Suddenly, I had scores of worries and one was my mind suddenly dredging up the word firepower.
“What do you mean, Chaos is gonna buy trouble?” I asked but I knew.
Crap, I knew.
I was going to kill Natalie.
“That, I’m not gonna take the time to explain,” he replied, yanked me to him, kissed the top of my hair, let me go, turned, nabbed his boots, his tee, and prowled out the bedroom door.
I stared at the opened door. In order not to focus on the matter at hand which had my heart racing, I took in something that never failed to calm me.
I looked around our bedroom, taking in our new kick-ass bedroom furniture (my old stuff was in the guest room, Shy’s stuff was at the dump).
I loved our room. I’d gotten inspired. It was totally biker meets biker babe from birth. Black furniture. Deep purple sheets. Chrome accents. A black-and-white picture of me and Shy on his bike, taking off from the Compound, my arms around him, my chin to his shoulder, Shy looking badass cool in mirrored shades.
Sheila had taken that picture and I’d had it blown up to nearly poster size, framed in a black-and-chrome frame and it was hanging over the dresser. It might seem conceited to have a big poster of us looking awesome cool on our bedroom wall but I didn’t care. I thought it was the bomb.
Shy did too. I’d kept him away as I was doing up the room and when I unveiled it, he’d shown me he loved the whole thing by starting a marathon session that began on our purple sheets, moved to the floor and ended on that dresser. There was a handprint on the glass of that poster, mine, put there when my hand flew back to steady me as Shy gave me an orgasm. I didn’t have it in me to get out the Windex. I wanted to remember giving Shy a room he liked that much for a good long while. That handprint might stay there forever.
The last touch to the room was a wonky ball of pressed-together Christmas candy wrappers that I’d had put in one of those cases where you normally display signed baseballs. They were the wrappers Shy had cleaned up after my Hitchcock marathon right before what was not officially but still was (kind of) our first date. I’d found that ball of wrappers and saved it. I’d buried the reasons why in my pit of denial but I’d kept it and then had it mounted when we moved into our house. It was sitting on my nightstand.
When he saw it, Shy didn’t celebrate that in his normal way. He just cupped my jaw, slid his thumb tenderly along my cheekbone, held my eyes, his soft and warm as he muttered, “You were gone for me too.”
He was right. I didn’t admit it at the time. It was crazy.
But I’d saved a ball of discarded Christmas candy wrappers.
I was gone for him too
Firepower.
Shy took off with zero word from me that I wanted him to do so. He just went off to save Natalie, dragging the brothers with him.
He was off saving Natalie from a drug dealing porn kingpin.
Firepower.
With trembling but quick hands, I dressed thinking if Shy got hurt, if any of my boys got hurt because my best friend was an idiot, no holds barred, I was going to go apocalyptic on her ass.
* * *
Two hours later, I was in the deserted Compound, drinking coffee I’d made and fighting back the urge to mainline tequila when Rush stalked in.
My brother looked like my father, save for the fact he got Mom’s light blue eyes which, fortunately for Rush, were one of the few good things she had to give.
Rush had always looked like Dad but, as time passed, he was looking more like him. He’d always been tall but lean, like Shy. Dad’s frame held more bulk. As Rush matured, and especially recently, being a recruit and spending time with the brothers in the storage room at the back of Ride’s auto supply store that held a bunch of weight equipment, his body was bulking out like Dad’s. It had more power and his muscles were more defined.
He was my brother and I was prejudiced, of course, but I also knew with the amount of dating he did and the fact that if he didn’t want to be alone he simply wasn’t, he was hot. He was also lucky that he was one of those hot guys who was hot young and got hotter as he aged.
Just like, from photographic evidence and memories, Dad.
I hadn’t seen him much recently, because being a recruit for Chaos wasn’t easy. They were on call to the Club 24/7 and still had to do their stints at the store and the garage.
Making matters worse for Rush, he only had one other recruit to help bear the load. The boys had christened the new guy “Joker” mostly because he didn’t smile often and never laughed. Club names were random and often ironic. Case in point, Shy was named Shy by the Club because back in the day, with women especially, he was anything but shy.
Although I didn’t see Rush much, Shy told me he was “settling in,” though he didn’t explain this phenomenon. He just said, “Doesn’t bitch, gets shit done, is always available, and keeps his mouth shut. He doesn’t share but way he’s actin’, it means somethin’ to him to pass that test. Both him and Joker are goin’ all out. They’ll get through, get their cuts, their ink, and, the way they’re showin’ their loyalty, it’ll be good having them at the table.”
This was positive news, so I left it at that, which was good because I knew Shy didn’t intend to give me more even if I wanted it.
But right then, I didn’t feel positive vibes mostly because my brother looked like he wanted to kill someone.
He, also like Dad, had a short fuse, and looking at his face, I knew the sparks were close to the dynamite.
This meant that Shy and Dad were likely close to the blast.
“Your girl,” he pointed at me, stalking behind the bar and heading toward where I sat on a stool, “is a pain in the fuckin’ ass.”
Not a good opening.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, as he reached up to a shelf and brought down the tequila.
He turned to me. “No.”
Crap!
“Are Dad and Shy okay?” I pressed.
“They were when I left,” he answered ominously. My heart tripped and before I could ask another question, Joker walked in.
I’d met Joker but I didn’t know him mostly because when I was around, he was busy.
That didn’t mean I hadn’t noticed he was seriously good-looking in a scary way that reminded me more of Lee Nightingale than Chaos. It wasn’t learned. It didn’t come from dealing with a tough life. It was a part of him.
Joker was tall, built, not bulky but also not lean, just muscled in a powerful way. He held his body and moved like he knew exactly what his frame was capable of and what it was capable of was a lot.
He also had a natural confidence that was kind of bizarre, considering he was younger than Rush, who was twenty-six. He had a thick head of black hair with more than a small amount of wave to it. He wore it long, hanging in his face and down to his shoulders. He also had a full beard that, unlike most of the brothers who sported facial hair, he kept trimmed. The beard made him appear older than his years. The tan he had made him look weathered and again older than he was.
But it was his steel-gray eyes that told the tale. That steel was like a shield, holding everyone back from the mysteries that lay within. This was kind of a weird coincidence, since his name was Carson Steele. And I didn’t know him, but I knew from those eyes there was no doubt there were mysteries that lay within.
Watching him stalk in, I thought, although I’d never tell Shy, Carson “Joker” Steele was more than a little intriguing.
At that present moment, however, he was also more than a little frightening.
He prowled around the outside of the bar, eyes glued to Rush, and he stopped four feet from me.
He then growled, “I do not like this shit.”
Uh-oh.
“I don’t like it either, brother,” Rush agreed before he took a slug of tequila.
Joker’s eyes raked through me before he strode across the room and disappeared through the door at the back.
The good news was, his eyes raked t
hrough me, and it seemed he was just generally angry, not angry at me specifically because my best friend was addicted to drugs, unfortunately chose a dealer who also made porn films and also unfortunately called me in order to extricate herself from a bad situation that involved cameras, sets, costumes, and fluffers.
The bad news was, I didn’t know what was going on but I did know it wasn’t good.
I turned back to my brother to see he was taking another pull of tequila, and I instantly changed my mind about what I was going to say next. First, I was going to ask for the tequila bottle. Second, after I took a hearty slug (or three), I’d ask what the heck was going on.
I didn’t get the chance. The door to the Compound opened, and I felt my eyes get wide when Elvira walked in.
Uh-oh again.
Elvira.
In normal circumstances, this could mean anything.
In the present circumstances, this could only mean bad things.
I’d known Elvira for years. She was a petite, curvaceous black woman who excelled at three things. She really knew how to dress. She put together things called “boards,” which were plates filled with fruit, cheese, veggies, and other stuff that didn’t sound all that exciting but the way Elvira did it, it was. And if she cared about you, blood, color, religion, politics all melted away, you became her sister in all that entailed and she let you know it. I knew because Tyra had that from her. I hadn’t quite been let in but then again, Elvira usually performed her adoptions when you were in the throes of a serious drama.
Something like what was happening right now.
It was also important to know she worked for Hawk Delgado.
I’d known Hawk for years too. He was a friend of Dad’s and around, not often, but enough.
I didn’t know what he did for a living, but since he routinely wore cargo pants and often sported a loaded gun belt in full view but had no badge, I had a sneaking suspicion he was either a commando or a mercenary. Though I couldn’t say what the difference was between those two, I just knew a man was one or the other. I also knew Hawk Delgado could totally join the cast of The Expendables but it was more likely he would act as a consultant on the film because Hawk Delgado didn’t playact badass. He just was one.
The presence of Elvira wearing a fabulous wrap-around green dress and spike-heeled chocolate brown boots while strolling into the Compound at five o’clock in the morning meant she wasn’t there for the usual reasons she was there: to eat, drink, and raise her brand of hell alongside a bunch of bikers.
Her expression and the phone held to her ear, not to mention the words she was snapping into it said finding fun while dressed to kill was not her current mission.
“I’m tellin’ you, Hawk, Tack kicked me out. I was all set, everything was good, then badass biker boy didn’t hesitate to blow my cover and send me on my way.”
Her cover?
She glanced at me, hauled her ass up on the stool next to mine, moved her gaze to Rush, and slapped her hand on the bar. This meant tequila, STAT.
She also kept talking on the phone.
“Those biker boys strolled in packin’. I knew no good things come to those who suddenly garner Chaos attention at three thirty in the freakin’ morning on a porno set and I was right. They made no bones about stating their intentions. They wanted that new girl. Those boys ambled in full force, the whole freakin’ Club showed, interrupted everything and launched right in, starting negotiations. Not surprisingly, Benito didn’t feel like negotiating. He wouldn’t accept a Chaos marker. He wouldn’t accept Chaos doin’ him a needed favor since you and me know Benito keeps his shit tight and he’s got no strings dangling so he don’t need no favor. He wouldn’t accept anything they were offering. He wouldn’t even accept payment with interest for what the girl owed him. The girl was goin’ to work. Seein’ she owes him thirteen thousand with interest, she’s got a lot of work to do. Therefore, negotiations had reached a stalemate and with those boys, well… you know.”
I closed my eyes.
Thirteen thousand. With interest.
All for drugs.
God, Natalie.
“Told you she was a pain in the ass,” Rush muttered.
My brother was not wrong.
Elvira kept talking and I opened my eyes to watch her.
“That’s when things got hot and I tried to hold my cover by not leavin’. Tack was tryin’ to be subtle then he got impatient with subtle when I didn’t move my ass so he upped and blew my cover in order to get me out of there before negotiations totally broke down. When I left, Benito gave me a look that was uncomfortable. Tack sent me on my way tellin’ Benito that if anything happened to me, shit that was already makin’ plans for the winter would seriously go south and on my heels he sent the Chaos recruits. I’m thinkin’ you know what that means.”
I didn’t know what it meant and I didn’t want to know, but I was going to know because she continued.
“Yeah, it’s good you’re haulin’ ass out there, Hawk. Girls in slutty nurse’s outfits and boys with big dicks in patient gowns were scurryin’. They felt the vibe deteriorating but then again, that shit was hard to miss.” She stopped talking to Hawk and looked to me. “Seriously, can they not get more original with this shit? Nurses and patients? That’s been done to death. If I was makin’ a porno, not that I’d make a porno, but, just sayin’, if I was, it’d be all about a UFC ring, sweaty hot guys with tape on their hands and shorts that come off easy, say, with that Velcro stuff at the sides. One yank and gone. You get what I’m sayin’?”
I blinked.
I didn’t get the chance to confirm or deny I got what she was saying before Elvira’s attention went back to the phone.
“I’m here,” she stated, then ordered, “You get there.” Pause, then, “Take that up with Tack, and get this, I’m gonna take it up with him too. Spent two months hornin’ in on that crew for you, such filth, I had to shower about seven times a day. Now all that work is blown with shit to show for it. I don’t care if he can kick my ass, Kane ‘Tack’ Allen is still gonna get a few words from me.”
Then she stabbed her phone with a finger that had a long, perfectly shaped, shiny, eggplant-painted fingernail, slammed the phone down on the bar, and trained her eyes on Rush.
“Uh… did you not get that I want a shot of tequila?” When Rush moved, offering the bottle to her, she shook her head. “Don’t hand me that bottle. I am not a biker babe. I got manners. I drink out of a glass.” Then she turned her head to me and declared, “No offense.”
“None taken,” I muttered.
“And no offense with this,” she carried on, “but your bitch is a pain in the ass.”
I opened my mouth to agree just as the door crashed open and a long, solid, handsome, chocolate-skinned black man with a bald head, magnificent cheekbones, and a thick black goatee surrounding a pair of full lips that had to be sculpted directly by the hand of God walked in, eyes on Elvira, his long legs taking him right to her.
“Oh lordy,” she muttered, her head turned from me, and I knew she was watching the tall drink of chocolate-skinned goodness prowling her way.
“Are you fucking shitting me?” he ground out, still heading toward her.
“Calm down, baby, it’s—” Elvira started.
“You are,” he cut her off. “You are fucking shitting me.” His big frame teetered to a halt a foot away from her and I was a bar stool away with Elvira in between and I still leaned away from his fury. “After I spank your ass for this bullshit, I’ll be kicking Hawk’s ass for sending you into it.”
Uh-oh.
I failed to mention that Elvira was sassy in a way that she pretty much defined it. When women were sassy, men, no matter how hot they were, didn’t threaten to spank their asses. It also didn’t matter how angry they were, this would not be met with gentle, calming words. It would be met with rocketing fireworks and even tall, built-hot guys could not control a rocketing firework.
I knew I was right when Elvira sl
id off the stool which I thought was a tactical mistake seeing as she was taller on it.
She didn’t seem to mind, tipped her head back and snapped, “It’s my job, Malik.”
He moved closer and retorted, “It’s your job to answer the phones, do computer work, and herd commandos.”
There it was. I was right. Hawk was a commando.
The black guy kept going. “It is not your job to go undercover with a drug-dealing porn producer who targets girls, gets them hooked on junk, and takes payment in pussy.”
Uh-oh again.
“It’s my job to answer phones?” she asked, her voice soft in a way that made me glance at Rush who was scowling at the pair but, wisely, not wading in.
“Yeah, baby, it’s your job to answer fucking phones,” the hot black guy returned, bending a bit to get in her face.
“You don’t get to say what my job is, Malik. Hawk and me decide what my job is,” Elvira shot back.
“Woman, you wake up in my bed and after you give me what I need to start the day, I haul my ass out of bed and bring you breakfast so you got what you need to start the day. So do not even think of handing me that shit. I get a say when my woman puts her ass in danger,” he volleyed.
I had to admit, not out loud of course, that he had a point and also, breakfast in bed sounded sweet. Further, now that it was clear that this guy was Elvira’s man, I thought she did a little bit of seriously all right in landing this hot guy.
Elvira clearly didn’t think this at the present moment. She snatched up her cell from the bar, shook it at him and asked sarcastically, “You want me to get on the phone, big man? Hire a sky writer so all of Denver can know our personal business?”
I thought the appropriate response to this was no.
The gorgeous Malik clearly didn’t share my thought process.
He replied, “Yeah, baby. You do that. If you do, maybe Delgado will read it and get it in his fucking head that he doesn’t send my woman out doing crazy shit with drug-dealing porn producers. I cannot believe you kept this shit from me.” He blew out a breath and his eyes went to Rush. “Do you feel me? Is this shit jacked?”
Own the Wind Page 29