Ride Rough

by Laura Kaye

  That had been seventeen years before when Maverick had just been a kid in high school, but not a day had gone by when he hadn’t blamed himself for not realizing what was going on, not being there, not protecting her. Oh, I just fell, hon. I just tripped/bumped my head/slipped in the shower. He’d believed every lie, swallowed every excuse.

  And damn if Alexa wasn’t giving him déjà vu.

  Sonofabitch.

  Maverick’s gaze slid over Rodeo’s shoulder to the casket. I will find a way to avenge you, Jeb. And you can believe I’ll never forget.

  “I’m okay,” Bunny said, wiping at her cheeks. She patted his chest. “Thanks, hon.”

  Rodeo gave Mav a nod that said he had her, and Maverick didn’t doubt it. Not only was Rodeo one of his brothers in the Raven Riders, he was also the best thing to ever happen to Bunny.

  “Are you coming to the clubhouse?” Maverick asked, trying like hell to keep the rage out of his voice. Bunny hadn’t been back since the attack the week before, which was totally unlike her. Normally, she spent part of every day there, often cooking one or more meals for whichever Ravens happened to be around or drop by.

  “Yeah,” she said. “We’ll see you there.”

  “Okay,” he said. With a last look at Jeb’s casket, Maverick turned for the drive that wound through the rolling hills of the cemetery. Motorcycles formed an unbroken wall of steel and chrome almost forty deep. The whole club had turned out to pay its respects. As it should be when a brother took his last ride.

  As vice president, Maverick’s bike was at the front. Normally, he’d be riding third position behind Road Captain Phoenix Creed and Dare, but the gunshots to Dare’s side and arm meant that he’d only be driving four-wheel vehicles for the immediate future. So Maverick was second in line. Still standing, he brought the bike to life on a low growl. One by one, all the Ravens’ bikes rumbled until the cemetery nearly vibrated with the sound. Turning to the brother beside him, Maverick waited for Phoenix’s command.

  Like the black bands they wore on their arms—made of thin strips torn from a couple of Jeb’s Harley T-shirts—they had traditions they honored when one of their own died.

  A few years younger than Maverick’s almost thirty-five, Phoenix normally wore a mischievous, good-humored expression. Not today. Not when they were burying one of Phoenix’s closest friends just a month after Phoenix had buried his cousin, too. Their road captain had taken a beating the past few weeks, and it showed in Phoenix’s unusual frown and his lack of joking around.

  When everyone else had started their engines, Phoenix finally started his own. Then he turned his throttle and revved his engine until it roared.

  Every biker except one joined in.

  Roar, roar, roar, roar, roar.

  The five thunderous revs lodged a knot in Maverick’s throat. Because the Last Rev was meant to alert heaven that a biker was on his way home.

  And then all the bikes quieted to a low idle—except one. The one that had remained silent before now roared out. Ike Young, the Tail Gunner of the procession, revved his engine five times, as if Jeb was answering the club’s call and saying his good-byes. One last time.

  When the Last Rev ended, everyone mounted their bikes and the procession got underway.

  Quietly and slowly, they made their way home—back to the Ravens’ compound on the outskirts of Frederick, Maryland. Maverick knew he had to at least make an appearance at the reception, though his gut had him wanting to head back to Alexa’s. Because instinct said the worst was yet to come, and experience had taught him that abusers didn’t abuse just once.

  Her brief reappearance into his life had reminded him of promises he hadn’t been well tending and triggered every one of his protective instincts, not to mention stirring up all kinds of shit inside him he thought he’d boxed up tight.

  And as if Maverick hadn’t already been climbing out of his skin with worry over Alexa—whether she wanted him worrying about her or not—Bunny’s attack whipped up all the old guilt inside him and made him need to know that Alexa was okay.

  Or, if need be, ensure that she would be okay. Whatever that took.

  After all, once, he and Alexa had been tight—not just lovers, but friends. Alexa had gone from the kid sister who clearly worshipped her big brother and his best friend, to the teenager with the smart mouth and the quick wit who loved to keep him and Tyler guessing what she’d get into next, to the ambitious woman who worked two jobs to put herself through school while bearing most of the burden of taking care of her sick mother. She was giving and tough and had always made him laugh and smile—even when shit at home had made that damn difficult. All of that plus the fact that they were together as a couple for three years before it all fell apart, and Maverick couldn’t let what’d happened to her go unaddressed.

  Because she was the first and only woman he’d ever loved. The fact that she’d broken up with him and moved on without him? That didn’t matter if her life was on the line.

  At the very least, Maverick owed it to Tyler Harmon to take care of his little sister. After all, it wasn’t like Tyler could do that job himself. And Mav had once promised Tyler he’d always look out for Alexa.

  But even more than that, Maverick needed to watch out for Alexa because he’d once failed his mother when she’d been in a similar situation, and that failure ate at him a little bit every day, like a slow dripping leak of acid deep inside his veins. Even all these years later.

  Then, Maverick had been young and naïve and weak. He hadn’t realized all the kinds of evil that lurked in the world. But that wasn’t him anymore. Now he knew. And he refused to ever make that same mistake again.

  “WHAT THE HELL’S the matter with you?” Dare asked as he joined Maverick for a drink.

  Maverick had been sitting at the far end of the bar in the Ravens’ clubhouse for the past few hours, in the midst of the party celebrating Jeb’s life but not really a part of it. The driving bass beat of a rock song blared out all around him, and people laughed and joked, but Maverick barely heard anything.

  “Nothing,” Mav said, staring down at his whiskey.

  “I excel at moody motherfucker, remember? I know it when I see it.” Dare wasn’t just the club president, he was also Maverick’s cousin, though for years they’d been as tight as brothers. Calling each other out on their shit went with the territory.

  “The past is a pain in the ass, that’s all,” Maverick said.

  “Well, that’s the goddamned truth.” Dare grimaced as he slid onto a bar stool and flagged down Blake for a drink. Jeb had been his best friend, and the prospect served up the whiskey with bleakness in his eyes. Prospects were probationary members who wore the club’s cutoff jackets but without the club’s colors and patch on them—those had to be earned through loyalty and dedication to the club and were a privilege of full membership.

  “How you feeling?” Mav asked his cousin when Blake stepped away. Dare was only five days out from multiple gunshot wounds and surgery, but he’d thrown himself back into club business as quickly as he could. It showed in the darker-than-normal rings around his brown eyes.

  “I’m feeling like I might kill the next sonofabitch who asks me how I’m feeling.” Dare raked his dark hair back off his face and gave Mav a look.

  And Maverick got it. He did. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try to shoulder as much of the burden around here as he could until Dare was on his feet again. Which was why he’d already pushed off the delivery of his current custom bike order by two weeks. He’d offered the customer a twenty percent discount for his inconvenience, and that’d smoothed over any hard feelings. And Mav had enough cred built up in the business to take the hit. “Yeah, well, I won’t ask how you’re feeling if you don’t ask me what bug crawled up my ass.” He smirked and tilted out his glass.

  Dare chuffed out a laugh and clinked. “I’ll drink to that.”

  The hot bite of the whiskey felt good against the back of Maverick’s throat. A couple mor
e of these and maybe he could convince himself he didn’t care about Alexa Harmon anymore. About the fact that her slick scumbag of a fiancé had hurt her. About the fact that she’d so easily dismissed Maverick earlier. About the fact that his fucking blood had been on fire in her presence. Just like old times.

  Exactly. Just like old times, she’d made her choice today. And it wasn’t him. Not that he’d expected anything else.

  “I’d like you to call a special meeting of Church as fast as you can get it pulled together,” Dare said, yanking Maverick from his thoughts. Church referred to the club’s monthly membership meetings, though recent crises had them meeting more often than usual. “After the shooting at the track, we need to talk damage control where the races are concerned. And we need a plan to deal with the Iron Cross once and for all.”

  Maverick nodded. “Yeah, we do. A plan that involves burning their fucking world to the ground.” Stock-car racing and betting were their biggest businesses, and part of the attack on the club last Friday night had happened at the Green Valley Race Track that they operated on the edge of the Ravens’ huge tract of land. The Iron Cross was an up-and-coming gang in nearby Baltimore that was trying to take over the city in the wake of the recent destruction of what had been Baltimore’s most powerful gang. And it was more than a little likely that they’d had a hand in helping Haven’s father and his men attack the Ravens. That shit couldn’t go unaddressed, despite the fact that the Iron Cross denied being involved.

  What the fuck else were they going to say?

  “I hear you, Maverick. I only regret that I was laid up in the damn hospital and couldn’t act sooner. We’re not letting this go. Trust me.” Dare’s gaze was ice cold.

  “Not your fault, D,” Maverick said.

  The expression on his cousin’s face said he didn’t agree.

  Maverick cleared his throat. “Since we’re on the same page, I’ll put in a call to Nick Rixey in the morning to see what else he and his men might’ve gathered on the Iron Cross’s involvement.” Nick was the leader of a team of former Army Special Ops guys who were opening a security services firm in the city. The Ravens and Nick’s men had worked together on several occasions now and had become tight allies.

  “Good. Do that,” Dare said, throwing back a gulp of whiskey. “Because whether the Iron Cross actually told Haven’s father where she was or not, they tried to blackmail us to keep her whereabouts quiet, and in doing so they risked her life. You threaten one of us, you threaten all of us. That’s all I need to know.”

  Maverick nodded, the other man’s words reflecting so much about who the Ravens were and what they stood for—family, brotherhood, loyalty. They didn’t usually go on the offensive, but they sure as hell defended their own. On top of that, Dare had a protective streak a mile wide, one he’d come by painfully when his father had killed his mother and brother twenty-plus years before. Add to that what Mav’s own father had done to Bunny, and it explained why the club was in the business of standing up for people who couldn’t do it for themselves. But Maverick had never seen Dare as fiercely protective as he was of Haven Randall. Then again, Maverick had never seen Dare in a serious relationship before, either.

  And Maverick was happy for him. He really was. The guy deserved a little slice of happiness, and after everything she’d been through, so did Haven.

  Which had Maverick thinking about Alexa again, and about the fact that she deserved happiness, too. Despite her comfortable circumstances now, Alexa had grown up poor and with a mother who had issues—issues that had gotten worse when Tyler died five years ago. And Maverick felt at least some responsibility for that since Tyler had picked up his love of motorcycles from Maverick. Hell, Tyler had become a prospective member of the club at Maverick’s encouragement.

  On some level, Mav couldn’t help but wonder if Alexa blamed him for Tyler’s death. Maverick had always wondered if that hadn’t been part of her reason for dumping his ass. He wouldn’t blame her if she did feel that way, because even if he hadn’t been responsible for Tyler’s death, Maverick had sure as hell played a role in setting that particular chain of events into motion. A rock dropped into his gut as the old guilt dug its claws into his skin.

  He was damn near an expert at failing those he cared about, wasn’t he?

  “Hey,” Dare said, grimacing as he shifted on the stool. “Did you ever get around to informing Mike Renner that you were sponsoring his prospective membership?”

  “Fuck,” Maverick said. “No, but I’ll call him in the morning.” Mike Renner was a Hang-Around, or friend of the club, that the Ravens had approved for prospect status at one of their last meetings. “I know he’s eager.”

  “Eager’s good,” Dare said with a smirk.

  Chuckling, Maverick nodded. “Yeah.” Prospects had to put up with a lot of bullshit from fully patched members and did a lot of the club’s grunt work. It could be a pain in the ass sometimes, but the process helped determine if the guy was a good fit for the club. And they’d all been there.

  Jeb had been a damn good prospect. Everything had rolled right off that guy’s back. He worked hard, showed up, pitched in, and did it all with a good attitude and a fucking smile. He would’ve made a great addition to the club. Maverick looked at Dare as an idea came to mind.

  “What?” Dare asked.

  “D, we should make Jeb a fully patched member,” Maverick said. “Like, as an honor. In protecting Bunny’s life he more than earned it.”

  Dare’s expression was thoughtful, and he nodded. “A posthumous award. That’s a damn good idea, Maverick.”

  “Yeah. I have them every once in a while,” he said, though the humor didn’t quite reach his voice. Granting Jeb full membership didn’t make up for much, but it was something, and it would be one more way to make sure Jeb—and what he’d sacrificed—was never forgotten.

  “I’ll put it to a vote at the meeting,” Dare said.

  “Hey,” Haven said, coming to stand alongside Dare. Though she’d come out of her shell a lot since first arriving at the Ravens’ compound over a month before, she was still soft-spoken and a little shy. But quiet didn’t mean spineless, not by a long shot. Maverick could easily picture her from the night of the attack on the club—crouched over Dare’s unconscious body, gun drawn against anyone else who might try to hurt him. She’d killed her own father to keep him from killing Dare and kidnapping her. She’d already been well liked by the club because she was a fucking amazing cook, but now she was damn near revered.

  Dare’s whole demeanor changed as he turned to her. Smiling, he sat up straighter, and then he slid his hand into Haven’s light brown hair and pulled her in for a kiss.

  As her arms slid around his cousin’s neck, Maverick found himself needing to look away. Not because he was embarrassed by the display of public affection—that was kinda par for the course around here, especially on party nights. Instead, his discomfort came from the goddamned jealousy slinking through his blood.

  Maverick wanted someone who looked at him with the kind of unconditional love he read in Haven’s blue eyes when she looked at Dare. And he wanted the soul-deep solace he could see on Dare’s face when the guy was in Haven’s presence. Maverick wanted to fucking belong to someone. Well, to someone who wanted to belong to him, too. Fact was, someone had owned him for years.

  Alexa fucking Harmon.

  “Can I ask you a question, Haven?” Maverick said, swirling the last of his whiskey in the bottom of his glass.

  “Sure,” she said.

  Mav debated exactly what he wanted to ask and finally found the words. “If you thought someone was in trouble, in a relationship that was maybe abusive, but that person told you to keep your nose out of it, would you?” No doubt Haven would realize he was asking about Alexa since Haven had helped clean her up after Alexa had come to the clubhouse last week. Remembering the blood and bruises on Al’s face still made Maverick’s chest hot with rage.

  “I can’t speak for everyone,” she fi
nally said. “But sometimes people tell you to stay out of it because they’re afraid of how hard it will be to get out of the situation. Or they’re afraid that having asked for help will get back to the abuser. Or they believe that they’re not worth the risk that helping them might pose to someone else. I know I felt all of those.”

  Dare’s jaw ticked as he listened. He slid his arm around Haven’s shoulders, the gesture full of reassurance.

  After a moment, Dare’s dark eyes cut his way. “Question is, are you okay backing off if there’s a chance she’s feeling even a little of that?” Dare didn’t need to clarify who he was talking about. Despite how hard Maverick had worked to keep that shit buttoned up, his cousin knew what Maverick felt for Alexa.

  And the answer was a total gut check. Absofuckinglutely not.

  What the fuck was he doing sitting there? Wallowing. Instead of doing what his instincts had been telling him for over a week to do—protect Alexa. Or, at least, be ready to do so if something else happened. That’s why he’d started surveilling her after she’d left the clubhouse that day, insisting what’d happened had been a misunderstanding but refusing to actually explain what kind of misunderstanding led to a banged-up face.

  Maverick pushed away the not-quite-empty glass of whiskey and slid off his stool. He needed to send out a meeting alert to the brotherhood, and then he needed to get his ass to Alexa’s house. He clapped Dare on his good shoulder and pressed a quick kiss to Haven’s temple. “Thank you,” he said to her. She gave him a shy smile as pink filtered into her cheeks.

  “Hey, where’s my kiss, asshole?” Dare asked.

  Maverick threw a look over his shoulder and flipped Dare the bird, but the approval he saw in the other man’s gaze told him he was doing the right thing.

  Because Dare was right—if there was any chance that Alexa was pushing him away out of fear, Maverick couldn’t stay away. She could be pissed at him. Hell, she could hate him. As long as she was safe and sound, he could stand just about anything else.