GUNNER: Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  Fuck. Heather. “Hey, darlin’,” I drawl, turning to see the leggy redhead.

  “I thought you’d be here at the clubhouse last night,” she pouts prettily at me. “None of the other girls knew where you were.”

  Inwardly I groan. Heather’s one of the new club girls. She’s only been around a couple of months. We’ve fucked a few times, and she’s a damn animal in the sack, but she doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo that club girls are just that: they’re property of the club. The way she hangs on me, you’d think we were goin’ goddamn steady and she was wearing my fuckin’ class ring, or something. Jesus.

  “Had some other business to attend to,” I mutter, detaching her long red nails from my bicep. Heather whines in protest and tries to cling on, but I give her a look that tells her I’m not playing around.

  She drops her head and juts out her lower lip, looking at me from under her long, dark lashes. “You’re no fun,” she says breathily. “I waited all night for you.”

  “That’ll teach you not to wait, then,” I mutter, and continue over to my brothers. Even though Heather can deep throat like nobody’s business, I’m starting to regret ever fucking her. The sooner she gets the message and starts chasing after one of the other men, the better. She’d be better off with a prospect — they’re more likely to get moony over one of the regulars. But she won’t give any of the non-patched men the time of day. She wants to be an old lady, that much is obvious. That ain’t never gonna happen, though. Not with me, anyway.

  Irritated, I shake Heather from my thoughts and go over and join the group. “Hey, brothers,” I greet them.

  “Gun!” Thorn cries, and slaps me on the back. “How the hell are ya? We thought yeh’d come back to the Skull last night.”

  “I’m good,” I nod. “Did those fucks we gave a beatdown to ever show back up again?”

  He snorts. “Not a chance, brother. I’m guessin’ they spent the rest of their night tryin’ to clean out the loads in their shorts. So, about that, whatever happened with that girl from the bar last night?” He flashes me a knowing grin. “She have anything to do with why you never came back?”

  “She was pretty fucked up after that Gonzalo motherfucker put that roofie in her drink,” I tell him. “I managed to get her back to the motel where she was staying without her falling off my bike.”

  “And?” Thorn prompts.

  “And nothing, you fucking pig,” I snarl. “She was drugged up. You think I’d take advantage of a woman who was basically unconscious? I’m not that fuckin’ desperate.”

  “Jaysus, listen to the Boy Scout,” he roars with laughter. “So, you just took her home out of the goodness of your heart? What’ll yeh be doin’ next, helpin’ little old ladies cross the street?”

  Thorn’s certain that isn’t the end of the story. It’s clear from the skeptical way he’s looking at me. And he’s right — even though he’d probably laugh his ass off and call me a pussy if I told him what really happened afterwards. Especially if I told him Alix is at my house right now, and that I still haven’t fucked her. In the end, I figure there’s no point telling him anything one way or another.

  Just then, Ghost, our Sergeant at Arms, calls out to tell us it’s time for church. All the men move into the chapel and take our usual spots around the table. Once we sit down and take care of the usual formalities, our president, Rock, tells us he’s been approached by the Death Devils’ prez to help their club with some upcoming runs.

  “Oz got hold of me because the Devils are down a few men,” he says. “A bunch of their members got caught up in a war between another club and one of their charters the next state over, and shit went bad. Five of the Devils landed in jail, and it looks like they’ll all be doing a stint in county.”

  Ghost whistles. “That’s some fucked up luck, right there.”

  “Yeah.” Rock leans back. “So now they don’t have enough men to do their runs. At least not for the time being. And they want our help.”

  “What kind of runs?” asks Lug Nut.

  “The runs to our old associates,” Angel, our vice-president, answers.

  For the better part of a year, the Lords of Carnage has been completely legit, for better or worse. We got rid of the last of our illegal businesses — gun running — when things got too hot to handle. The newly elected mayor of our sleepy little down, Jarred Holloway, had started gunning for us — no pun intended. The Lords saw the writing on the wall. It was only a matter of time before even the inept, uniformed bags of skin at the Tanner Springs PD would manage to find — or plant — enough evidence to take the club down. In the meantime, they’d be following our every goddamn move.

  So instead of giving them anything real to find on us, we sold off the last of our gun shipments to the Death Devils, and introduced them to our associates. For a mutually agreed-upon price, we let them take over our little piece of the Iron Pipeline. The Devils were only too happy to have our contacts — and to take over a business that was already well-established. With the blessing of the Lords of Carnage as their calling card to their new clients.

  Now, apparently they’re asking us to get back in.

  “What kind of compensation are they offering us, in exchange for our services?” Thorn asks wryly.

  “Negotiable.” Rock shifts in his chair to look at him. “But even though Oz is a hard one to read, I think we might be able to pretty much name our price.”

  “It’s probably a good idea regardless,” muses Ghost, always the practical thinker. “Since the Iron Spiders went underground, we don’t know when or if they’ll surface again. It can’t hurt us to have the Devils as firmly on our side as possible. Quid pro quo.”

  “Speaking of which. Tweak, you’ve been monitoring the Spiders’ old clubhouse,” Angel says, turning to our resident techie. “Any evidence of movement over there?”

  “None,” Tweak confirms. “I’ve still got cameras on the building and on the only road that goes there. There’s been no activity in or out in from their old compound in months.”

  “We should go investigate in person,” old Smiley chuckles. “See whether those fuckin’ Spiders are still in their hole. See what they left behind.”

  Rock frowns and sets his jaw, considering. “We’ll talk about that later,” he mutters, and shifts in his seat. “In the meantime, we’re talkin’ about the Death Devils’ proposal. Are we good to provide them some backup on our old gun running route?”

  “I’m good with it, if the terms are decent.” Beast’s grin is wide, almost hungry. “Things’ve been a little too quiet around here lately, anyway. We could use a little action.”

  A couple of the men chuckle and nod. The last few months have definitely been a ‘be careful what you wish for’ situation. Six months ago, things were pretty damn hot for us. The Iron Spiders were trying to destroy our club from the south, and the mayor and police department of Tanner Springs were trying to pin anything and everything they could on us. These days — with the Spiders gone underground, and with them the crime and vandalism they brought to our town — shit’s been pretty goddamn peaceful.

  Too peaceful, maybe.

  “Yeah,” I nod. “As long as we keep this shit outside of Tanner Springs, I’m good with it.”

  A few of the other brother grunt their approval. A look around the table shows that many of them seem to be feeling as restless as I am. The Lords aren’t built for peace. We thrive on mayhem. On danger.

  It’s gonna be like old home week around here.

  It’s probably pretty fucked up that I can hardly wait.

  8

  Alix

  Because I want to do something to thank Gunner for letting me stay at his place for the night, I head to the grocery store to get ingredients to make for spaghetti. I also buy fixings for garlic bread, which sounds really good right now. I still don’t know whether he has any plans to come back tonight before dinner. But for simplicity’s sake, and because it’s cheaper, I decide to get sauce in a jar in
stead of opting to make it from scratch. Everything that isn’t consumed tonight can be saved to be eaten later, either by him or me.

  By the time I get back from the grocery store, it’s just before five o’clock. I put away the groceries, and then stand for a moment in the kitchen, trying to decide what to do. After the huge breakfast I had this morning at the diner, I was too full to eat lunch. Now it’s late enough that I’m finally starting to get hungry again, but early enough that it’s not really time for dinner yet. Which means it’s still too early to start cooking.

  Feeling antsy, I leave the kitchen and go into the living room. Sinking down on the couch, I reflexively pull out my phone and check it for messages, as I’ve done countless times in the last couple of weeks. First, I look at my texts: nothing. I tap on Eden’s name in the history, to glance at the ones I’ve been sending her practically every day. As always, there’s no response — and more depressingly, not even any indication she’s read any of them.

  I show no new phone calls, either.

  For what must be the hundredth time, I consider whether I should try to call her again. Calling is the thing that ends up alarming me most — even more than the texts she doesn’t answer. Not only does she never pick up, but the phone always goes straight to voicemail. Which means that either her cell is dead, or she’s shut it off. Or maybe she’s just blocked me completely. I don’t know. But none of these possibilities is good.

  With a sinking heart, I decide to try again. Just as I predicted, there’s no ring at all. Just a click and her voice telling me to leave a message. Eden sounds happy in her outgoing message — like she doesn’t have a care in the world. I know damn well it’s not true. It wasn’t true when she recorded it, for sure. And even if I don’t know where she is or what she’s doing, I know what she left behind.

  And I know why she left it. At least I think I do.

  I just wish I knew she was safe.

  I don’t bother leaving a message. I’ve already left six others. If she’s listened to them and decided not to call me back, then leaving a seventh won’t change anything.

  And if she hasn’t listened to them…

  I don’t let myself go there. I’ve already been down that road too many times. I’ve already imagined every single possible scenario, from the best case to the worst. It just makes me feel crazy and helpless.

  Maybe at least with Gunner’s help, I haven’t hit a total dead end.

  Maybe he really can help me find her. Maybe not. But at least, for right now, I don’t feel quite so alone.

  To kill some time before I start cooking dinner, I decide to treat myself to a shower.

  It’s the first real shower I’ve had in two days, and I’m feeling pretty grimy. I wasn’t in that gross motel long enough to take a shower there — and even if I had been, I’m not sure I could have forced myself to climb into that filthy bathtub. It looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in this century.

  I grab my tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner off the top of the dresser and take them into Gunner’s bathroom with me. The bathroom is small but clean, and the shower stall takes up almost half the space. I was in here earlier, hand washing my dress, but at the time I didn’t pay much attention to the shower itself. It’s surprisingly luxurious, with a big rainfall shower head and a separate wand thingy that you can use to rinse your hair out with. I sigh in happy anticipation as I poke my head into the tiny linen closet behind the door and pick out a small bath towel. Being careful to make sure the bathroom door is securely closed and locked, I turn on the water and peel off my T-shirt, jeans, underwear, and bra.

  The water heats up almost instantly. When I have the temperature adjusted just the way I like it, I step inside the shower and audibly moan at how good it feels. The past couple of days have been woefully short on comfort. Yesterday started with a seven-hour car ride, then devolved into an unfortunate roofie experience, and ended with a night spent passed out on a rock-hard motel bed. Standing here in this steamy shower, the water temperature just exactly right, is almost a religious experience by comparison.

  I close my eyes and let the droplets rain down on my skin. It feels so gentle, almost like a caress. In here, locked away from the world, I could almost forget that I’m standing in a strange man’s shower, with no idea what I’m doing here or how I’m going to find my sister. I could almost forget my troubles for a while.

  Almost.

  I stay like that for a few minutes, leaning against the wall and breathing deeply in and out. I try not to think about anything except how amazing it feels. I could probably fall asleep like this if I let myself. Eventually, though, I start to feel guilty for wasting water, so I open my eyes and start focusing on cleaning up. I pull the wrapper off the tiny soap I nabbed from the motel, inspecting it first to make sure it hasn’t been used before. Maybe that’s paranoid, but I wouldn’t put it past that dump. I soap myself up and rinse off, then portion out some of the cheap shampoo and lather it into my hair. The bottle’s almost halfway empty by now since I used it to wash my dress, too. I’m going to have to buy more if I plan to stay in the area much longer.

  Which it’s starting to look like I may have to do.

  Worried thoughts about my sister start worming themselves back into my head, but I push them away. Just for a few minutes, I tell myself. Just while I’m in the shower. I’ll start worrying about how the hell I’m going to find Eden again once I’m out.

  I rinse out my hair with the hand wand and then apply some conditioner to the ends, working it in and then rinsing that out, as well. Then, all too quickly, I’m done. Regretfully, I turn off the water, and spend longer than I need to toweling off my body and hair. This bathroom feels like an artificial refuge from everything horrible that’s happened in my life the past few days. Hell, the past few months. Childishly, I wish I could just stay in here, and keep the world at bay.

  But of course, I can’t. And that’s not why I’m here, anyway.

  Even though they aren’t all that dirty, I don’t feel like putting my clothes back on, now that I’m clean. Instead, I wrap the towel around me and gather my jeans, shirt and panties in one hand. At the last minute, I decide to grab the shampoo and conditioner, as well. I don’t want Gunner to see them and think I’m planning on staying here any longer than necessary. Awkwardly, I turn the doorknob with my few free fingers and tiptoe out into the hallway toward my room.

  “Hey.”

  Adrenaline instantly shooting through my veins, I shriek loudly and whip around to see Gunner standing in the hallway. Fuck! The towel around me is barely large enough to cover what it needs to, and I clutch at it and desperately try to pull it up higher around my breasts. But since I’m also carrying a bunch of stuff, exactly the opposite happens: somehow, I completely lose my grasp on it.

  Shampoo and conditioner bottles clatter to the floor, followed by my clothes.

  And the towel.

  “Well,” Gunner grins, licking his lips. “This is one hell of a welcome home.”

  9

  Alix

  “Turn around!” I yell at him as I bend down and frantically grab at the heap of fabric on the floor. My hands are shaking so badly that I can only paw at it and try to pull it over the most important bits. Above me, I hear Gunner chuckle.

  “Turn around?” he rumbles with laughter. “Oh, darlin’, not a chance.”

  A roar of embarrassed rage rips from my throat as I leave the shampoo and conditioner behind. I pull the clothes and towel against my chest and crotch and stumble toward my bedroom. Inside, I fling the door closed, the taunting sound of Gunner’s chuckling following me. I sit down on the bed, breathing heavily, and try not to cry from embarrassment and shock. It’s not funny! I want to yell at him, but I know it’ll probably just egg him on.

  I stay there for countless minutes, frozen in an agony of shame. I have never wanted to disappear into the ether more than I do at this moment. I even contemplate packing up my stuff and climbing out the window. But in the end
I know that would just make me feel even more idiotic. And somehow I can’t bear the thought of Gunner laughing at me any more than he already is.

  I don’t even know how long it takes me to pull on some clothes and force myself to open the bedroom door. The only thing that convinces me is knowing the sooner I push past the humiliation, the sooner it will be over.

  Out in the living room, Gunner’s sitting on the couch with a beer, flipping channels on his TV. He looks over at me and gives me an amused chin lift. “Well, now, darlin’. How was the shower?”

  “Fine,” I mumble, my face going scarlet.

  “Glad to hear it.” His eyes leave mine, traveling southward so slowly that I just know he’s replaying in his mind what he saw a few minutes ago. I don’t know how I’m ever going to live down the fact that he knows what I look like naked.

  “Are you…” I start to ask are you hungry, but I’m afraid he’s going to make an off-color joke. And I might just die of embarrassment if he does. “I mean, I, uh, bought some groceries. I thought I could make you dinner. To thank you for letting me stay here tonight.”

  “Darlin’, that show you just gave me was all the thanks I need,” he growls. Gunner’s eyes visibly darken as they slip back down to rest on my breasts. I feel naked all over again. My nipples tighten in response, heat beginning to pool between my legs.

  “Can we please just not talk about that?” I choke. Even more horrifying than being caught naked in his hallway is the fact that I’m actually getting turned on by him staring at me like that.

  After a long moment, he drags his gaze back up to my face. My expression must convey just how mortified I am right now, because he relents a little.

  “Sure thing, darlin’,” he drawls. He turns his head back toward the TV. “Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna be thinkin’ about it, though.”