Losing It All

by Wilde, Kati

That’ll change.

  She glances at Gunner again—just a swift, wary glance before averting her gaze. Ah, fuck. I bark out a laugh.

  I know why she keeps looking at him like that. “Cherry thinks you’re Strawman.”

  “My brother?” He frowns at her. “Why?”

  “She saw him with the Iron Blood. Then saw you later—and never realized there’s more than one asshole with such a girly mouth.”

  Cherry makes a sound, an explosion of breath through her gag. Wide-eyed, she looks from Gunner to me, then back again. Then her face crumples like she’s about to sob, but it’s choking laughter that comes out instead.

  She buries her face against her bent knees, shoulders shaking. And continues laughing, a hysterical edge rolling through it.

  Shit. I’ve heard laughter like that before. That’s someone at the end of their rope. Months in this damn place—then in one night, witnessed guards being shot though the head, was attacked by Tusk and got her panties ripped off, then was gagged and thrown into a truck.

  And some of that shaking seems more like shivering.

  I grit my teeth, the urge to pull her into my arms and provide her with my own warmth a physical fucking need. But I won’t. She’s nothing to me.

  A rolled-up sleeping bag and an insulated cooler tell me Gunner spent a day or two surveilling the compound before riding to the rescue. I drape the sleeping bag over Cherry’s legs and front, and as her shivers begins to ease, that hysterical laughter starts quieting into small hiccuping breaths.

  As if she’s silently crying.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  I haul her sweet little ass into my lap. Her slender body stiffens against me, until I tell her gruffly, “We’ve got one blanket, and as soon as we hit the road and pick up speed, it’ll be freezing back here. So just settle down.”

  She settles, laying her head against my chest, her warm breaths trembling across my bare skin. I tuck the sleeping bag in around her. This won’t be for long. We’re not riding to Oregon in the back of a pickup. Most likely we’ll rendezvous with rest of the club at a staging area somewhere within a fifty-mile radius of the barns.

  Only fifty miles of holding her like this. Too damn long to be sitting here with all of her softness seeping into me. And not nearly enough time.

  But we’ve got time enough for something else. A little storytime.

  I look over to Gunner. “So what the fuck took so damn long?”

  20

  I wake up when everything seems to sway to the left and strong arms tighten around me. I’m warm. So warm. I can’t remember the last time I was. Disoriented, I don’t move.

  Then it comes back to me. The dead guards. Tusk. The burning barns.

  Stone hauling me into his lap so we can share a blanket.

  We’re still in the back of the truck, though driving more slowly. I must have woken when we turned off the highway. No one’s talking now. Apparently Gunner finished telling Stone about tracking us down, though I don’t remember hearing the end of it.

  I don’t remember Stone removing my gag or untying my hands, either. But the bindings are gone.

  Despite everything, I must have fallen asleep. Or maybe it’s because of everything—my body’s defensive reaction to too much stress.

  Though I was holding it together pretty well until I discovered that if I hadn’t mistaken Gunner for his brother, Stone would have never been in this mess. That I could have saved him, like I’d intended to. And then he’d probably have protected me, too. Found out what I knew about the Cage, and swooped in like his friends did tonight.

  If I’d just looked a little closer at Gunner, Crash might still be alive—at least for a while longer. Stone wouldn’t have killed a friend, Handlebar wouldn’t have lost a brother. And Matt might have been free, too.

  But could have and might have don’t help me now. And they don’t help Matt.

  I don’t think the Hellfire Riders would help Matt now, either. Not while believing he’s a member of the Eighty-Eight. And I can’t tell them the truth. He was certain that we’d both end up dead if his cover was blown because so many other agents have been killed.

  Maybe the Hellfire Riders wouldn’t do anything to him. They’re obviously ruthless killers but I don’t know if they’re like the Eighty-Eight. The way Gunner and the blond woman came into the barn, so fast and deadly, the way they all interacted afterward, they seem more…like a SEAL team. Scary. But also organized, efficient. If they all came out of the military, a part of me wants to believe that they wouldn’t jeopardize a federal agent’s life.

  But Victor’s crew was military, too. So that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.

  The truck slows more. Gravel crunches under the tires. The road roughens, jostling me against Stone as we bounce over a rut and then come to a stop. Immediately there’s a scramble of boots as the other Hellfire Riders unload.

  I can’t pretend to sleep anymore. When I open my eyes, I’m sideways on Stone’s lap, facing the tail of the pickup. Everything’s dark except for the headlights from a handful of vehicles. The bright glare from one prevents me from seeing much of our surroundings, but I get the impression of tall trees, catch the gleam of a few RVs. A campground, maybe.

  Gunner’s walking away from the truck. “You coming, brother? Your gear’s in the fifth wheel, your bike’s this way.”

  “My kutte?”

  “Never found it.”

  “Fuck.” Stone’s hard fingers grip my chin, bring me to face him. In the harsh lights from the other vehicles, his face is all stark planes and angles, cut through by the white lines of his scars. “What’d they do with my vest?”

  “I don’t know.” As soon as they loaded him into the van, Victor injected me with a sedative to knock me out again. “I don’t know when they stripped you—at the barn or somewhere before that.”

  A muscle in his jaw twitches. “If my kutte was at the barn, it probably burned.”

  “Probably,” I say softly.

  His eyes close, throat working as if he’s grappling with a strong emotion. Then he says flatly, “I’m handing you over to Spiral and Scarecrow for a day or two. You’re not going to give them any trouble, are you?”

  I might. “Don’t hand me over to anyone. Just let me go.”

  His eyes harden. “Let you go?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why the fuck would I do that?”

  Why the fuck wouldn’t he? “Because you don’t need me. I don’t have answers.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I don’t. But even if I did, I don’t know anything that you won’t get from any of the other fighters who were imprisoned in the barns.”

  His soft laugh is devoid of amusement. “And I’ll have maybe a day or two to ask them. Those fighters are going to get to their families and hole up as fast as they can. You think Papa won’t come for them? And for you?”

  Fear shivers down my spine. “I can hide.”

  His eyes narrow. “Or run straight to the cops.”

  That’s exactly what I’d do. “I wouldn’t. But even if I did, I wouldn’t say anything about you or your club. If that’s what worries you.”

  His gaze goes so cold. “To save your skin, you’d open your mouth the second they put a bit of pressure on you. But that’s not what worries me. What fucking worries me is that, after you tell them everything they want to know, they’ll get to Papa before I will.”

  I can’t let Stone get to Papa first. Not if it also takes the Hellfire Riders to the doc and Matt first. And anything I give them probably would.

  Pressure builds in my chest, my throat. “What if I pay you what I owe? Will you let me go then?”

  He goes still. “Pay me?”

  Biting my lip, I nod. “You said you’d collect. So collect. Then let me go.”

  “I’ll collect some fucking answers.”

  “I don’t have any,” I insist.

  “Then how do you figure you’ll pay up?”

  “However you think i
s fair.”

  But I know what it’ll be. And I don’t care. My virginity has been a commodity for months now. At least I’d get to choose how to spend it. And choose who to spend it on.

  If I’d met Stone in any other way, if that night at the tavern had been real instead of a lure…judging by my reaction to him, I might have chosen Stone, anyway.

  He gives a harsh laugh. “You think that just because your little ass snuggled in against my dick gets me hard, I’ll take a fuck in exchange for what I really want?”

  Is it hard? Eyes wide, I stare at him. Paying attention now. And feeling the erect length pressing against my hip.

  Oh. My breath shudders, my gaze flicking down before meeting his again. Heart thundering, I lift my chin. “I think it is what you want. You don’t need me for info. You don’t care about protecting me from Papa. And you plan to get more answers from the Iron Blood. So I think what you really want is your pound of flesh. Just take it, then—and let me go.”

  Expression suddenly feral, he grips my hair in his fist. “You think your pussy will make up for all that shit that went down?”

  No. Nothing could make up for it.

  But although I tremble, I don’t waver. “Not Crash. And not your sister. But if making me pay will make you feel better…then I’ll do what it takes.”

  Through clenched teeth he grits out, “All I want from you is information.”

  “I don’t have any to—”

  I gasp as his hands clamp over my hips and drag me onto his cock. My underwear’s gone. Through the heavy material of his sweatpants, I clearly feel his erection, so hot and hard and long.

  Harshly he says, “Since you’re offering, maybe I’ll just fuck the answers out of you.”

  Oh my god. My pulse rate skyrockets even as my inner muscles clench. “You can try,” I tell him breathlessly. “But I don’t have any.”

  That cold gaze sweeps my face again. A colder smile tilts his mouth. “We’ll see.”

  We’ll see. My heart is about to pound through my chest. “Go ahead, then.”

  “Now?” His big hand pushes between my thighs and I gasp when his fingers slick through my intimate flesh. His voice roughens. “Christ, you’re so hot and ready. Did arguing with me do this?”

  I don’t know. But I am hot and ready. I can’t believe it, but I am. And hotter when his fingers teasingly circle my clit. Biting back a whimper, I barely stop myself from rocking against him, seeking more of that light touch.

  Barely stop myself from begging for more when he withdraws his hand. Eyes gleaming, he sucks my arousal from his fingertips before he stands, lifting me with him.

  “Paying what you owe will cost more than a quick fuck in the back of a truck,” he says, then looks to a man waiting nearby. “Take her to the ranch, put her in one of the cabins. No one touches her or talks to her until I get back.”

  “Will do.”

  Stone catches my face in his big hands, his eyes still cold as they search mine. “You think about what you just offered up. And about whether you want to change that deal. Because I’ll take it, you understand? I’ll make you pay—but I’ll also make you talk. I’ll have you begging to talk.”

  Nothing will make me talk. Not when it risks Matt’s life. “And then you’ll let me go?”

  His jaw tightens and he stares at me for a long, long time. “Yeah,” he finally says gruffly. “Then I’ll let you go.”

  II

  The Ranch

  21

  Stone

  Now that I’m out of the Cage, I ought to be getting shit done. But in four days, I haven’t done shit.

  None of the fighters from the barns knows a goddamn thing. At least not anything more than we already knew. So all the time I spent talking to them was a complete fucking waste.

  And I can’t get to the Iron Blood yet. I spent two days with eyes on the property in northern Nevada where they’ve got their clubhouse, but after the raid at the stables—and after Chef wound up with a bullet in his head and his house torched, courtesy of Gunner—their club goes into lockdown. Probably shitting their pants, thinking that whoever took out the stables is coming after them.

  We will come after them. They can’t stay in lockdown forever. Then we’ll take their asses out. For that, I can be patient. Because putting the Iron Blood down is only secondary. They’re just the muscle for the whole operation—and I want the head.

  I want Papa. And since info isn’t coming from the Iron Blood yet…I’ll get answers out of Cherry, instead.

  Whatever it takes to get them.

  And sweet Christ, I’ve imagined all the ways. Four days of hurry-up-and-wait gives a man more time to think than is probably good for him. My dick’s been a hot, heavy weight ever since she told me to collect what I owe. Ready at any minute to thicken up and follow through, fed by a steady stream of scenarios running through my brain. Getting those answers while I’m balls-deep, not letting her come until she’s screaming what I want to know. Or making her come so many goddamn times that she’s begging to tell me everything.

  But that’s just the good shit in my head. Because there’s also the stupid shit that creeps up. Where she’s not under me begging, but cradled sweetly in my arms. Confiding in me while I’m holding her tight, filling me up with her softness and smiles. The shit that makes my chest ache.

  That’s not what I need from her. I just need answers. Just need to get to Papa.

  But something more important than him needs doing first.

  I roll through Pine Valley just before noon on a Sunday. The town’s about as dead as dead can be—and since Anna’s car isn’t at the Wolf Den, I head for home.

  Head for home in a cage.

  That’s what I used to call any vehicle that wasn’t a bike. Doesn’t mean the same thing anymore, that’s for fucking sure. But early December ain’t the best time to be riding icy mountain roads between Nevada and central Oregon, so I’m driving Gunner’s truck with my bike strapped to the motorcycle mount in the back.

  Anna and I share a farmhouse a few minutes out of town. Pooled our cash and bought it together—though in truth, it’s her house. The previous owner converted the second floor into an apartment that she could rent out, and that’s where I live. But one day, I’ll move out. Anna will stay, because she’s made that farmhouse hers, renovating and decorating the rooms to her liking. To me, it’s just a place to keep my stuff.

  And although we bought it together, my name’s not even on the paperwork. Supposedly that’d help protect her from anyone who might ever have a grudge against me or the Hellfire Riders. They wouldn’t have an address.

  That didn’t work out too fucking well. Because it was here that Chef got to her. It was in the living room where she was taped naked to a chair.

  Because I fell for a sweet smile and sweeter kiss.

  My chest’s a thick ugly knot when I pull into the drive. Truth is, I don’t fucking deserve to come back. I should go to Handlebar now, let him settle up.

  But I can’t. Because there’s still shit to do.

  It’s too late to turn around now, anyway. The truck has only just stopped when Anna’s flying out of the house, leaping down the steps of the front porch with Daisy barking wildly at her heels. She’s on me a second later, throwing herself at me and laughing as her arms squeeze me tight.

  Thank fuck. She’s all right.

  She’s all right.

  I pull back to look down at her elfin face. She looks just like she always does. Like some delicate fairy. But that’s only how she looks. She’s a banshee under all that.

  A banshee with tears in her eyes. Happy tears, but the sight of them rips my heart out.

  “Aw, pipsqueak. Don’t cry.”

  Her laugh is thick and watery as she wipes at her eyes. “I was just so happy to have the house to myself. I’m sad I have to share it again.”

  There’s the banshee, making me smile. But fucking hell—she should never have been alone. Daisy’s still barking, and all I can h
ear and see is her barking in that video while Anna’s bruised and bleeding.

  I take Anna’s pointed chin in my hand now, examining her jaw, her mouth. Only the faintest sign of what Chef did to her. But even that faint sign is too fucking much.

  She grabs my wrist. “I’m all right,” she says softly. As if she knows that I’m still seeing her hurt.

  And she’s quietly telling me that it’s not my fault.

  It is. But I won’t upset her more than my fuckup already did. This is my burden to carry. She’s borne enough.

  With a boulder lodged in my throat, I nod and let her go.

  Her gaze searches my face. “Daisy’s all right, too.”

  I know. She’s dancing around my feet. But I can’t even look at her. Both of them are out here and so damn happy to see me. Because they don’t see what I am now. Everything on the outside’s still the same, so they don’t see the ragged hole filled with rot and shame.

  I won’t ever let them see it. Because here they are, shining with their love for me. I feel it, feel all that warmth sneaking in. But one day when they aren’t blinded by their relief, they’ll see what’s beneath my skin.

  I can’t bear to think of that day. Can only think of what I need to fill me.

  Getting to Papa. Burning down the whole operation. “You might be by yourself a little longer. I’ve got some business at the clubhouse that I’m going to be taking care of for a while.”

  Business with a hot cunt and a lying mouth.

  Anna nods, still watching me so carefully. “Have you seen Mom and Dad yet?”

  Mom and Dad. Who’ll take one look at me and see the corpse walking around inside what used to be their son.

  “Not yet,” I say and head past her. Because I can’t fucking do this. I shouldn’t be here. It was selfish to come here, to see for myself that she’s all right, even though I’m the reason she was hurt.

  I just need to get my shit and go.

  “I told them you were coming back.” Anna follows me toward the side entrance of the house. “But maybe you should stop by.”