Spyder: An Alpha Male MC Biker Romance (Dark Pharaohs Motorcycle Club Romance Book 3)

by Ivy Black

  The explanation is plausible, but it still doesn’t do much to settle my nerves or make me feel any better. He’s probably not and I’m probably still being paranoid, but I still can’t help but feel like he’s been watching me. And it’s a feeling I don’t like. I don’t like it at all. It’s creepy.

  I clear my throat. “Yes, he’s with the Pharaohs.”

  “That’s surprising to me.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs. “You just don’t seem like the kind of woman who’d date a guy like that. You seem smarter than that.”

  “Smarter?”

  “Yeah, I mean, they’re not good guys.”

  Not wanting to get into it with him or cause a scene, I bite back my own anger. There are a thousand biting remarks that are on the tip of my tongue, but I won’t give voice to them. But I won’t let him go without telling him what I think of his opinion. Jacob needs to learn what he said isn’t all right.

  “I don’t think it’s your place to be telling me what kind of a guy he is,” I snap. “That’s very offensive. And you shouldn’t believe everything you hear around town. If you don’t know him personally, you shouldn’t be speaking ill of him like that.”

  He holds his hands up, palms facing me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend—”

  “Then what exactly did you intend to do with a remark like that, Jacob? What was your intention when you said that?”

  His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as he stammers, apparently trying to come up with something to say. He finally looks away for a moment, then runs a hand through his hair.

  “I wasn’t thinkin’, I guess. I do that when I speak sometimes. I’m sorry if I offended you,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I reply, my voice ice cold. “I really do need to go, though.”

  “A-all right. I hope I see you again,” he says. “And again, sorry for letting my mouth run away with me.”

  I give him a wooden smile before turning and heading for my car. I can feel Jacob’s eyes on me as I walk away. It’s as if his gaze has a tangible weight to it. Maybe I was a little too harsh and should have just let it go… but I couldn’t. I’m personally getting tired of people telling me who Derek is when I’m perfectly capable of making my own judgments of him and his character.

  So far, I’ve seen nothing that would indicate he’s anything but the gentleman he’s been with me from day one. I just hope that after tonight, I can still say he’s somebody I’m seeing. I give myself a mental slap, pushing those thoughts out of my head once more. I don’t want to sabotage anything with my insecurities.

  As I climb into my car, a new thought enters my head. It’s a thought that makes me feel even worse than the idea that Derek is going to dump me tonight… and that’s the thought that Jacob is watching me. It’s a thought that leaves me completely unsettled and not one I can push away so easily.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Spyder

  “That was amazing. Best steak I’ve had in a long time,” I tell her.

  Bellamy smiles. “Thanks. When you called this morning, you sounded kind of stressed, so I thought I’d make you something special tonight.”

  “I really appreciate that. More than you know,” I say to her.

  A rueful grin crosses my lips. Stressed probably isn’t even close to the right word that would describe how I was feeling when I called her this morning. I wanted to call her last night, but by the time we got back to the compound, it was a little too late. I figured she’d already be asleep, and I didn’t want to wake her.

  Last night, after the shoot-out with Zavala’s guys, I was fired up. Calling it excited would be an understatement. It was a primal energy coursing through me. It was way more intense than a simple adrenaline rush, and now I understand why some guys are almost, for lack of a better word, giddy after a battle. To have bullets flying everywhere and staring death in the face like we did and walking away from it? There is no alcohol or drug that could have had me flying higher. Seriously, there is no chemically manufactured high better than what I felt after last night’s firefight.

  I thought that seeing her would help settle my nerves and calm me down. She’s got that kind of effect on me, and what trips me out is that it’s so effortless on her part. It’s like she’s not even trying or as if she’s totally unaware of it. Just being around her makes me feel peaceful. I like that about her. A lot.

  “So what was going on? What had you so wound up?” she asks.

  “Does something have to be going on for me to want to see you?” I reply.

  I flash her what I hope is a disarming smile, feeling caught between my loyalty to the club and keeping their secrets and not wanting to withhold from Bellamy. She deserves better than that, and I don’t want our relationship to be built on a foundation of deception or even lies of omission. At the same time though, what we’ve got going on right now is intense as hell and is likely only going to get worse for a while, and there’s a part of me that fears what she’ll think or say about it. Even worse, what she’d do if I told her we’re at war with a cartel.

  “Very smooth answer, but I could tell that there was something going on with you. Something that had you… in a state,” she presses.

  “A state?” I reply with a chuckle.

  She arches an eyebrow at me. “You know, they say when people are trying to dodge a question, they ask a question of their own instead of answering.”

  “Oh, do they?”

  She squeals with laughter and throws her napkin at me. “You are impossible.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  The sound of her mother coughing in the back room drifts out to us, and I see a shadow cross Bellamy’s face as her smile slips.

  “How’s she doing?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “She’s doing about as well as can be expected, I suppose,” she answers. “She’s still sharp and sarcastic as hell, so I take that as a good sign.”

  “That must be where you get it from.”

  Bellamy laughs softly. “So I’ve been told,” she says as she gets to her feet. “I should go and check on her.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Her smile is wan as she turns and heads out of the dining room, leaving me alone with a full belly and a mind racing with all sorts of inappropriate thoughts about dessert. Knowing that might not be on the menu tonight given her mother’s health, I try to rein it in. Instead, I get to my feet and clear the table, carrying all of the dishes into the kitchen. With some time on my hands, I load the dishwasher and hunt around for some containers to put the leftovers in. I’m just putting the last plastic box into the refrigerator when Bellamy steps into the kitchen behind me.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” she says. “I was going to get to them.”

  I shrug. “You cooked. You shouldn’t have to clean up too,” I tell her. “How’s your mom doing?”

  Bellamy nods. “All right. I gave her some meds to help her sleep. She’ll probably be out cold the rest of the night.”

  She walks over and pulls me into a tight embrace. I hold her, running my fingers through her hair and feel the tension in her body. She lays her head on my chest and we stand together in silence like that for a long while. She seems to need the physical contact and perhaps some reassurance right now.

  “You okay?” I whisper.

  She nods. “I’m just scared. I mean, I know she and I didn’t talk for a long while, but I’ve never actually imagined my life without my mom,” she says quietly. “And now, I feel guilty as hell for all the years I wasted being mad at her.”

  I stroke her hair gently. “All that matters is that you’re here now. You’re with her when it matters the most,” I tell her. “And that you’re able to spend time with her. I’m sure that means more to her than anything.”

  She’s quiet for a moment then nods again. “I know. It’s just… I hate this. That I’m only here now, at the end.”

  “Don’t think of it like that, Bell. Just think of
it as you’re here with her now and you have a chance to build some good memories that you’ll have forever.”

  She looks up at me, an amused smile curling her lips. “And when did you get to be the soft and sentimental type?”

  I shrug as I grin at her. “I’m like an onion. There are many layers to me.”

  Bellamy takes my hand and leads me back into the dining room where we take our seats. She pours us a refill of wine then picks up her glass and leans back in her seat. She watches me over the rim of her glass as she takes a drink and even though I thought I was pretty smooth in deflecting her questions before, I can see the curiosity in her has been piqued. She’s not going to let it go.

  “So, are you going to give me an answer?” she asks.

  I take a sip of my wine, a hundred different thoughts and excuses rocketing around in my head simultaneously. If I refuse to answer, it’s going to irritate her and will likely only make her press me even harder. If I do answer, she very well could flip out, perhaps rightly believing that what I’m mixed up in could spill over and get her and her mom hurt. Zavala has no qualms about hurting innocents to make his point. And the last thing I want is for Bellamy or her mother to wind up being collateral damage in our little war.

  I look into her eyes and although I see the curiosity, there is also concern. I don’t need to be a mind reader to know she’s worried that what I’m not telling her could be dangerous. It’s a safe assumption given the nature of the club. I’ve done all I can to downplay that aspect of it and reassure her there’s virtually no reason to be worried about anything, but I know she’s never believed that one-hundred percent.

  I hate keeping things from her—especially things that, although the chances are remote, could affect her. I take another deep breath and let it out before draining my glass of wine to fortify my nerves, my decision made. If I want to keep growing this thing between Bellamy and me, it has to be from a place of honesty and trust. And those are two things we’ll never have if I don’t open up to her. I know I’m rolling the dice hoping she doesn’t flip out, but I feel compelled to be honest with her.

  “I called you this morning because I thought it was too late to call you last night. But I really wanted to,” I tell her. “We had to handle an issue outside of town last night and when we got back, I was pretty wired. Still was this morning. That’s probably what you were picking up on.”

  She ran the tip of her finger around the rim of her glass, looking at me unflinchingly. It’s as if she’s staring straight into me, rooting around in my thoughts, and trying to find the answer on her own. Bellamy seems to have the unnerving ability to do that. Or at least somehow manage to compel me to give her the answers she is looking for. She can take down all of my defenses with nothing but a glance, and like so much else she does, it’s effortless.

  “What was the out-of-town issue?” she asks.

  I frown, still fighting off the natural urge I have to clam up. Telling her everything is taking a big chance, but I’m trusting that she cares for me enough that she won’t immediately tell me to get out of her house and never contact her again. I’m trusting that she’ll at least discuss it with me first. Of course, I’m hoping she doesn’t toss me out of her house at all and that she can find a way to be all right with this, just as she was with everything that I told her before.

  “A little while back, we got into a dustup with some guys from Mexico. They took Monk’s girl, and to get her back, we had a shoot-out with these guys. Some of them were killed,” I tell her. “We got her back, but some of their guys were killed.”

  Bellamy’s face pales and her eyes widen. “When you say guys from Mexico, are you talking about a cartel?”

  “Yeah. They belonged to the Zavala cartel,” I say softly.

  “Jesus, Derek,” she gasps. “I thought you said you didn’t do business—”

  “We don’t. Our paths only crossed because they snatched Monk’s girl. I guess she was married to the cartel’s bookkeeper or something like that,” I tell her. “We don’t do business with them, and we are not into what they are. I promise you that.”

  She looks at me skeptically for a moment, her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed but then her expression softens. Bellamy doesn’t say anything further, so I take that as my cue to continue.

  “Anyway, since that shoot-out, Zavala has been coming for us. He wants to take over Blue Rock and flood the streets with his shit,” I tell her. “They killed one of our guys and put four bullets into Prophet. He’s our club prez… He wasn’t at the clubhouse when you were there. He survived the hit, so now we’re fighting back. Trying to keep them from getting a foothold here.”

  “So that’s what last night was? Trying to keep them out of town?”

  I nod. “We got a tip that he had some of his soldiers stashed in a cabin just outside of town. The thinking was, they were here to take us out and once that was done, establish themselves in town,” I tell her. “So we hit first. Had to take them out to keep ourselves safe plus send a message to Zavala.”

  Bellamy visibly shudders, her expression stricken. I can tell she’s not happy with what she’s hearing, and I can’t really say I blame her. It’s probably not easy hearing the guy you’re seeing tell you that he was part of a shoot-out that killed a bunch of guys. But she wanted me to be honest, and so that’s what I’m doing.

  She looks up at me, her hands trembling and an inscrutable expression on her face. Bellamy looks like she doesn’t know what to say for a moment then looks away. And when she does, I feel my gut lurch. I get the feeling that she’s making a decision about us as she’s processing everything that I’m telling her.

  “How many?” she finally asks. “How many people did you kill?”

  “Seven,” I answer.

  “And they were here because they were going to try to kill you?

  “Without a doubt.”

  “And this is happening because you killed some of their men who’d kidnapped Monk’s girl?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you just call the sheriff? Tell him what was going on?”

  “Because the sheriff isn’t equipped to deal with Zavala or his soldiers. If he’d tried, he and his deputies would have been cut to ribbons. And I, for one, didn’t want their deaths on our hands. None of us did,” I say. “But we’re all ex-military, Bell. If there’s anybody trained and outfitted to deal with the cartel troops, it’s us. And I want to believe that somewhere deep down, you know that.”

  She buries her face in her hands for a moment, but I can tell she’s only thinking. Not crying. Bellamy’s always been a very pragmatic person. She’s always taken a more practical view of things rather than let her emotions dictate her views on a given situation. At least, that was always the view I’d had of her. And I remember others have said she’s more clinical and less emotional than most anybody they knew. So, I’m hoping she’ll see through that pragmatic lens rather than the gut-wrenching, emotional one.

  “I wouldn’t have told you any of this, but I want to be honest with you, Bell. I respect and care for you enough that I don’t want to hide this or any other part of my life from you. And I hope you’ll believe me when I tell you that this is not the norm,” I tell her. “My life and my role in the club is exactly like I described to you before… and it’s usually very boring. We don’t usually mix ourselves up in trouble. We didn’t pick this fight. But we need to see this through, not just for ourselves, but for everybody living in this town. Can you imagine what it would be like if the streets were flooded with meth and fentanyl?”

  Bellamy finally raises her head and looks at me, the expression on her face pinched, but surprisingly enough, she doesn’t look angry.

  “I won’t lie to you, Derek. I don’t like any of this. That you’re mixed up in this fight… it’s not good. It scares me. It scares me a lot, to be honest. But what I’m most worried about is you. What you’re mixed up in sounds dangerous as hell. I mean, shoot-outs with cartel soldiers?”
she says. “No, I don’t want to see Blue Rock flooded with drugs. I love this town because it’s clean and unlike so many other places that way. But I don’t want it to come at the cost of your life. Or the lives of your friends. My feeling is you should have involved the sheriff—”

  “We did, Bell. He’s in the loop on everything that’s going on. Has been from the start of all this. He’s not happy about any of it, but he’s in the know and is helping us on the back end of things,” I tell her. “We told him to stand down the night of the original shoot-out at the old hunting lodge. We told him why it wasn’t a good idea for him to involve himself or his deputies. And he agreed… reluctantly. But he did as we asked and helped cover up our involvement after the fact.”

  She looks at me, the shock on her face more than apparent. But then, that fades and is replaced by an expression of fear and concern.

  “Derek, I’ve come to care about you a lot,” she says. “If something were to happen to you… especially with everything happening with my mom right now—”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me, Bell.”

  She scowls at me. “You can’t say that. Don’t you dare say that,” she hisses. “You haven’t lied to me so far, don’t start now. There’s no way you can know that nothing’s going to happen to you.”

  I sigh and look down at the table. She’s right. I know she’s right. Once the bullets start flying, there are no guarantees, and nobody is safe. Sinner and saint alike can be killed—and often are—when you’re fighting a war.

  “It was a stupid thing to say. You’re right, and I’m sorry,” I tell her. “But the guys are some of the best soldiers I’ve ever been around. They’re highly trained. Disciplined. And smart. Zavala will never get the drop on us.”

  “But you still can’t promise that nothing’s going to happen to you.” She pouts.

  “No. I can’t. But our mission preparation and discipline are second to none. We try to account for everything and take every precaution to ensure that nothing happens to any of us,” I tell her. “I can promise you we are always prepared and make mission safety our number one priority. We do all we can to make sure everybody comes home safely.”