by Aiden Bates
Out of all the people Gunnar had slept with, none of them had seen him like that. None of them had touched him like I had.
After we’d cleaned up and tumbled back into bed, Gunnar had grabbed me and kissed me hard.
“I don’t want anyone else,” he’d said. “I’m not sharing you.”
I’d laughed at his intensity even as my heart had pounded hard. “Pretty sure I should be the one worried about sharing you.”
I’d used a joking tone, but I meant it—I hadn’t had more than a handful of hookups since I got back from college, and they’d been discreet. And part of me had still worried that despite whatever connection we had, it would only be a matter of time before Gunnar would have a few drinks in Ballast and find some hot young woman he couldn’t resist.
“You won’t,” Gunnar had said. “I’m done fucking around.”
I still wasn’t exactly sure what he’d meant. Was he done fucking around with other people? Or done fucking around with me? Or both?
I know he’d said that this wasn’t casual for him, either—were we finally moving toward something real?
“Go back to sleep,” Gunnar mumbled next to me now. “You’re fidgety. Thinking too hard.”
I took his hand where it was looped over my side and kissed his knuckles. “I’m gonna go put the coffee on.”
That seemed to appease him. I stood up and Gunnar rolled onto his back, folding his arms behind his head. The bed’s thin sheet was pushed down to his hips, and sunlight fell in stripes over his tanned body. His half-lidded, sleepy gaze tracked my movements across the room.
I pulled on my jeans, and then rooted around in Gunnar’s dresser and pulled out one of the plain gray long-sleeved shirts I’d seen him wear countless times. On Gunnar it was snug, nearly skin-tight. It was looser on me, the collar wide and the sleeves ending at my knuckles.
“Looks good on you,” Gunnar said in a low, possessive voice.
I inhaled Gunnar’s scent from the neckline of the shirt: clean soap, leather, the barest hint of aftershave. “Smells like you.”
“You like that?”
“No way,” I teased. “You stink like a dog.”
Gunnar grinned, and then reached out and hooked a finger in the waistband of my jeans, pulling me back towards the bed. I leaned down and kissed him, morning breath be damned.
“How do you feel?” I asked, a little hesitantly.
“Good,” Gunnar said. “Maybe a bit sore.”
“Oh, yeah?” A bolt of heat ran through me at the thought of Gunnar going about his day with the aching memory of what we’d done together every time he moved or sat down.
“Guess I need more practice.”
“That can be arranged.” I bit my lip. “Go back to sleep. It’s barely eight. You’ve got another two hours.”
“Or three.” Gunnar flopped back down on the bed.
I slipped out of Gunnar’s room and padded down the stairs to the clubhouse kitchen. I was usually one of the first members awake—no matter how late I stayed up, I couldn’t seem to sleep past seven. I started a full pot of coffee for the house, as I did every morning.
This relationship, or whatever it was, was so different than the one I’d imagined when I first began crushing on Gunnar. I thought he’d be tough, relentless, cagey—ready to take what he wanted and bring me along for the ride. I’d underestimated the depth of his feelings: the longing, the pain, the tenderness. Every layer I peeled back only made me want him more. I was beginning to believe that perhaps I didn’t have to let Gunnar take control—that maybe he didn’t even want to.
Perhaps we could be equals.
The front door swung open. Logan glanced around the clubhouse, a little desperately, and when he saw me in the kitchen, he sagged with relief. “Ugh, thank God you’re awake.”
The coffeemaker chimed its completion. I poured Logan a mug and set it on the kitchen island. He took it gratefully. He was wearing sweatpants and one of Blade’s shirts under his club leather jacket, and he looked haggard, like he hadn’t slept at all.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Everything okay?”
“I don’t know,” Logan admitted. He took a sip of his coffee, sighed gratefully, and then stared into the mug like it had secrets to reveal to him. I waited patiently as he sorted through whatever was racing through his mind.
“He called me back,” Logan said finally.
I started. “Rebel? What’d he say?”
Logan had been so sure Rebel wouldn’t respond—but he had. And fast. Faster than I’d hoped.
“He agreed to meet.” He said it like Rebel had agreed to this own death. “Tonight. The Vipers are heading north for a job, and Rebel’s supposed to stay behind to meet a contact. After that, he’s coming to us.”
“Tonight? That soon?”
“I know,” Logan said. “I—I wasn’t ready for things to come together so quickly.”
I’d assumed we’d have at least a week before we had any response from Rebel. My stomach twisted with a dark excitement. I was desperate for information about Dad’s death, but if Rebel’d had anything to do with it, it wouldn’t end well.
“I’m scared,” Logan murmured, like he was admitting it out loud to himself.
“He’s coming to us, right?”
“Yeah.”
There were a few ways this could go sideways. Like if Rebel tried to bring a bunch of Vipers into our territory. Or if he admitted he’d been involved in Dad’s death, and counted on his relationship with Logan to save him.
Because regardless of Rebel’s familial status, he was still a Viper. And as much as I loved Logan, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill Rebel myself if he was behind Dad’s murder.
“Rebel’s smart,” I said. “He wouldn’t agree if he didn’t know the risks.”
“I know he knows the risks. But I don’t think he understands how angry Blade is.” He looked up, his hazel eyes cutting through me. “And how angry you are.”
I broke eye contact, fidgeting under his searching look. I couldn’t deny it; I wanted vengeance. Sure, Rebel was Logan’s brother, and sure, he’d called emergency services when Logan had been shot—but he’d also stood guard in that warehouse and let Logan languish alone.
He’d helped the Vipers. He was a Viper. And that outweighed everything else.
Logan set his coffee down and ran his hands through his hair, shaking off his nerves. “I just want to get it over with. I know Blade will make the right decision. It’s been months, but I still have to remind myself that Hell’s Ankhor doesn’t operate like the Viper’s Nest. I know everyone won’t be needlessly cruel. But it’s just… It’s the not knowing that kills me.”
“Fucking tell me about it,” I said.
“But you seem less angry these days. And I’ve never seen you wear that shirt,” Logan said. He paused, took a long sip of his coffee. “I’ve seen someone else wear it, though.”
My cheeks heated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Logan grinned. He hopped up onto the kitchen island like it was a stool—he was always doing that, sitting on things that weren’t chairs—and peered down at me. “Come on, Raven. You’ve been crushing on him for as long as I’ve known you. Are things happening?”
I glanced towards the stairs, irrationally worried that someone—particularly Gunnar—would burst in and hear me talking all sappy. “Yeah,” I admitted. “Things are happening.”
Logan grinned like a cat with a cornered mouse. “What kinds of things?”
“We’re working it out,” I said vaguely. “It’s not—I mean, last night—”
“Last night?” Logan squawked.
I waggled my hand flat in front of me in a desperate ‘keep it down’ motion. “Last night he told me he didn’t want to share me.”
“So you’re exclusive.”
“I guess so.”
“Are you like… In a relationship?”
I grimaced. “Not officially, I guess. It’s hard to talk about.
Especially with everything going on in the club. It feels stupid to worry about whatever’s going on with Gunnar when I should be focusing on the real problems at hand.”
“I get that. But you should let yourself be happy.” He paused and fixed his piercing eyes on me. “Can I say something weird?”
“Everything you say is weird,” I quipped.
Logan ignored that and said softly, “I never met your dad.”
I nodded, and then crossed my arms over my chest and looked away. It was still hard for me to talk openly about Dad without that chasm of grief inside me splitting open. And it was too early in the day for me to start crying yet.
“But I’ve heard a lot about him,” Logan said. “From Blade. He talks about Ankh a lot. About how much he admired Ankh… About how he’s shaped his presidency after Ankh’s example. And it sounds like Ankh was a man whose goal wasn’t to build a club for power or influence. That was my dad’s goal. From what I can tell, Ankh wanted to build a home for people. Where people could build a life. Priest said it was meant to be an anchor in a storm.”
I couldn’t speak around the lump in my throat. But I nodded again.
“Sorry if this is presumptuous,” Logan said, “but I think he’d want you to be happy. We’ve got to treasure any moment of happiness we get. Even when it seems to come at the wrong time. I’d say especially when it’s the wrong time.”
I exhaled hard and pushed the heels of my hands hard into my eyes, willing the tears away. After a few controlled breaths, I could speak again. “Gunnar thinks Priest will hate him for wanting to be with me.”
“Gunnar thinks he’s a big scary pit bull when in reality he’s a big Labrador retriever,” Logan said, rolling his eyes.
“And I treated him like shit for a little while,” I admitted. “Pushing him away. Calling him names. I was lashing out like a stupid kid because he rejected me.”
“Is he mad about that?”
“I mean… I don’t think so.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It’s just… It’s taken such a long time for us to get this point, you know? He really gave me the runaround. And I gave it to him, too. And we’ve fought so much, and he’s so anxious about how the club will respond, and I—I’m scared he’s going to change his mind. It feels like he’s wielding all the power. I’ve been crushing so hard on him for so long—he has to know I’m not going anywhere. He’s got me wrapped around his finger, but it always seems like he’s looking for an escape hatch. Like one wrong look from Priest or Blade, and he’ll drop me like a bad habit. Like he’s ashamed to want me.”
“Has he been in a real relationship before?” Logan hopped off the counter and poured himself another cup of coffee.
“Not to my knowledge.” I’d seen him fuck a lot of people, but never the same person more than once.
“So he’s going from no relationships at all to, potentially, a meaningful relationship with the vice president’s kid… I gotta be honest with you, Raven, I’d be a little nervous, too.”
A brief flare of childish anger rose in my chest. “I’m more than just my father’s son.”
“If anyone knows that, it’s me,” Logan said.
That made me feel like an asshole. Of course Logan knew what it meant to be defined by your father’s actions. But there wasn’t any anger in his eyes, just understanding. He grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me into a quick, tight hug. “He’ll get his head on straight. And if he doesn’t, we’ll kick his ass.”
I laughed. Despite how well I’d slept, cuddled next to Gunnar, exhaustion tugged at me. God, I was ready for all this shit to be over. Dealing with Gunnar and the Viper investigation simultaneously was draining me of every ounce of energy I had.
“Thanks, Logan.” I pulled away. “Don’t tell anyone, though. Please.”
“I won’t.”
“Not even Blade?”
Logan sucked his teeth. “I won’t. Mostly because I know he’d open his big mouth to Gunnar.”
I laughed, and then started puttering around the kitchen, gathering the ingredients for breakfast.
“I’m happy for you, though,” Logan said. “I really want this to go right.”
“Yeah.” I turned the stove on and watched the gas flame flicker. Maybe Logan was right. Maybe Gunnar wasn’t ashamed to be seen with me—maybe he was just scared. Scared of what it meant to be with someone for real. He’d alluded to his past vaguely, like it was something he didn’t want to think about—like it was something that happened to someone else. What had happened that made him so… resistant? “I want that, too.”
20
Gunnar
The atmosphere in Ankhor Works was tense with anticipation. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, keeping myself from physically pacing the perimeter of the building, which I knew from experience would drive the rest of the club members crazy.
Inviting a Viper into our territory didn’t sit right with me. But at this point, I didn’t know what other options we had. Our investigation hadn’t dug anything up, and Raven’s had hit a dead end. This was the only lead I had. And at least if shit went south, we’d be on our turf, and hopefully we’d outnumber whoever showed up. I wouldn’t put it past a Viper to say he was showing up alone, and then bring a posse with him. I’d seen it happen once before, when we’d tried to set a trap using Coop as bait, and they’d counter-trapped us. Bunch of assholes.
From his seat on the low couch in the shop waiting area, Raven caught my eye. He raised his eyebrows inquisitively, and I nodded. Everything was fine. Raven went back to looking at his phone. I had no idea what he was doing—probably something I didn’t understand. Logan sat on the couch next to him, with the resigned, unhappy look of a man waiting for a root canal.
Admittedly, I didn’t love having Raven on the premises for this meeting. I wanted him somewhere safe. I knew he could hold his own in a fight—he’d made that clear when he’d decked me in the hallway—but he didn’t need to be a part of the violence.
If it came to that.
And part of me wanted it to come to that.
Whoever showed up, I wanted to pulverize them. My hands itched for it. After seeing all the evidence Raven had collected, it was obvious Ankh hadn’t just crashed on his own.
I missed Ankh badly. We all did. This realization had reopened all our wounds, and mine was festering. Of course being a club president came with risks, but shady murder like this was beyond anything I’d ever imagined. If I imagined my own death in the club, it was usually in the form of a gunshot during a territory skirmish, or an accidental crash, or a slow death behind bars. Never something so sneaky and cruel as a staged accident.
It was fucking cowardly. Dishonorable. And I wanted to make whoever did it pay.
The rest of the club members present also radiated anticipation and tension. Siren and Tex lingered by the door, and Coop was outside. Priest was in a chair near Raven. And Blade stood at my side, flipping a knife from hand to hand. That’s how I knew he was really chomping at the bit to get this started—the mindless knife tricks only made an appearance when his nervous energy was close to a breaking point.
After Ankh passed, I admittedly hadn’t been sure about Blade as the next president. I trusted him with my life, of course; he was my best friend, and we’d risen through the ranks of the club together. He’d been sergeant-at-arms for years, and I’d been an enforcer. I’d known him as a friend and fighter—he’d led the enforcers well, but I hadn’t known if that would translate to leading the club as a whole.
But Blade had stepped up. Ankh had left big shoes to fill, and Blade was no Ankh. He was just himself. He didn’t try to be Ankh, and that’s why his leadership worked. Didn’t hurt that Blade had some of the same traits that had made Ankh such an effective president: loyalty, strength, and a strong sense of right and wrong—but also a strong sense of justice.
Blade would do anything for his family. His selflessness and his loyalty inspired the rest of the club to act
the same way. The leadership shaped the club. And we were still shaped in Ankh’s image.
“He’s late,” Blade growled.
“He’ll show,” Raven said. He caught my eye.
“What makes you so sure?” I crossed the short distance between us and sat on the armrest of the couch next to where he sat. “You tracking him?”
“I wish.” His rich blue eyes blazed with frustration. “He’s got encryption on his end, too.”
I brushed my hand over the back of his neck tentatively, half-expecting him to pull away, since we were surrounded by the other club members. To my surprise, Raven pressed back against the touch with a contented sigh. He tipped his head forward, invitingly, and I scraped my fingers through the thick, dark hair at his nape. “You all right?”
We’d danced around the relationship conversation—I’d told him I wasn’t going to sleep with anyone else, and he’d said the same, but we hadn’t agreed on anything further. But the closer we got, the more that conversation loomed.
Raven had told me that all I needed to do was want him. I was trying to believe him, but I still carried the weight of all my mistakes with me, and what they would mean to Raven when he found out. But how could things not change once he found out what I’d done, what was really in my past, especially now?
I didn’t want to give this up. Maybe I could prove to him—and to myself—that I was worthy of his attention, despite all the shit I’d done. I could change. Maybe I could be a good enough man for him, if he’d have me.
It felt like a lot to hope for.
“I’m good,” Raven murmured.
I’d work it out. After we figured out all this shit with the Vipers and got justice for Ankh. Then I could talk to Raven and convince him to give me a shot, a real shot—a relationship and everything that came with it. Then I’d work on getting Logan to trust that I wasn’t going to lead Raven on only to drop him. And then I’d tell Priest.