GUNNER: Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  Alix

  Well, if I was worried about facing Gunner the morning after sex, I didn’t have to be. He’s gone when I wake up. There’s not even a note from him to say good morning or to tell me where he is.

  The only indication he’s even left — other than the fact he isn’t here, of course — is a scrap of paper that I find on his kitchen island. It’s a phone number. That’s all. Since it wasn’t here last night, I assume it’s Gunner’s number. Which means he left it for me on the off chance that I’d need to get hold of him for some reason.

  I push the paper aside, angrily and frustrated without even knowing why. What did I expect, a dozen damn roses? Last night was unbelievably amazing, at least for me. The sex was unreal. But I’d have to be a fool to think it meant anything more — for him or for me. He wasn’t under any obligation to stick around this morning. And actually, I should be glad he didn’t. I ended up telling him way more of my life story than I’m comfortable with last night. It’s just as well that I didn’t have to face him over the breakfast table today.

  I rummage in a cupboard for the rest of the bread I bought yesterday, then make myself some toast and coffee, which I consume sitting at the kitchen island while staring into space.

  Gunner told me he was going to help me find Gonzalo. But we never got to the part about how.

  Trust me, he said.

  I guess I have to trust that he hasn’t forgotten his promise. And that it wasn’t just a line he was using on me to get me into bed.

  Strangely, I do kind of trust him — about that, anyway. I believe he’s going to try. And the more I think about it, it’s true that he probably does have a better chance of finding anything out than I do. For one thing, he’s from here. He’s definitely got more connections than I do. For another thing, he’s a man. And a large, strong, dangerous-looking man at that. People are likely to take him a lot more seriously than they are me. I need to face facts: whether I like it or not, Gunner’s my best bet to getting answers about where Eden is.

  Which means it looks like I’m going to be staying here in Tanner Springs — and at his house — a little while longer.

  Once I’ve finished doing my dishes and putting them in the little rack next to the sink, I glance back over at the kitchen island, to the paper with his number on it. Reluctantly, I pull out my phone and punch it into my contacts. After all, Gunner is basically the only person I know within a four-hundred mile radius, and this number is my only link to him. Last night notwithstanding, I should be grateful that he was thoughtful enough to leave it for me.

  After breakfast, I turn anxiously in circles in the house, not knowing what to do with myself. It’s driving me a little crazy that this isn’t my space, and I don’t have any of my stuff with me. All I can do is wait for Gunner to come back so we can talk more about how he plans to help me track down Eden.

  In the meantime, though, there is one thing I do need to do. A call I was hoping I wouldn’t have to make. But at this point, I know it’s inevitable.

  Going out to sit on Gunner’s front porch, I search in my phone for the number I want, and press the call button. A couple of rings later, someone answers on the other end.

  “Valuland Grocery,” a familiar female voice says.

  “Renee?” I answer? “This is Alix. Is Todd there?”

  “Hey, girl,” Renee says cheerfully. “Yeah, he’s here. Hold on a minute.”

  Renee puts me on hold, and I listen absently to the staticky muzak, interspersed with short ads about our weekly specials on vegetables, canned goods, and meats. About a minute later, there’s a loud click as the phone picks up.

  “Valuland, this is Todd.”

  “Hi, Todd, this is Alix.”

  “Hey.” My manager’s voice is clipped and suspicious, almost as though he already suspects what I’m about to say.

  “So…” I begin, inwardly cringing. “I’m calling to ask if I can get a couple more days off. I’m still out of town, and I, uh… well, things have gotten a little more complicated than I thought they would be.”

  “Alix,” Todd says in an irritated tone, “I already arranged your schedule to give you two days off in a row.”

  “I know, I know,” I agree hastily. “And I appreciate it. I just need a few more days. Three, max. I’ll even switch shifts with anyone who’s available. I just…”

  “Alix, I’m not going to point out how lucky you are to have enough hours to get benefits,” he interrupts. “Half the cashiers in this store would kill to have as many hours as you do.”

  “I know, but…”

  “I’ll give you one more day.”

  “But that’s not…”

  “No buts,” he says, cutting me off impatiently. “If you can’t get it together after tomorrow, I’m giving your hours to someone else.”

  I try to argue with him, but Todd’s not having it. Never mind that I’ve worked at Valuland more than a year, and until now, I’ve never once asked for so much as an hour off from the schedule he sets — not even when my mom died. Never mind that he knows how much I need this money. He just doesn’t care, and I know I can’t make him.

  I hang up the phone dejectedly, the full weight of what this means hitting me.

  I’m basically going to be fired from Valuland.

  Screw it, I think irritably. It’s not like working as a grocery store cashier is my life’s ambition.

  And it’s not like the money I make there has been enough to save Mom’s house, anyway.

  That ship has sailed. Foreclosure proceedings started not long after she got diagnosed. Without Eden’s help, there’s nothing left to be done. One way or another, the house is going back to the bank soon.

  Which means my last reason to go back to Lynchburg before finding my sister just evaporated into thin air.

  Fuck it. I’m in Tanner Springs for the duration. Eden may not want to talk to or hear from me, but she’s the only family I have left. One way or another, I’ll pursue this to the end. I will find out where my sister is and what’s happened to her, no matter what it takes. After that, I’ll cross the next bridge when I come to it.

  For hours, I wait for Gunner to come back or call me. I try to watch soap operas on TV. I flip through some of his paperbacks. I just barely resist snooping through his stuff in search of more information about who he is.

  In the end, I last until a couple hours after lunch time. When he still hasn’t called by almost three o’clock, I jump up and make my decision.

  I can’t stand it anymore.

  I’m done waiting around twiddling my thumbs for Gunner to get home. Who knows how long it will take for him to get around to helping me, after his club business is taken care of? I’ve never been able to rely on anyone but myself in the past, and I’m not going to waste any more precious time doing it now.

  Grabbing my purse from the coffee table and Gunner’s keys from the hook by the door, I step outside and lock the house behind me.

  It’s time for a road trip. I have exactly one idea of a lead on tracking down Gonzalo again, and I’d rather do that than sit here doing nothing, even if it gets me nowhere. If I’m lucky, I’ll have just enough gas in my tank to get me to the Smiling Skull bar and back to Tanner Springs.

  14

  Gunner

  When I show up at my place to grab some clothes and shit before church, Alix’s car is gone and she’s nowhere to be found.

  At first, I think she’s changed her mind about staying here and she’s skipped town. I call out her name as I stride through he living room, swearing loudly in the silent house. I’m pissed at myself for not getting her cell number before I left the house today. Stupid mistake, you dumb fucker. You should have known there was a chance she might run after last night. My mind is racing wildly, wondering how the fuck I’m going to figure out where she’s gone, when I stop suddenly at the doorway to the second bedroom.

  There, sitting on the dresser, are some small travel bottles of shampoo and conditioner, a paperback, an
d a hairbrush.

  The sight of such ordinary objects — just the normalcy of how they look sitting there — calms me down almost immediately.

  I take a deep, relieved breath and open the top drawer of the dresser. A few shirts, a couple pairs of panties, some socks.

  In the bathroom, the simple white dress is still drying on the towel rack.

  “Jesus,” I mutter, running a rough hand through my short hair. I’m a little weirded out by how worried I was that she’d left. I go into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Glancing over to the counter of the kitchen island, I notice the scrap of paper I wrote my number on.

  Rummaging in a nearby drawer for a pen, I scrawl a quick note under the number:

  Staying at the clubhouse tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow and we’ll talk about finding your sister.

  I’ve got a guy working on intel about Gonzalo. Text me when you see this. - G

  This way, I kill three birds with one stone. She’ll know she’s safe staying here tonight; I’ll know when she comes back here; and I’ll get her phone number, which I should have fucking done in the first place.

  Going back down the hall to my room, I grab a small duffel bag and fill it with a couple of changes of clothes to take with me. Then I head over to the clubhouse.

  Later, in church, Rock goes over the final details of the run we’ll be doing with the Death Devils, including which of us will be going. The run is no more dangerous than usual, as far as gun exchanges are concerned, but Oz has asked for six Lords to back up his club. Rock chooses which ones of us will go. He’s not coming with us, as having two MC presidents there might be perceived as a challenge to Oz’s authority and a sign of weakness in front of their connections, especially because they used to do business with us. Angel is going with us in his place.

  Rock tells us what time we’ll be heading out the next day. Then he bangs the gavel, and church is over.

  “The men seem pretty keyed up about this run,” Angel observes as we file out of the chapel.

  “Yeah,” I chuckle. “I think some of them miss the thrill of gun running.”

  “You?” Angel asks, cutting his eyes to me with a grin.

  “I can’t deny, booze and pussy taste especially good when there’s a little danger on the other side.”

  Angel laughs out loud. “You got that right. Matter of fact,” he continues, eyeing a couple of the club whores, “I think I’m gonna test out that theory right now.”

  He ambles over to Melanie and Tammy, who are more than pleased to get the attention of the club’s esteemed vice-president. They immediately jump to their feet and teeter toward him on their heels, hands sliding under his leather cut and over the crotch of his jeans. Angel grabs each of them by the ass and then nods toward the stairs leading to the apartments on the second floor. On the way, he nabs a bottle of whiskey from the bar to take up with him.

  “They look like they’re having fun,” Heather’s voice croons in my ear. “Wanna do likewise?”

  “Heather,” I mutter, “this ain’t anything other than…”

  “I know, I know,” she smirks prettily. “I’ll take what I can get.” Turning up the corners of her cherry-red lips in a seductive little smile, she breathes, “I need your cock, Gunner. Give me what I need, baby.”

  It’s not really what I want — because truth be told, what I want is more of Alix. But I tell myself that the best way to get that girl out of my mind is to remind myself that Alix was just sex, nothing more. No matter how fucking good it was.

  A little roughly, I grab Heather’s arm and lead her upstairs, trying to ignore her little coos of excitement. When we get up there, I pull her into my apartment and shut the door. Immediately, she’s down on her knees, unzipping my fly.

  I close my eyes and frown, trying to push Alix out of my thoughts.

  But all that happens is her face appears right in front of me. Her eyes flutter closed, her arms wrapping around my neck as she whispers, “Yes…”

  My cock is immediately hard as a steel bat. Which Heather attributes to her feminine wiles.

  “Oh, baby,” she moans. “Yeah, I’ve missed your cock…”

  Fuck. I’m not up for this. The last thing I want right now is Heather sucking me off, much as I hate to admit it.

  I pull her up forcefully, ignoring her cry of protest, and haul her to her feet. “Sorry, babe, ain’t happening tonight.”

  “But why!” she mewls in protest. “You know you want me.” She reaches out and palms my hard shaft. “I can make you feel so good, Gunner. You know how good I can make you feel…”

  “Enough!” I grab her wrist so abruptly she yelps a little. “I said we’re done here.” I nod my head toward the door. “Get out,” I say angrily.

  “But…”

  “Out!”

  With a last reproachful glance, Heather wobbles out the door on her stilettos and closes it behind her. I almost feel bad. I’m not exactly angry at her, though she’s not very good at taking no for an answer.

  I’m mad at myself.

  For fucking Alix in the first place.

  And for thinking Heather — or any other girl — would be just as good. Like Alix was just another place to stick my dick.

  Alix is way fucking more than that.

  And if I’m not careful, she’s gonna be an addiction.

  Locking the door, I check my phone, but she hasn’t texted me yet. I frown and try to turn my thoughts to something else, but it’s no use. I’m still painfully hard, and that ain’t gonna change by itself.

  I liberate my pulsing cock from my jeans and lean against the wall, closing my eyes. I know I shouldn’t do this and think of her, but fuck it. I’m too far gone. I stroke myself, as slowly as I can stand it, and imagine instead that I’m pushing myself deep inside Alix as she moans and writhes for me. I can hear her voice, hear that hitch in her throat before she cries out and starts bucking against me. Jesus. That’s all it takes. With a loud groan I shoot my load, the force of it almost painful.

  This is bad, I think when it’s all over.

  Staying away from Alix is gonna be a lot harder than I thought.

  Back downstairs, I ignore Heather’s attempts to make me jealous by falling all over any Lord who’ll give her a second glance. I decide I’m gonna concentrate on drinking away my troubles. I grab a bottle of Jack and a shot glass from Jewel and go over to smoke Lug Nut at pool a couple of times.

  Midway through the first game, I finally get a text from Alix. But it’s not what I expect.

  Having some car trouble. Can you help?

  Instead of texting back, I punch the call back number and wait for her to pick up. She answers on the second ring.

  “What’s up?” I growl.

  “I’m stuck out here on the highway,” her apologetic voice comes over the line. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with my car, but it’s overheated and I don’t have any water or anything to put in it. And it’s starting to get dark. Could you come pick me up?”

  “Out where?” I repeat. “Where are you?”

  Alix hesitates. “I’m on Highway Twelve,” she finally tells me. “About fifteen miles west of the Smiling Skull.”

  15

  Alix

  Even over the phone, I can tell Gunner is furious.

  Dammit. I never intended to even tell him about this trip, unless something useful came out of it. I knew he’d be angry and try to stop me from going if I’d let slip what I intended to do. And on one level, I can’t blame him. But I just couldn’t stand not doing anything. I’ve never been good at waiting around for things to happen.

  The trip east toward the Smiling Skull was uneventful. I showed up at the bar a little after five p.m. with only the vaguest notion of what I was going to do. The parking lot was almost half-full, with twice as many bikes as cars. I pulled in and shut off my car, then, steeling myself, I walked resolutely toward the front door.

  Inside, an iron-jawed, angry-looking bartender with a shaved head watches me walk
up, suspicion etched on his rough features.

  “You sure you’re in the right place, blondie?”

  “Is Rosie around?” I ask, with much more confidence than I feel. “I need to talk to her.”

  He snorts. “You don’t know Rosie,” he mutters, turning away.

  In desperation, I decide to take a chance. “Gunner sent me! From the Lords of Carnage.” The bartender turns back to me with a dubious expression. “He told me Rosie would help me out,” I explain.

  He clearly doesn’t believe me, but at this point I’m guessing he just wants me out of his hair — or lack thereof. Picking up a phone, he punches a button and murmurs into it. Hanging up, he narrows his eyes at me. “She’ll be out in a second. You want a fuckin’ Shirley Temple while you’re waiting?”

  I decide to ignore the insult. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  By this time, some of the other customers are looking at me with the same curious and contemptuous expression as the bartender. I can’t help but think back to that first night when I was here looking for Gonzalo. I suppress a shudder, recognizing that this really is not a safe place for me to be by myself.

  An old woman comes out into the bar area. She’s short — at least an inch shorter than I am — and looks to be in her late sixties, at least. She’s thin to the point of emaciation, and wearing a white shirt, a black vest, and a red bandana around her neck. Her no-nonsense silver hair is cut short and severe. Frankly, if I met her on the street I wouldn’t immediately be sure if she was a man or a woman. This is Rosie?

  She seems as skeptical of me as I am of her. “Who the hell are you?” she asks bluntly, in a raspy smoker’s voice.

  “Gunner Storgaard sent me,” I say, working hard to sound confident. “He said you might know something about a person I’m looking for.”

  “That so?” she snaps. “Well, if Gunner needed information, why the fuck didn’t he come here himself?”