by Marata Eros
Her steady eyes hold mine. “Okay?”
My exhale is shaky. “Yes.”
Lola nods, satisfied. “I can't believe that your past might be more fucked than mine.”
Think again. My smile is weak, but it makes an appearance.
We walk to the front door together, and Lola turns. “Thank you for trusting me.”
I frown. Color me slow but it's the middle of the night. “What's your real name?”
Lola juts out her hip, pursing her pouty red lips. “Candy.”
“No shit?” I say with a surprised laugh.
“No shit.” Lola/Candy winks.
She walks out, and I close the door. I lean against the solid wood for a long time, thinking.
Daring to hope.
To believe.
13
Snare
I can still taste Sara on my lips, feel her soft skin against my fingertips.
Leaving her tonight was the hardest thing I've ever done.
It's necessary. If I press, she might take off again. I can't have Riker after her harder. I need to head him off at the pass, the fucker.
Noose was fucking pissed that I'd taken all that time. “Holy fuck, hope that little reunion was worth it,” he mutters as I exit the elevator that leads from the underground parking to the tenth level.
I scope the pile of cigs littering the pavement in a perfect circle around Noose and chuckle. “Sue me.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Might do that, ingrate.”
Trainer's eyes bounce between us like a ping-pong ball gone wild. “Get shit figured out?” He rises from the seat of his ride and pumps his hips in a slow gyration.
“Fuck off,” I shoot his way. “Sara's not open for discussion.”
“Huh,” Trainer says, sounding miffed.
Noose smirks. “We taking off?”
I nod.
His brows drop. “We coming back?”
“That's the plan.”
Noose takes me at my word, and we start our bikes, leave the underground parking area, and make our way to the club.
A part of me stays behind with Sara. I know the club should come first, that all things prioritize after that.
But for me, Sara has always been first.
*
“Snare—Snare!” Viper rants, pacing the length of the room we meet in for church the next morning at eleven sharp. “Gotta say, son—this is a fucked-up slice of timing.”
I get that. Viper doesn't have to outline it for me. We've got another important gun run, only one more, thank fuck. But it's enough to get him hopping mad that my property has got me majorly distracted.
“I'll be there. I'll do my job. Road Kill first.”
Viper's cool, pale blue eyes heat on me. “Bitches are important. Hell, even my old ass understands the needs we men have. But damn, you getting mixed up with fucking Mover, and what went down at that hotsy-totsy strip club?”
“The Crawl,” Noose unnecessarily interjects.
Viper waves it away. “Whatever. Crawl, schmall. We didn't need that fucking fluke of flukes going down. At. All.”
Mover will press to meet with Viper even harder now. There might even be payment for my fuck up. Though to my credit, technically, I didn't really fuck up. Sara was at the worst place, at the worst time. Period.
Story of our lives together.
Riker had been like that. He'd been able to fucking scent her out no matter where she hid. He wasn't above using her mom to flush her out either.
That thought gives me a horrible idea. Sara's mom's in the hospital. Riker can still try to manipulate Sara.
But not if my ass is there.
I look at Viper. He's watching me grapple with my internal shit. I'm being transparent as fuck.
“Nothing happens with Sara until this gun thing is handled. And”— Viper looks between me and Noose—“I'm not so sure that because of what went down between Sara and Mover, if you shouldn't cool your jets until I get things smoothed over with him. This Chaos thing is fucking dicey since the thing happened with that slimy weasel, Ned.”
“Slimy dead weasel,” Noose adds, lighting up a cig, looking mildly pleased at restating Ned's end.
I smirk. Just the facts, ma'am.
“Noose, you ass, smoke outside. Not all of us want lung cancer.”
Noose exhales a couple of donuts of smoke and saunters outside like he's got all the time in the universe.
“Inconsiderate fucker!” Viper trumps at his back.
Noose raises his arm, extending a stiff middle finger as he marches outside.
Viper shakes his head, but a smile ghosts his mouth. “He can be a cockbite.”
“Not a better man to have at your back,” I comment quietly.
The other brothers nod, Wring and Lariat quicker than everyone.
“Let him have his smoke. You know he's all domestic and shit now,” Lariat says, and the brothers laugh. A few days ago, before I found Sara, I would have joined in.
Now it just doesn't seem that fucking funny.
Viper's watery gaze washes over me. “We're counting on you and Noose. Seeing to the armory of our little tribe.”
“I understand my role,” I say though my teeth and fail at keeping the fuck-off tone out of my voice.
Viper stands. “Letting pussy get in the way of the club isn't gonna work, Snare. We lost our collective asses on the Ned fiasco. That little bank prick was working Chaos and Road Kill simultaneously. His death effectively fucked us in the ass without lube. We don't have dick until these guns get moved.”
“I'm aware!” I yell, banging my fist on the table—my patience gone. “I'm the most responsible swinging dick in this whole club. But Sara's in trouble, and I know I need to move the guns, all of them. Today. But I have to see her safe too.”
“Well then, we have a problem.”
His words gut me. Not from fear but from the potential for dissension in the ranks. Nobody goes against the club and lives.
“I fucking promised Sara I'd be back this afternoon. That I'd take her from that fucking sex bullshit.”
I meet Viper's eyes, and they're unyielding. “Trainer can follow Sara. Then after you do the gun run, you get your girl. I'm pissed I have to say these words, Snare. You're the club's muscle. Thinking ain't your job. It's mine.”
“I can't shut my mind off because you're the prez and I'm the sergeant at arms.”
Viper's fingertips spread, pressing against the polished wood of the table as we stare each other down. “I can't give an inch. I appreciate you're a smart college boy, that you got history with this girl. But the club is in jeopardy, and that has to come first.” He straightens, folding his arms over a chest that's still built but seeing the soft side of fifty. “You run this load of guns. Trainer follows your property. Tonight you go fetch your woman with the club's full blessing.” He widens his arms away from his body, oh so reasonably. “Then we have a big fucking blow-your-gonads-off party. Kegger. Food. Chicks—all the sweet butts you can eat!”
The brothers cheer while my gut is one large tight ball of unease.
My instincts are telling me to get my ass back to Sara. To see to her protection personally. There's only so much coincidence I can stomach. Having found her just as Riker is closing in seems like a lot to happen simultaneously. I'm not buying it.
Where there's smoke, there's abso-fucking-lutely fire.
*
Church was an hour ago. It's straight-up noon.
I glance at my cell, cramming the last of my taco into my mouth, slurping the Coke until it makes the harsh, end-of the drink sound.
I toss it in the trash.
“Ready?” Noose asks, doing the same with his Taco Tiempo remnants.
I nod then say, “Hang on.” I send a quick text to Sara.
Babe, it's Snare—you okay?
A minute goes by, and I'm fucking amped already, thinking about getting this gun bullshit put away so I can get Sara.
An answering ding chimes.
S: Omg, you commandeered my contacts.
I grin at her outrage.
Me: Just one. You okay?
S: Yeah.
I don't want to lie, so I compromise.
Me: I'll be at your place tonight. Have your shit packed.
It's two minutes this time that I wait. Each second's an eternity.
S: I have something to tell you.
Fuck.
Me: What?
S: It's too important to say over text. It's not a bad thing. But it's a thing you have to know.
I frown. Hate secrets. I really hate secrets hanging over my head when I have shit going down any fucking minute.
“Snare.”
I turn to Noose. He slaps his hands on his thighs, flicking the butt of his cig on the ground, clearly impatient.
“Yeah, okay. Dick.”
Noose chuckles.
I scowl at his irritating ass.
Me: Gtg, I'll see you tonight. We'll talk then.
S: Okay, cya Snare.
My finger hovers over the keys, wanting to tap out a million responses like I love you.
I miss you.
I'm. A. Fucking. Pussy-whipped. Fool.
Yeah, all those work. Shit. Get a handle on your shit, Snare.
*
“I don't like it.”
Noose gives me a hard glance but doesn't say anything. That's as good as agreeing from Mr. One-Word Replies.
The fucking gun dicks are an hour late. An hour. An hour I could be closer to getting with Sara.
“They'll be here.”
“He speaks,” I say, my voice dripping sarcasm.
“Can it, ya girl.”
I jerk my face in his direction, ready to cut his nutsack off, and he's wearing a big, shit-eating grin.
“Douche.”
Noose laughs and flips me off. “I've been there. You were me a year ago. Rose had me so fucking tied up I couldn't get a thought in my skull to work. It was all about Rose.”
I narrow my gaze at him.
“No shit,” he admits with a soft chuckle.
“Isn't that kind of pussified for you, being a Navy Seal and all?”
He nods. “Yup. Former, by the way.”
“You told me you still feel like a Seal.” My fingertips light on my chest for a second then drop.
“Yeah.” His serious eyes find me in the depths of the woods. Different meeting place this time. Still feels the same.
“Then how...”
“I don't know man, I just work here. Fuck if I know why a woman can make every belief you ever had become less because you love her.”
That's a speech for Noose. One that's sounding fucking familiar.
Noose straightens, and I automatically survey the lay of the land. Noose's instincts are a thing of legend.
The gravel crunches. But only because Noose clued me in to listening for it.
“How do you do that?”
Noose shrugs, saying everything and nothing with that one gesture. Very Noosified.
“Trained to listen.”
“I'm listening.”
He smirks. “Special kind, numbnuts.”
“Fuuuuck yooou,” I say, making kissy noises with my mouth.
His expression goes sour then morphs to blankness when two SUVs pull up.
Fucking finally.
Men exit the big rigs, and I recognize the cuts first, then tally the numbers.
Noose gives nothing away, but we both understand this is not the meet and greet we signed up for.
Chaos Riders line up, twelve in all.
My guts roil.
But when Mover hops out, I know there's way more involved than guns. And what I really suspect, deep down in that place we hide from, is we're not gonna like finding out.
“Hello, Snare—Noose,” Mover says, and all I see is his hand on Sara's head, forcing her down to the root of his prick. The memory incites a slow pour of adrenaline, spilling through my body like liquid fire. My hate is pure.
The emotion demands retribution. Every male instinct I have wants me to punish this fucker for touching Sara. Every bit of intellect that remains points out he didn't know who Sara was. A terrible joke of fate but true anyway. Destiny's the bitch—then you die.
“Glad you boys made it out.”
“We're not here to meet Chaos,” Noose says casually, like our enemies aren't outnumbering us ten to two.
Mover smiles, nodding.
And a big fucker slides out of the bench seat of the back of the SUV. His nose is taped.
Fuck.
He's the one from The Crawl last night. The same dude who Noose worked over so I could get Sara.
Something on his hand glints like molten butter, picking up the shattered sunlight that permeates the canopy of trees overhead.
Brass knuckles.
Mover nods in a charitable way in our direction.
“Payback's a bitch,” he says with a smile as the big mountain of shit makes his way toward Noose.
I round the bike, heading to stand beside my brother. Knowing we won't live past the next ten minutes.
I won't see Sara again.
I fail her now. Forever.
14
Sara
I wait in the small room just outside the suite of offices for The Crawl, smoothing my maxi skirt over my thighs for the third time. Actually, the offices serve all the flesh stores owned by Jared McKenna.
The Black Rose was my first choice of the upper echelon of stripping. They'd had some of the same dancers there for five years—almost unheard of in exotic dancing. But when the owner insists on all the benefits that come with a full-time job when strippers are working less than thirty hours a week? Well, that's retention time. Who'd want to leave with those incentives?
Look at me—quitting The Crawl for love.
Stupid. Right. It feels like the right thing to do.
My eyes move over Snare's words in the text I got earlier.
He's coming for me. Like a genuine happily ever after. I didn't think those really happened to people.
I tried not to hope after last night. I've tried to talk myself out of believing.
I can't. A thrill races through me like a wire of electrified adrenaline. Snare is going to take me away from this.
Just then Thorn moves through a door, catches sight of me, and sweeps his palm through the open doorway as he steps aside for me to pass through.
I stand, swaying. Indecision makes me uncertain. Love spurs me on. I move through the door.
Thorn shuts it softly behind me.
*
Thorn is thoughtful. His dark face has a sort of hard-won rough beauty. He drums his long tapered fingers on his desk.
I get the feeling he doesn't spend a ton of time sitting there. Everything is pretty sterile inside his office.
The gun tucked into a holster graces the back of his chair, and I find myself almost unable to look away from the cold, black metal.
Guns mean death in my reality.
“You're quitting.” He frames his question like a statement, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.
I dip my eyes from his penetrating gaze. “Yes.”
“For a man?”
I inhale deeply, letting it out slowly. My stare reaches him. There's no accusation there. Thorn's been a great boss. I feel like a heel quitting on him.
“No notice, just see ya?”
I nod. “I know you deserve more.”
He nods. “I do. We pride ourselves on selecting girls that have a follow-through type of personality.” There are questions in his dark eyes, asking for more than I'm willing to tell.
“Yeah. Usually, that's me. I'm really responsible.” My words sound lame even to me. I am responsible, but when it comes to Snare, that all flies out the window.
The man I spent five years running from is now all I can think about.
Thorn spreads his arms wide, and my eyes fly around his desk, looking at anything other than him. I see a
photo of him and his wife, their baby daughter.
Tears fill my eyes.
Thorn leans forward, obviously misinterpreting my tears. “Is this guy threatening you? Because I'm not gonna lie, MCs are bad news.”
I shake my head, scattering the mounting tears on my skirt where they land like dark stains of sadness. “No,” I reply in a low voice. “It's nothing like that. I mean—” Here goes nothing. “Snare is my stepbrother.”
Thorn's eyes go wide.
“Gah. Not like that. Really.” A blush saturates my face, heating my skin and making me feel miserable about any confession I give, even if I owe Thorn more than a see-ya.
Thorn's eyebrow cocks. “How's it like then, Kitty?”
My hands twist in my lap, but my shame has dried up my tears. “Snare's dad married my mom when I was fifteen.”
Thorn waits, and I go back to looking at my hands. “Riker, my stepfather, was a bastard—is. He used to beat everyone—my mom, my younger twin stepsiblings.” My eyes rise, and this part's easy. “He really went after Snare.”
Thorn nods as though in complete understanding. “Snare watch out for ya?” he asks softly.
I nod quickly, staving off fresh tears that come with the memory of all he protected me from.
“Yeah.”
“That's what I did.”
Startled, I look up, trapped by his gaze and the swarming emotion of complete empathy I see on his rugged features. “What—you did?”
“Yup.” Now it's Thorn's turn to look uncomfortable. “Grew up in the projects. Yesler.” His lips twist. “Know the life.”
“Yes,” I whisper. A look of pure understanding flows between us.
“Anyways, my mom whored me and my half sister out while she got fixed up with drugs. Lots of young girls in the house. Sometimes, if I could get the Johns to fuck me up, they wouldn't go after the girls.”
Tears run down my cheeks like an open faucet. My breaths are shaky.