by SE Chardou
I rolled my eyes as I walked over to the full-length mirror. “I’m aware of the rules—”
“Shit. I keep forgetting you were raised in a hard-core, one percent club. Sorry . . . I’m so used to dragging one of my ‘adventurous’ friends to one of these parties I forget you know more about the lifestyle than I do.”
I looked past my own reflection and smiled at Estelle. “No problem. It’s an easy mistake to make.”
While Pyro’s sister had gone for the laid-back, sexy chick look, I’d gone into full on biker mode. A pair of tight blue jeans was paired with a long-sleeved, vintage Guns N’ Roses t-shirt I’d slashed myself in strategic places on the arms and around my chest area. I decided to leave my hair down and wore a minimum amount of makeup including black eyeliner and mascara to bring out my ice-blue eyes and Victoria’s Secret tinted lip-gloss. My choice of shoes was a pair of knee-length, black leather boots with three-inch heels, and I’d finished off my look with my favorite leather jacket that would keep me warm.
“You’re really a gorgeous woman, you know that? Why don’t you have a man yet? I’m tellin’ you you’re gonna be beatin’ ‘em off with a stick today,” Estelle remarked after she did a slow whistle.
“Like I indicated, this isn’t my first biker party, and I can handle myself just fine. If you can believe it, I’m just as nervous attending this event as I will be when I finally meet Fernando.”
I heard a laugh in the background. “Fernando is a pussycat. I know him . . . vaguely but he certainly isn’t the cruel and sadistic one in the cartel. That would be his nephew, Carlito Navarro. His club is cool and he’s really a true ladies man. He likes all kind of women but when he sees you . . . he’s gonna fall all over himself just to get close to you. His favorite game is corruption and he will definitely want to do that with you.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I murmured as I grabbed my designer handbag and we both left my bedroom together.
The party turned out much as I thought it would be although that didn’t surprise me.
Both Estelle and I were guided over to hang out with the old ladies who drank, and gossiped together. There weren’t that many of them, especially since Hardy was engaged to Talia Viaro, lead singer of mega rock group Winter’s Regret. There would be no way in hell she would be caught dead at one of these shindigs.
I sat next to Naomi, Layla, Chantal and Estelle.
The more established old ladies had formed their own clique and that was just fine with all of us since none of us were pushing thirty. Despite the presence of women who were married to members, that hadn’t stopped the Saint Slappers from coming out in full force. Some of the members from the Barstow chapter had ridden up and there were more men who were unattached than those with a steady woman.
I downed a third shot of Jack Daniels while using a bottle of Bud Ice as a chaser. I certainly wasn’t feeling any pain. The music was loud—a mixture of hard-core metal and aggressive hip-hop—while I tried to learn more about Naomi while trying not to make it too obvious.
“So Mags and Max sub-contracted out my hit to you?” she wondered as she rubbed her baby bump and enjoyed sparkling apple cider. “That’s unusual, isn’t it?”
“Not really. There are codes in our world, believe it or not. I don’t know much but all Pyro managed to tell me was Mags had a run in with Fernando and he could have killed her but he chose not to if she didn’t end his life when the time came. It’s not that she can’t break the code—not if she really wanted to—but it’s all about karma,” I explained before I swigged from my beer.
“Christ, now I feel like shit approaching her—”
“Why? She understands why you want revenge—hell, we all do. I read your file, and I know what he did to you down in Mexico. I’m so very sorry about what you went through.”
Naomi’s amber brown eyes glared at me with a coolness that hadn’t been there before. “Are you really? Word around the campfire is your Nel Decker’s kid. Is that true?”
I caught a glimpse of Pyro across the room and found my face heating up with jealousy as a gorgeous redhead had her arms wrapped around his waist. “Well, if you’re looking for confirmation then yes, it’s true. My mother wasn’t even good enough to be called a club whore though. By the time she got around to hangin’ out in Black Oak, she was so far gone on meth, she didn’t know her ass from a hole in the ground. She was basically a strawberry but . . . Nel got a hold of her . . . used to keep her chained in this dungeon like she was an animal.”
“What? You can’t possibly be serious,” Layla interrupted, her blue eyes bright with astonishment.
“Well, she was an animal to him. A mixed-breed . . . no one special. She was Puerto Rican, Native American, black and Scots-Irish. Suffice to say she didn’t have my pale skin, and I didn’t inherit my eyes from her. Loire got lucky. Dizzy at least looked out for her but me? Well, let’s just say being born into a white supremacist club that doesn’t even allow those of the Mediterranean persuasion in their club was a hazard to my health. It didn’t matter what I looked like—they all knew I was part ‘sub-human,’ and that’s the way I was treated.”
“My God,” Chantal murmured quietly. “I can’t imagine what you went through. That’s terrible. Why would you want to perpetuate the cycle of violence by becoming a . . . hired gun?”
My temper had gone from slightly elevated to octane-level pissed off, especially when the redhead kissed Pyro on the lips while she tucked a hand down his pants.
“You usually fall into doing what you’re good at, and I’m exceptional at being anyone, blending in . . . and then going in for the kill.” I rose to my feet. “Excuse me, ladies, I’ll be right back.”
I didn’t waste any time closing the distance between me and Pyro or the slut hanging off of him like a cheap suit.
“What the hell is going on here?” I asked loudly enough for them to both stare in my direction.
Pyro’s eyes widened like a kid with his hand stuck in the cookie jar while the redhead turned toward me and sneered. She was pretty—I’d give her that—but she led a rough lifestyle and it was beginning to prematurely age her.
“Who the fuck are you, bitch?” she slurred back at me.
“Doesn’t matter who I am,” I said in a calm voice. “All I know is you better back the fuck up before you get smacked the fuck up.”
“Angie, I told you to stop it. You’re drunk and there is no way in hell we’re ever getting back together so why don’t you go on over there and hit on a few of the brothers from Barstow.”
“Are you kidding me, Pyro? I mean, seriously, you’re fucking this good little girl who pants at the right time and probably fakes her orgasms? You and me had some issues but baby, we were good together.”
My opinion of Pyro’s ability to pick out women just dropped fifty percent while I tried not to show my revulsion he’d ever stuck his dick in someone like her.
“What part of get your fucking hands off my man don’t you understand, skank?” I said loud enough for other members to hear.
“What part of get your Snow White ass outta here before I tear you a new one don’t you understand, bitch?” Angie shouted back, intoxicating me by the fumes of liquor wafting from her mouth.
I laughed at that one before I grabbed her arm that had been formerly caressing Pyro’s junk and pinned it behind her so fast, she screeched in alarm.
“Listen to me, you two-bit cunt, Pyro is officially off the market and when I say I don’t want your sleazy hands all over my man, I’m being completely fucking serious. So, do me a favor . . . either you find a bro from Barstow to fuck tonight or you leave the party—simple as that. However, if you ever put your skanky hands on my man again, I will break your arm, your nose and make you lose a few of those bleached, capped teeth. I don’t think you’ll find it so easy to dance after I leave you lookin’ like Frankenstein’s bride.”
I didn’t realize how quiet the party had gone until I suddenly let go of Angie’s
arm, and she stumbled drunkenly on the fuck-me heels she wore before she ended up falling to the ground. A friend of hers slowly helped her up while shooting me daggers. Meanwhile, the music started again and “Hit ‘em Up” by Tupac began to play.
Suddenly overcome by embarrassment and shame over my territorial behavior, I walked back inside the clubhouse and sat down at the bar. Several prospects had bartending duty, and I immediately asked for a Bud Ice.
As soon as the cold bottle was set in front of me, I drank down half the contents in several swallows before one of my shaky hands touched my face, and forced me to calm down.
I wasn’t with the Knights anymore, and I didn’t have to act like the baddest bitch in the room just because I was scared more often than not. Hell, Pyro wasn’t even my man and yet, the jealousy and violent behavior I displayed would have the average person thinking he’d claimed me. I wasn’t his old lady and he wasn’t my old man. He was just a guy doing me a favor and in return, I would murder one of the Saints’ sworn enemies. When was I was going to get that through my thick skull?
I felt Pyro’s presence the moment he sat down next to me and ordered a Jack Daniel’s with a Heineken. I didn’t even have to look in his direction because the sensual scent of P. Diddy’s Unforgivable gave him away. Sensual notes sandalwood, juniper, amber, basil and sage hit my nose with the accompaniment of a burning inside of me to get to know this man better.
I didn’t believe in love but lust was something else. Of course I liked the guy and thought he was attractive but he was proving more of a detriment than anything at all. How could I fall for another man and be completely into him when my mind constantly thought about Pyro? I was so far gone when it came to him, I barely recognized myself.
The charade would be that much more difficult to pull off because this wouldn’t be an easy kill by any stretch of the imagination. It would require tact, discipline and ingenuity—none of those skills I’d displayed this night before Christmas.
“Listen, I don’t know what came over me. You don’t owe me shit—you’re not my man but . . . I just lost it. Call it PTKS—post traumatic Knights syndrome. I don’t know what kind of relationship you two had. I only hope she isn’t hurt that bad.” I drank from my beer because that was the closest I would ever get to saying sorry—a woman had to have some pride after all.
“Don’t worry about it. You have no idea how much I wished what you said was true. I would take you on in a heartbeat because you’re a fighter and a wildcat. Emotional yet cold as an arctic wind; disciplined yet uncontrollable; so very beautiful and so very fucking sexy but innocent and vulnerable at the same time. You’re nothing but a fuckload of contradictions, and I want you to be able to trust me.”
I looked into Pyro’s blue eyes. “It’s not just that though. I know what I have to do to get close to Fernando and after he’s had his hands all over me, I may have to settle for a normal relationship—outside our world that is. Maybe a nice doctor, mechanic or accountant? No man is ever going to want me. And the worst mistake we could ever make would be to get involved, knowing that it would drive you crazy thinking about me being in another man’s arms. It’s a fact of life.”
He smiled wryly. “If it makes you feel any better, the way you feel about me is pretty much the same. I wouldn’t expect you to be okay with a mission where I had to fuck another woman—”
“It wouldn’t happen. I’d kill her before you got the chance to.”
Pyro’s lips leaned in toward my ear. “What makes you think I won’t do the same to Fernando? Huh? The thought of you curled up with him while I could easily take that motherfucker out—”
“It has to look like a mistake. Some kind of passionate affair gone wrong. He’s a government informant, Pyro. It can never be traced back to the clubs or the Feds would look for any excuse to use the RICO Act just to send the Saints back to the dark ages.”
He laughed before he gently bit my earlobe. “That wouldn’t happen.”
I pulled away and looked over at him, this time studying his handsome yet sexually aggressive and rugged profile. “Why would you say something like that?”
“Have you ever seen the movie, The Untouchables? I know it’s before your time—and mine—but that’s kinda like how the Saints are. We pay a lot to keep the Feds out of our business. Not with money but with blood, sweat and tears. A lot of good people have been hurt over the years for us to maintain our ‘special relationship.’ Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it at all and then I think of other clubs and know the answer is, unfortunately, yes.”
“What are you trying to say? The Saints have snitches too?”
Pyro shook his head. “No, nothing like that. If it was that . . . believe me the relationship between the Feds and the Saints would be so much easier to navigate. Unfortunately, they need us as much as we need them and that’s all I’m gonna tell you because the rest is . . . indeed club business.”
I could barely hide my excitement about this idea of the Saints and Feds working together but stranger shit had happened. Sometimes, it was better to be aligned with the less of several evils in order to take the bigger bad guys down. Most clubs would have jumped at the chance, if only to fuck with the Feds and feed them misinformation but I knew there was a hell of a lot more about this story than Pyro would ever tell me.
He didn’t hold any sort of special allegiance to me, other than getting me ready for my upcoming assignment and watching my ass.
We aren’t a couple, and we never will be.
I had to keep repeating this to myself even if it felt like an ice pick through the heart every time I thought about it.
“You look exhausted—you ready to go home?”
I shook my head and smiled though it pained me to do so. “Go have some fun with your bros. We’ll leave a bit later if that’s all right with you.”
Pyro leaned in closer to me, enveloping me in cologne, second-hand smoke and that male scent that was his alone. “You see, that is why you’re makin’ it so very hard for me to take you, make you mine and just say fuck Fernando. Why should your life be tied to that fucker’s destiny?”
I kissed his lips though I made sure no tongue was included. “This is neither the time or the place to discuss Fernando. Let’s just have a good time tonight and tomorrow. On the twenty-sixth, we can start talking about different scenarios but . . . remember, you don’t truly know me. How do you even know you want me when you have no idea of all the secrets inside of my mind and all the pain I hide in my heart?”
“Mira, you think too much. A relationship is like an onion. Two people don’t just hook up knowing everything about each other. It’s a slow burn, an ache that builds from anticipation and the unknown. The unexpected is why we are so attracted to one another. You think just because I told you a few stories about my time in Afghanistan and Iraq that you know me?”
“Of course not,” I scoffed.
“Believe me, babe, you don’t know shit about me. That’s what makes it so fucking hard to live with you because I wanna tell you but knowing you’re just a temporary guest makes it impossible. I can’t tell you anything and not know that fucker wouldn’t use it against us in the future.”
“I like the sound of ‘us,’ believe me I do. But like I said—not the time or the place.”
His ice blue eyes held my own in a lock I couldn’t break away from. “You made this the time and the place when you claimed me out there as your man, Mira. As far as the club is concerned, we’re together. Doesn’t matter if two people know each other two minutes or two years—the moment you’re willing to defend another person, you’re claiming them if they aren’t already claimed. Technically, you’re my old lady now so why don’t you go sit with the other old ladies?”
“Pyro—”
Before I could finish, his right arm wrapped around my neck, he brought me into his embrace, and kissed me. This time, my lips refused to stay closed and they opened for the feel of his tongue swirling against my own. God, I wanted t
o bed this man and we barely knew each other. It was too much too soon but why the hell did it feel so fucking right?
We separated reluctantly and he stood before his arms helped me down from my bar seat. “You have no fucking idea what you do to me.”
My heart thundered in my chest; I wanted so badly to reply to the affirmative but I couldn’t. My mouth felt dry and I quickly swigged from my beer as I watched him down his shot of JD before he left the clubhouse and went outside.
I reluctantly walked over and joined the old ladies who all looked at me as if they were disappointed I was holding out on them.
“You don’t have anything to tell us other than hot damn, that was quick.” Naomi tut-tutted. “You have this completely innocent look about you. I didn’t think you were the type to jump into a man’s bed knowing him less than two weeks and all.”
“It’s not like that. Pyro and I got some history . . . albeit brief and not exactly one of my favorite memories but we’re taking it slow.” I sat beside Chantal.
“Judgmental much, Naomi? Who was it that got it on with Ronan at a biker party? And how long did you two ‘date’ before you were fuckin’?”
“Ronan and I also went to high school together. It’s not like we were total strangers, Chantal.”
“Well, I can’t talk about anyone. Cricket and I were attracted to each other for years before we finally gave in. He fucked me after he took me out to dinner and a show of Michael Jackson One. I knew we were in it for the long haul, and I’ve had no regrets.”
“Just ignore me,” Naomi muttered. “I’m just pissed off I’m too uncomfortable to fuck Ronan. I’d give anything to have his dick in me twenty-four-seven. I am horny all the time but carrying twins isn’t exactly a picnic.”
“Seriously, you may not think I understand but I do.” I smiled at them all, Layla included. “I wish I could regale you all with tales of lust between the sheets between Pyro and me but it hasn’t happened. Not yet at least.”