by RB Hilliard
“I don’t get why we can’t just tell Dario to leave her the fuck alone,” Ax stated.
“Exactly!” Jake exclaimed.
“I’ve gotta agree with them, boss,” Loco chimed in.
Fuck. “It’s not about Dario,” Steele told them. “It’s about what she saw. Think about it. She saw four men in his backyard, two who she can identify. We all know Dario’s too big of a pussy to come after her on his own, which means someone’s pulling his strings. My guess, it’s the dirty cop. If we can get something on the guy, we might be able to get him to back the fuck down.”
Buck shook his head. “This is Carver we’re talking about. Ever since Grizz’s death, he’s had a hard-on for this club. What makes you think he won’t stab us in the back? I can see him running straight to that cop to rat us out.”
It was a good point, one that Steele had already thought of. “Because I’m offering him something that he wants more than taking us down. I’m offering him the chance to redeem himself.”
Carver tried to blame the club for Grizz’s death. He came after them with both barrels raised and didn’t stop until he was forced to. Reyn’s fiancé’s death gave him cause to resume his vendetta. Once again, he tried to blame the club. When that didn’t stick, he threatened to get a search warrant for the club if Reyn didn’t give herself up, never dreaming that she would comply. On the drive to the police station, Ryan Shane showed up with guns blazing. Carver took a bullet to the chest, his deputy was killed, and Ryan kidnapped Reyn. In his obsessive need to take down Steele and the club, Carver had gotten it wrong. As a result of his epic fuck-up, he was demoted to desk duty. Catching a dirty cop, especially one involved with Dario’s crew, could be a career-making move. It was his chance to right the wrong and get him back into the field.
When Steele was done explaining this, Buck said, “I’m in.”
“What? No!” The room stilled again at Jake’s outburst. Ax gave Steele a questioning look, and he shrugged. Realizing he was acting like a lunatic, Jake took a calming breath and said, “Carver hates us. How can we ever trust what he says after everything he’s done? We don’t work with cops. That’s not who we are.”
“Put it to a vote,” Buck challenged. Steele shot him a look of thanks, and he returned it with a nod.
“All in favor of calling in Carver say, Aye,” Steele called out.
“Aye,” everyone but Jake and Taz replied.
“Sorry, but I’m with Jake on this,” Taz told them.
“Majority rules. Call it,” Ax said.
“The vote to call in Carver stands,” Steele announced.
Jake and Loco took off to find Dario, while Steele headed to Carver’s place. Hopefully, they would find a resolution soon. That way, Luciana could go back to her house, and he could breathe easy again.
On his way out the door, he ran into Chopper. “Hey, man, I need a word with you. Walk me to my bike.”
“If you’re pissed off about the brewery thing, it was Arson’s idea,” Chopper grumbled.
“What brewery thing?” he asked, then thought better of it, and said, “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. I wanted to talk to you about Montana.”
“What happened? Is she okay?” Chopper’s near-panicked tone let Steel know he was on the right track with his assumptions.
They halted beside his bike, and he locked gazes with his old friend. “That’s what I want you to tell me.”
Chopper’s shoulders slumped. “Shit, I wanted to say something, but the time never seemed right. There was some bad shit going down at her house with her dad. My sister called and asked if Alice and I could take her, and well, you know Alice.”
Steele knew Alice, alright. He knew she was a crazy bitch with a heart of stone. “So what? You thought if you lied about it, no one would ever find out? She’s fucking scared of her own shadow, Chop. Jesus, what were you thinking? Her dad abused her, so drop her at a biker club? That’s seven kinds of fucked up, brother.”
“I know. I messed up. Would you believe me if I said she likes it here?” Steele shot him a yeah-right look, and he laughed. “It’s true. She told her momma yesterday that for the first time in her life, she feels like she fits in somewhere.”
Aww, shit. What was he supposed to do with that? He blew out a long breath and said, “Fine, she can stay for now.”
“Yeah?” Chopper asked, a smile spreading across his face.
“Yeah,” he muttered, but no one knows about this except for us.
“Thanks, man. I owe you one,” Chopper said, pulling him in for a hug.
On his way to Carver’s, Steele decided to share what he’d learned with Ax and Ink. That way, they could look out for the girl. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was making a huge mistake. He’d been wondering that a lot lately.
_______________
After brunch, LuLu offered to help clean up. This meant being near Hannah, but it also meant getting to meet some of the other women. Her favorites so far were Reyn, Sage, and Lucy. From what she could gather, Reyn was with Buck—but they hadn’t been together for very long, Sage’s husband died the same night as Arlan’s dad—something LuLu would have to ask him about later—and she was seeing someone new, and Lucy had just given birth and was planning on jumping her husband at tonight’s bonfire. She made a mental note to avoid Lucy after dark. She also noted that Sage didn’t seem very happy about her new guy—probably because she kept saying, “He’s okay, I guess,” over and over again. Another thing she didn’t understand, but wasn’t about to ask for clarification on was the term “Ol’ lady.” At first, she thought it referenced a married woman, but since Reyn wasn’t married to Buck yet still considered herself his Ol’ lady, she wasn’t sure.
LuLu was washing pots when Reyn stepped up beside her. “Hand them to me, and I’ll dry.”
She gave Reyn a smile and noticed her staring at the bruise on her face. As frustrated as she was at Arlan, she couldn’t let him take the fall for it. “I had a run-in with a stress ball,” she told her.
Reyn’s eyes bugged. “A stress ball? This I’ve got to hear.”
LuLu thought about what to tell her and opted for as little as possible. “It’s not a big deal. I just got frustrated and chucked a stress ball against the wall. FYI, they bounce back.”
“So, how do you know Steele?” Lucy asked. LuLu had been waiting for someone to ask the dreaded question.
“Our dads knew each other,” she replied, handing a rinsed pot over to Reyn.
“Is that why he lets you call him Arlan?” Hannah asked, her tone both bitchy and confrontational.
LuLu’s grip tightened on the pan she was washing, the desire to smack the bitch nearly overwhelming her. You’re better than this, she chastised and slowly relaxed her grip. She gave Hannah a nonchalant shrug. “I’ve always called him Arlan.”
“He hates his first name, just so you know,” the little brat snapped.
“Hannah, can you please grab the hot dogs from the outside fridge?” Aimee asked.
“I’ll go with her,” Shelly offered.
“What’s gotten into her?” Aimee questioned, once they were gone.
“You know how she feels about Steele,” Sage replied. Oh, LuLu knew, alright.
Aimee shook her head. “That girl. When is she going to learn her place?”
LuLu’s brows shot up. “Her place?”
“She’s a club girl,” Reyn explained. “It takes some getting used to, but the short of it is that club girls are here for the unmarried guys to hang with. They’re fun and easy going and get paid to help out around the place.” It wasn’t what she said but what she didn’t say that caused LuLu’s hackles to rise. It’s not my place to ask, she told herself, but the thought that they were getting paid for sex made her extremely uneasy.
LuLu glanced sideways at Reyn, who was drying a lot faster than she was washing, and asked, “Were you ever a club girl?”
Reyn snorted. “Hell no, not that there’s anything wrong wi
th them or anything, but I’m a one-man woman. I don’t share. Trust me; I made that very clear to Buck when he took me on.”
LuLu didn’t get it. “But Arlan and Hannah are together, and she’s a club girl.”
The room went silent. “Is that what Hannah told you?” Lucy asked, “Because if so, I agree with Aimee, someone needs to have a chat with that girl.”
At LuLu’s confused expression, Reyn said, “Hannah is not with Steele in the way you’re thinking. Here, I’ll try to explain it in a way that makes sense. Picture Steele as the king and the rest of the guys as princes.”
“I would say they’re more like cabinet members,” Lucy cut in.
Frowning, Reyn waved her off. “And let’s say that the club girls are like ladies in waiting,” she continued.
“Bad analogy,” Sage said. “Ladies in waiting service the queen. I would say they’re more like courtesans.”
“Bad analogy? Try bad idea,” Aimee scolded.
Lucy laughed. “Oh, come on. Courtesan is a bit extreme, don’t you think?”
“Fine, they can be somewhere between ladies in waiting and courtesans. Whatever. Their job is to help out around the castle and service the king and his princes whenever they beckon. Now stop screwing up my story,” Reyn huffed. Turning her attention back to LuLu, she said, “A king or prince would never marry a lady in waiting or a courtesan.”
“Why not?” LuLu asked, even though she already knew the answer and didn’t much like it.
“Because they’re not queen or princess material,” she answered as if it made all the sense in the world.
It took her a moment to process what Reyn was saying. “So what you’re saying is that Steele invites women to live here, and not only pays them to have sex with him and his buddies, but also to cook them three meals a day and clean their rooms whenever they like. Does that about cover it?”
“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds really bad,” Reyn grumbled.
“Bad?” she laughed. “You’re telling me that this is essentially a whorehouse!” LuLu exclaimed right as Hannah and Shelly walked through the door.
“Told you it was a bad idea,” Aimee said in a sing-song voice. LuLu turned five shades of embarrassed as Reyn, Lucy, and Sage all three busted into laughter. If Hannah disliked her before, she hated her now.
Chapter Twelve
STEELE HAD BEEN to Carver’s place once in the past four years. He hadn’t gone inside; he just wanted to see it with his own eyes, to see what his brother had done with their mother’s money—with club money. As he stared up at the two-story craftsman-style home, the resentment he harbored toward his little brother bubbled to the surface. Jake wasn’t wrong. Coming here was a risk, but Carver had fucked up. He’d let his hatred for the club override his common sense, let it interfere with his ability to do his job, and that mistake had cost him dearly. Steele knew his brother better than anyone. He knew that Carver’s ego had suffered a major blow. To him, desk duty was equivalent to mopping floors and cleaning toilets. If given the chance to redeem himself, Carver would jump at it, and that was exactly what Steele was banking on.
Patience, he thought, and with a slow exhale, he pressed the doorbell. While waiting for the door to open, his mind wandered to Luciana. Resisting her was proving to be a challenge. The longer she was under his roof, the more he wanted her. He’d never stopped wanting her, which was the problem.
The door swung open, and all thoughts of Luciana vanished as he came face to face with his brother. Steele, with his gray eyes and dark complexion, took after their father. Carver, on the other hand, was the spitting image of their mother, even more so now that he’d lost weight. Carver was round, where Steele was chiseled, his complexion light to Steele’s dark. Where Steele’s hair was turning gray, Carver’s was the same ashy blond as always. He may be going gray, but at least he still had all his hair. It looked like his baby brother’s hairline was receding.
“What are you doing here?” Carver asked. From the pinched look on his face, he was less than thrilled to find Steele standing on his front porch.
“Can we talk?” At Carver’s hesitation, he added, “I’m not here to bust your balls. In fact, this has nothing to do with what happened. I’m only asking for a minute of your time.” A flicker of interest sparked on his brother’s face, and Steele went in for the kill. “I’m offering an olive branch, here, bro. Surely you can set aside your hate for half an hour and hear me out.” The door swung open and Carver stepped aside. He never could turn down a challenge.
Steele had been groomed to become a Steele Raider from as far back as he could remember. Carver, who was four years younger, had been given a choice. That wasn’t the case for Steele. As the oldest of the two boys, it was expected that he would follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d always envied his little brother. Carver had the freedom to choose his path in life—something he failed to appreciate. Instead, he viewed it as a slight, as Grizz choosing favorites. By the time Grizz recognized his mistake, it was too late. The seeds of jealousy had been planted, and Carver’s resentment had festered into hate—hate for his dad, hate for his brother, and most especially hate for the club. His ultimate ‘fuck you’ came when he decided to join the police academy. His defection caused a rift in the family, a division that no apology could fix.
Grizz’s death devastated Steele, but it broke something in his brother. Carver snapped. He wanted to blame someone, and that need became his driving force. It turned out that Steele was that someone. He got it. Their dad was gone, Carver was never going to be able to make amends, and his guilt for turning his back on the family, for snubbing his father and his legacy, was eating him up inside. Instead of trying to make peace, however, Carver did the opposite. He started a war with the club. It was a war he could not win, a war that almost cost him his life. Hopefully, he now realized this.
Steele thought of what to say as he followed Carver down a hallway and into a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked onto a golf course. The house was nice, custom-built and way more money than Carver could afford on a cop’s salary.
Carver dropped onto a dark leather chair and crossed his leg over his knee. Their eyes met, and he could practically feel the animosity seeping from his brother. “I would offer you a drink, but I don’t want you to stay any longer than necessary. Now, tell me why you’re here.”
Steele felt a twinge of amusement as he took the matching chair across from his brother. Carver always did hate surprises. His glowering expression made Steele smile. It also made him want to poke the bear. “You look good for someone who almost died.”
Carver’s glare melted into a smirk. “You don’t. Turning forty has given you wrinkles and gray hair.”
Steele’s lips curled just a fraction. The fucker knew he was only thirty-nine. “Well, thirty-six certainly looks good on you. I hear they have sprays and shit that can fix receding hairlines, by the way.” Carver’s lips twitched with humor, as they both knew he’d recently turned thirty-five. Touché motherfucker. Two can play this game.
Humor turned to wariness as Carver repeated, “Seriously, why are you here?”
“I’m here because I need you to look into something for me.”
“For you or the club?”
If he said for him, Carver would do it, but not before exacting his pound of flesh. If he said the club, the discussion would be over. “Neither,” he answered.
Carver’s brow rose. “You’ve got my attention. Explain.”
Steele told him the story, starting with Luciana’s trip to her student’s house. He got to the part about the shooting, and Carver stopped him in order to grab a pad and pen. When Steele was done talking, Carver drilled him, touching on everything from what Officer Gamble was wearing, to whether or not she saw identifying marks on the other two men and if she passed someone on the road as she was driving away—none of which he had answers to.
Around his fifth, “I don’t know,” Carver threw his hands up. “You
’re not giving me anything here.”
The knot in Steele’s chest loosened. “Does this mean you’ll help us?”
“No, this means I’ll help her, but not without something in return.”
Eyes narrowed on his crafty little brother, Steele asked, “What?”
“I want you to make things right with Mom.”
Steele thought back to the night of the shooting, to the confrontation with his mother in the waiting room, where she blamed him and his “damn club” for destroying everything she loved before asking him to leave and not to return. It was the last time he’d seen her.
“Trust me; Mom doesn’t want to talk to me. She made that very clear the night you were shot.”
“She didn’t mean it. She was upset. Dad’s death nearly destroyed her. Sh—”
Anger seared through him, and he cut Carver off. “Dad’s death nearly destroyed us all. She doesn’t miss me. She abandoned me. She abandoned the club when we needed her the most.”
“The club is what killed him,” Carver growled in return.
A dry, humorless laugh shot from Steele’s mouth. “The club was his life. Mom knew that going in, and she knows it now. If she resents it so fucking much, why is she still taking our money? My guess, it’s because of you.”
The way Carver’s mouth opened and closed reminded Steele of a dead fish. Finally, he got the words out. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Steele gave him a withering look. “Seriously, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“We both know you can’t afford this place or your Porsche on a cop’s salary. And don’t say you’re a detective and it pays more because I know the fucking truth.”
Carver’s brows shot into his hairline. “You think I took money from Mom?”
Fuck yes, he did. “How else can you afford all of this?”
Slowly uncrossing his leg, Carver lowered both elbows to the tops of his thighs. “Jesus,” he whispered, shaking his head in exasperation. Then he started laughing. Steele scowled, which only made him laugh harder. Finally, he pulled it together enough to explain. “Dad gave me the money, asshole. About a month before his death, he and Mom had me over for dinner, and we talked. They decided that since you were getting the club, they wanted to give something to me.”