots, but it was the box in back that drew my attention.
Would it contain mementos of girlfriends’ past? Phone numbers? Naked photos of his conquests? I sat on the floor and gathered the box in my lap, opening it carefully, as if it contained the secrets of the world. Inside was a pair of black dress shoes. “Fuck.”
There was nothing. Not one piece of information that gave me any other clues about Charlie. The photos around the house were the only clue about what, or who, was important to him. His family and his MC. The end.
I dropped down on the bed, disappointing that my snooping had been painfully short-lived, and produced no information on Charlie.
“Why the fuck am I so curious, anyway?” This was just sex, damn good, toe-curling sex for sure, but it was just sex. I didn’t need to know his past or his hopes for the future, and I damn sure didn’t need to know what kind of women he dated or if he gave his heart to them.
I’d never be one of those women, so it didn’t fucking matter.
But it felt like it did.
“Damn you, Charlie Ellison.”
I was in a fucked up headspace, that’s all it was. Right now, Charlie was exactly the wrong kind of man for me. He was kind and sweet and considerate, a good guy even if he fucked like he was a bad man. That kindness was hard to shake off. I couldn’t even write him off as a man who was using me for information, even though, on some level, I knew he was doing that too.
But he could have just kept me locked up in his basement like Blade had in those early days when I was sure I’d end up as his personal sex slave. Blade had fed me once a day, and every morning he placed a one liter bottle of water just far enough out of my reach that it hurt to see it, so desperate was I to quench my thirst.
Charlie could have done that, but he didn’t. He had his mother give me first-aid and buy me clothes. He cooked for me and gave me weed and nicotine to keep the withdrawals from getting out of fucking control.
Yeah, he was a nice guy, and that was starting to make me feel things I shouldn’t. Things beyond ecstasy, more than a carnal crush. More than lust.
“Fuck this shit.”
I put the shoe box back and made my way down to the kitchen. Jana stopped by once a week to fill Charlie’s fridge with groceries. Today, I planned to take full advantage of her generosity by making something for dinner. We had ground beef, and I decided to try my hand at meatballs.
I found a recipe online that seemed easy enough to make and hard to screw up. I gathered all the ingredients the internet said I’d need and got lost in the details of cooking, of chopping and peeling and following every step with careful precision.
Since I was no longer the Rhymer Princess, cooking was a skill I’d need to learn to survive. So really, I thoug
ht, this was a gift for both me and for Charlie.
Thirty minutes later, I stood back and examined my handiwork. I felt proud and impressed with the result so far. I wasn’t impressed enough to fry the meatballs, so I put them in the oven and got started on mashed potatoes, which the blogger had called fool-proof. Music to my ears.
It was a nice change, having something to do, even if all I did was obsessively check the oven and turn the meatballs and then pierce each potato chunk with a fork even though the timer hadn’t sounded. It was better than wandering the house aimlessly and trying hard not to think of getting a fix.
As soon as those thoughts started to creep back in, I pulled out fresh vegetables and made a salad. I made a fucking salad, like I was Little Suzy-fucking Homemaker. I was both slightly disgusted and proud as hell of the meal I created and shoved aside thoughts that Charlie would be proud too.
He would be grateful, and that was enough for me.
The sound of breaking glass made my heart race. At least it distracted from thoughts of Charlie as I made my way to the living room to look out the window.
“Son of a bitch!” Two young guys I didn’t recognize wearing leather vests with the familiar Black Jacks patch on the back, ace and king of spades, had tossed beer bottles into the street. Worse though, they were on a determined path up the walk to this house.
The first guy, a blond with a buzzcut and big eyes, took the porch steps two at a time, a wicked smile on his face as he rang the bell like he was a goddamn salesman.
“Hello!” he called into the door.
He rang the bell repeatedly, before he pressed down nonstop while his other hand banged on the door.
On the side of the house, the long-haired brunette knocked hard on the living room window until one pane broke. And then another. And another.
The sound of the security alarm was obnoxious, meant to scare away any intruders, except these fuckers weren’t afraid of anything today. They laughed and howled like fucking animals.
“Yo, Memphis,” one yelled out. “You see anything?”
“Not with these fucking blackout blinds,” his thug of a buddy answered. “What are they made out of, metal?”
He knocked out another window, this one without the added blackout protection. Thankfully, it was too high to look into the house from the ground below.
“Open up, pretty boy! We know you’re in there.” This from the guy called Memphis. He pounded on the door with his fists and kicked it, all while still ringing the bell.
Charlie had told me all about the security system, how effective and high-tech it was, to make sure I didn’t worry. But how could I not when two wild banshees were just outside the door, determined to get in? They didn’t know I was inside, or if they did, they were doing a damn good job at pretending. I knew if they found me, though, it would mean trouble.
Between their loud yells and the loud bullhorn sound of the door alarm and the wailing siren of the window alarms, it was all too much. My heart beat so fast I was sure it was about to leap right out of my chest and drop onto the living room floor. I covered my mouth with both hands to muffle the scream that tried to break free to ease my fear and my stress. I took a step back.
And then another.
And another.
Eventually I found myself upstairs in the guestroom closet where three pairs of pants and four t-shirts swung above me, the total of my wardrobe. I curled into the tightest ball I could manage and buried my head in my lap, rocking gently and hoping the sound would stop.
It was something I’d gotten good at during my time with the Black Jacks, hiding in the closet when a customer got a little too violent over whiskey dick, or because they were too stressed out to come. Or whatever other slight they perceived was my fault. The closet had been my safe place then and now.
A bitter snort escaped and echoed in my lap. Things hadn’t changed so much, after all.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Charlie
It was early Friday night at the clubhouse. The guys were hanging back laughing; the music was rocking, and instead of enjoying a beer with my fellow Reckless Bastards after a long week, I was sitting by myself at the end of the bar. I was pissed off at my guys, missing my brother and eager to get home to Savannah. What the fuck kind of leader am I?
Cross always made time for the guys, whether it was drinking and shooting the shit, helping them sort out money or relationship bullshit, or teaching them to be better Reckless Bastards. And then there was me, acting like a wounded little bitch because my men questioned my decisions and complained about me running home to spend time with a girl.
A fucking girl.
I was fucked up; I knew that. I couldn’t help myself, though. All I wanted was to get back home to Savannah. Her smart mouth had a way of making me put my shit into perspective, had a way of making me feel better. About everything. It was a dangerous feeling to have. But with the stress of everything piling up, she was about the only damn thing that made me feel good these days.
“What’s up, Charlie?” Cross came over and dropped down on the stool next to me where I surveyed the room nursing a warm beer with a crooked smile.
Chickie came by and dropped off a beer he’d ordered. “Nothing. Just thinking.” I turned to him and looked at Cross, really looked at him. He was an old man, sure, but he looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen him.
“Does it ever lessen, the weight on your shoulders?”
“Nope.” Cross laughed and shook his head as he took a pull of the beer. “Sorry to say, kid, that is a weight that never goes away and it shouldn’t. The minute you stop feeling the gravity and weight of your responsibility, it’s time to get the fuck out of the game.”
“Is that what happened to you?”
“Fuck no. I love Moon and now that Beau is off fulfilling his dreams, I promised her we would have some time for ourselves. You know, travel and shit.” He shrugged. “She brought me back to life, and I owe her. Now it’s time to pay up.”
“But you could’ve led the Bastards for another few years.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I could have, but the next Prez needed time to adjust, and that means I need to be around to guide you, teach you everything I know. I didn’t want to leave it too long. So, what’s on your mind?”
I leaned back and sighed to the ceiling before I could look at him. “Nothing. Everything.”
“Oh, is that all?” Cross laughed and gripped my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “We all have confidence in you, Charlie. That’s why we voted you in. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t,” I said, but soaked in his new attitude. He was the same Cross and yet in a way he wasn’t. This version of our old Prez was relaxed, with a take it as it comes persona instead of sitting on the edge of his seat, ready to beat the shit out of someone.
Would I ever get there?
A probie rushed in, bouncing his wide brown eyes between me and Cross. “There’s a fire at Get Ink’d, I just heard it on the scanner.”
Cross and I looked at each other. “Quinn,” we said in unison with the same note of alarm. Golden Boy’s daughter.
We both pushed off the bar stools and moved quickly toward our bikes. “Grab Stitch. Tell him to find a partner and meet us there. Nobody travels alone.”
Cross and I hauled ass to one of our oldest businesses that had become not just a town staple, but a big ass draw for tourists, making the drive in under five minutes.
Lights flashed down the side alley, and I followed the voices while Cross headed inside. “Quinn?” I said when I saw her at the desk. “Everything all right?”
Quinn nodded, her blonde hair was shaved on one side and braided on the other. She looked exactly like the kind of biker chick everyone hoped would tattoo them. The guys would shit themselves if they knew her father, Golden Boy, was not just a biker but a man who spent hard time in prison. Her brows dipped in confusion.
“Charlie? Everything is good. What are you doing here?”
&n
bsp; “One of the guys reported a fire.”
She nodded knowingly. “Yeah, I called it in but it was a small dumpster fire. Probably dumbass kids or fucking junkies.” She nodded toward a firefighter visible through the window overlooking the alley and shrugged. “See for yourself. It’s a small fire and insurance will cover the damage.”
Insurance? “So, you’re good?”
Quinn folded her arms and nodded. “Yep. Pissed off and inconvenienced, but I’m good. And now curious about why you and Cross are sniffing around and now Stitch and New Guy.” She nodded, and I turned to them walking up behind me.
“You know how it is, Quinn. Just making sure everybody is safe. That’s all.”
Quinn’s story didn’t make any sense, and I turned to the probie. “What exactly did you hear?”
He shrugged, suddenly full of fear. “I actually didn’t hear it myself. One of the Bitches, Sherri, said it came through on the scanner, and that I should report it directly to you. Did I fuck up? I mean, it’s Golden Boy’s daughter, so I figured you should know.”
“You did the right thing. Stay here until the blue and reds clear out?” Stitch nodded his agreement, and I headed back to my bike where Cross waited. “This seem strange to you?”
Cross’ dark brows dipped into a low vee, hands on his hips as his blue gaze scanned up and down the street. “Seems like a diversion.”
As soon as the word left his mouth, I knew. “Shit. I gotta go.”
“You mean we gotta go.” Cross hopped on his bike and gunned it, at my side the whole time while we rushed home to Savannah.
“Holy fuck,” I said when I pulled into my driveway. Cross grabbed my arm when I hopped off my bike and rushed forward.
“Look at this shit,’ he said, pointing to the broken glass and shards of wood on the lawn. “Who did you piss off?”
I was too worried about Savannah to answer questions, so I hitched my shoulder for Cross to follow me. “Let me make sure Savannah is all right.”