by Marie James
“Your injuries make it clear that you don’t have your brother’s protection. As the sister of the President, one would think any man or woman in the club wouldn’t lay a finger on MC royalty.”
His words give a voice to the girl inside me that has wondered the same things since the second I packed my beat up suitcase eight years ago and headed to the Renegade clubhouse. The girl inside me who left a rundown house just as the coroners were pulling my mother’s decaying body off her sheet-less bed.
Hatred and disgust due to our father’s betrayal for cheating on his mother are the only two emotions my brother has shown me. Even tolerance at my presence in his clubhouse is something he doesn’t always have.
“Okay? You know some shit about my family. Big fucking deal, Detective. That still doesn’t explain why I’m here, why you’ve unlawfully detained me to give me an afternoon rendition of my fucked up life.” Thankfully, my voice is stronger than the internal battle I’m fighting within.
I part my lips slightly, exhaling through my mouth after sucking in deep breaths through my nose, an attempt to calm my pounding heart rate. I hesitate lying to him, if only for the briefest second. I allow the fantasy of getting out of the MC alive fill my racing thoughts. That’s all it is, a fantasy. Scorpion would be more than happy to see the back of me, but Grinder will hunt me down and torture me just like the many men and women he’s forced me to watch over the years.
Leaving alive isn’t a possibility. Staying is another brand of misery. Better the devil you know.
“I know your brother’s club is running guns, dope, and possibly trafficking women. I know you’re not as in the dark about that shit as you want to pretend. The question is, do you want to get away from it all or are you just as involved?” His relaxed posture begins to strain a little, his shoulders hitching just an inch, the rhythm of his breath changing slightly as he waits for my response.
“I don’t know a damn thing about anything, other than my brother and his crew run a respectable business in town.” The lie falls easily from my lips as it has for years.
“Right,” he says without an ounce of belief. “The gym. The legit business where only members of the MC come and go, yet the tax roster shows revenue from hundreds of members.”
I quirk an eyebrow at him, my answer to his question as to whether or not I’d snitch on the MC.
“Are we finished?” I push my chair back and stand on wobbly legs.
Cops make my skin crawl, they always have. I can thank my mother, father, and every man I’ve been around my entire life for that. They’re pigs, rats, and the scum of the earth hiding behind badges and civil duty, only out to destroy families and keep people oppressed as they pick and choose who goes down for a crime and who doesn’t. It’s taking everything in me right now not to spit in his face before walking out.
With my back to him and my hand on the door knob, I speak. “Unless I’m under arrest, don’t ever speak to me again.”
Trembling legs carry me out of the small police department the Drug Enforcement Agency has been working out of since they arrived in Durango. For months they’ve been lurking around, attempting to hide their investigation of my brother’s MC. Scorpion knew they were in town the second they rolled out of their dark-tinted SUVs. Having several police officers on the MC payroll helps in situations just as this.
I keep my head high, refusing to meet the eyes of every uniformed officer who glares my way as I walk through. They haven’t been able to get anything on me since that time I fucked up as a juvenile, but knowing if they dig too deep they’ll find a slew of shit to charge me with makes my chest burn, terrified one of them will stop me and slap those steel cuffs on my wrists.
On the sidewalk, finally free of the hostile looks from the boys in blue, I take in my surroundings, trying to decide which way to go. Ryland brought me to the police department from the local coffee shop a few miles away, where my car still sits.
I turn right, heading toward the school administration building, knowing cabs tend to hang around the intersection of Twelfth and East Second.
A sense of unease travels over my skin, and I pull my leather jacket tighter around my chest. Doing my best not to jerk my head around looking for the cause of the edginess, I dart my eyes repeatedly left, right, and in front. The familiar sight of a ragged leather cut catches my eye on the opposite side of East Second. My blood runs cold, my pulse pounds louder in my ears than the DEA agent had caused it to only moments ago.
Grinder, my brother’s Sergeant at Arms, sneers at me, keeping pace on the sidewalk across the street. The menacing smirk on his scarred lips means I’m completely fucked. He’s watching me walk out of the police station, and the threats I made yesterday that earned me the black eye and busted lip that I’m sporting today seal my fate.
I walk slower, huddling amongst a group of tourists as they walk down the crowded street gazing at things they consider historical. To the locals, these old buildings are just a reminder that Durango, Colorado hasn’t moved into modern times as fast as other tourist locations in the state.
Grinder slows when I do. The only safety I have in this ridiculous group is knowing he won’t try to grab me in a crowd of people that he can’t control. Letting him get his hands on me isn’t an option. I’m dead if he catches me. I know it, and he knows it. I won’t be given a chance to explain. He’ll gag me, and my body will be in the desert, food for the buzzards within the hour.
On a stroke of luck, the small group enters one of the small shops, and I trail in along with them. Keeping myself hidden behind a tall rack of t-shirts touting Durango as the best town in the state, I watch as he crosses the street, paying no mind to the vehicles slowly meandering down the road. Horns honk, and one man yells out his window, only to stop mid-rant when Grinder’s dark eyes turn to face him.
I ignore the yells of the shop owner as they insist I need to go back to the front when I cross through the door leading to the “Employee Only” area of the shop.
“Fuck off,” I mutter.
The front door bell chimes just as I’m opening the back door. I don’t have to look back to know he’s entered the shop because the sinister aura that constantly surrounds him reaches me even through the wall.
I contemplate running back to Agent Ryland, begging for him to rescue me, but I know that favor would come only in exchange for testimony against the Renegades, something I’d never be willing to give.
My feet move unsteadily along the broken pavement behind the row of shops.
“No sense in running, Poison.” The sureness in Grinder’s voice nearly causes me to stumble forward, but my fight or flight instinct is in full effect, even if my efforts are useless.
My small purse falls from my arm as I turn around the end of a building. I leave it lying there, knowing I can’t waste a second trying to grab it. Relief washes over me as a flash of white catches my eye. The distinct logo of the local cab company gives me false hope of survival as Grinder’s pounding boots close the distance between us.
The driver isn’t even at a complete stop when I tug open the door and jump inside.
“Go!” I yell as he turns around to ask me where I’m heading. Slowly joining the leisurely pace of the other cars, his eyes catch mine briefly in the rearview mirror.
I crouch lower in the seat, turning my eyes back to the man who’s haunted my nightmares for the last six years. Anyone looking at him right now would think that the smile on his face is misplaced. I know better. I know that I’ve just given him exactly what he wants, a chance to hunt me like prey, a sport he not only loves but also excels at.
I’m as good as dead.
Chapter 2
Dominic
Trying my best to ignore the relentless pounding on my front door, I squat deeper, letting the nearly three hundred pounds on my shoulders drag me closer to the floor. Anyone in my life of importance has a key to the door, so the idiot that is relentlessly knocking away serves no purpose other than to annoy the fuck
out of me.
I swing the bar back on the rack and head to the door, prepared to release every frustration my two-hour workout hasn’t been able to alleviate on whoever has enough balls to interrupt my life unprompted.
“What the fuck do you want?” I sneer as I swing the door open. Only it isn’t a Jehovah’s Witness wanting to spread the Good Word on my front porch.
Familiar pink hair catches my eyes. Poison Evans tilts her head in my direction. The woman standing in front of me is more dangerous than any messenger of God could ever hope to be, even when my soul is already damned to Hell for the things I’ve done in this life.
“No,” I say immediately and close the door in her face. Whatever bullshit she’s bringing to my home isn’t worth the trouble, no matter how gorgeous she is.
Kincaid has had dealings with the Renegade MC for years, for some reason turning a blind eye to the criminal ways they’re constantly involved in. Hell, I’ve even taken several of their club girls to bed in a pinch, but this woman, alone and more than an hour away from her own club reeks of a burden I’d be an idiot to get involved in.
No sooner does the door close and she’s pounding away on it again. Rolling my head on my shoulders, a failed attempt to relieve the tension that built at the sight of her, I pull open the door again. I don’t speak, but take a moment to inventory her. Slim fit jeans she’s poured herself into, low cut top with tits for days, and her well-worn leather jacket fills my vision. Jesus, what is it with untouchable women that make my cock throb?
My thoughts change suddenly when my eyes land on her busted lip, and I know this woman is going to say something that’s going to fuck with my calm world when I look over her shoulder and see a taxi idling in my driveway.
“I lost my purse. I don’t have money to pay the cab,” she whispers. Her cheeks pink with embarrassment as she asks without saying the exact words if I can take care of the fare.
“Get inside,” I hiss as I walk back in to grab my wallet off the table near the door.
She scurries past me as I head in the direction of the cab. Flipping him off when he bitches about the income he’ll lose having to travel all the way back to Durango to find his next customer. Fucker knew what he was getting into when he agreed to bring her this far in the first damn place. I smile inwardly knowing what the sweet tits on Poison could easily convince me to do. Poor bastard didn’t stand a chance.
I lock the door behind me and find her pacing the length of my living room. The normal bounce of her long, wavy hair I remember from seeing her at various gatherings is nowhere to be found. In its place is a mess of tangles and unruly, unintentional curls.
“I don’t have time for drama, Poison.” I stand near the threshold where the foyer meets the living room, arms crossed over my chest
“It’s Makayla or Mak. Never Poison,” she corrects.
Even the dim light coming through the French doors facing the lake doesn’t hide the bruise covering her eye when she pulls her sunglasses from her face. My weight shifts uncontrollably when she removes the leather from her body and bruises on her arms and neck are exposed.
There’s no way this woman knows my history. She wouldn’t have a clue that I left home at eighteen, leaving my mother and brother in the hands of my abusive father because I was too much of a pussy to stick around and stand up to him. No chance that she knows that only two years into my service that my mother was beaten to death by that same man, a fucking realization that haunts me every day of my life.
Even though our actions prove the men we are now, there’s no possibility that she knows of the vow Diego and I both made to protect women and children from those who would want to hurt them. Yet, here she is, standing in my living room, pleading with her eyes for me to get involved.
This isn’t a mission sanctioned by the government. This isn’t a call to action against some asshole in the community who is taking marital liberties and beating his wife. Those situations I don’t have an issue getting involved with. Those situations are easily handled, allowing me to return home without a doubt in my mind that I did the right thing.
Makayla in my house is the equivalent of shitting where I eat, getting involved in something that has the potential to not only blow up in my face but could manage to fuck the club my brother has spent years building. But I can’t turn her away. Not even knowing what’s going on, I don’t have it in me to tell her to fuck off, even when every part of me is demanding I do just that.
I grab my cell phone from the table near the front door.
“Scorpion’s going to fucking kill whoever hurt you, Makayla.”
This is going to get bloody. I know there is no love lost between her and the president of the Renegade MC, but he’d never allow for his sister to get hurt like this and not demand the life of the person who inflicted the pain. An assault against her is almost as bad as an attack on him. He won’t tolerate the disrespect. No matter the situation, no matter the explanation, someone will die, and that shit will be another thing on my conscious since she involved me by just showing up on my doorstep.
She whimpers and takes a few steps closer to me as I pull up my contact list.
“Please, don’t,” she begs covering my hands with hers, preventing me from seeing my phone screen.
“He’ll handle this,” I insist, even as the words taste like shit in my mouth.
Having her closer, I get a better look at the fresh bruises that seem to travel the entire circumference of her throat. The blood on her lip has dried, but I can see how the wound has been opened and closed more than once since it was inflicted. The sight of her injuries makes me want to step up and take the place as the avenger for the damage her body has suffered.
“Please,” she begs again.
I pull my eyes from where her hand still covers mine and look up at her. Watching her busted lip tremble in fear guts me. I’ve seen that look more times than I’d like to admit over the years. Panic stricken eyes plead with me, terrified that I’ll turn her away. How could I at this point? What man exists that could force a woman back out into the unknown with injuries like this? The same man who inflicted them to begin with, my conscience tells me.
“Who did this?” My attempt at calm and comforting isn’t reflected in the gruff demand.
She takes a step away from me, releasing my hand. I notice the lack of warmth immediately as the cool air surrounding us hits the area our hands were connecting. She shakes her head in refusal, cowering slightly when I take a step toward her. I’m near insisting she tell me every sordid detail, if only so I can hunt down the motherfucker who thought it was okay to lay a single damn finger on her.
“Damn it,” I mutter when her eyes widen in fear at my approach. I back off quickly, hating that she could even consider I’d hurt her. I clear my throat and attempt again to portray some level of control. “Who hurt you, Makayla?”
“I can’t tell you,” she insists backing up to the point her body is flush against the backside of the couch.
“You can,” I cajole.
“They’ll kill me,” she whispers. “Promise me you won’t call any of them.”
“Who?” I ask, refusing to make a promise I’m not certain I can keep. I know she’s talking about the Renegade MC, there’s no one else she would be involved in. A sickness settles low in my stomach when the realization that her very own brother could be the piece of shit who hurt her. He’s acted his part when around the Cerberus boys, but I can see the evil in his eyes. I know Diego can as well, certain he’s maintaining the keep your enemies closer when he’s invited them into his clubhouse on the occasions that he has.
“I just need a place to stay for a few days. Please, Dom? I won’t be any trouble. I swear.”
“Trouble started the second you stepped out of the cab and your boots hit my front lawn,” I mutter as I motion for her to follow me down the hall to an empty guest bedroom.
Chapter 3
Makayla
Agitation is rolling off of Domin
ic by the time I step into the room he’s gracious enough to let me use. He hasn’t said much since I showed up, but the constant tick in his jaw and tension in his shoulder betrays just how annoyed he is with this situation. What I can’t decipher is if he’s annoyed I’m here or livid someone has hurt me.
I’d like to think it’s the latter, but I’m well aware of his semi-reclusiveness and antisocial tendencies, so there’s a greater chance he’s pissed that I showed up at all. The idea to leave Durango and come to him hit me as the cab sped away from Grinder and my certain imminent death.
Shorty, one of the Renegade’s club girls spent a couple of hours with him at a party a few weeks back, and she let everyone know. It seems bagging the loner brother of the Cerberus MC President is a feat needing to be bragged about. Scorpion didn’t let me go to many functions they participated in with the Cerberus men. I knew from the few times I’ve been around those guys that Dominic didn’t stay at the club often and had his own house on the lake, assisting in his demand for privacy and separation from the goings-on at the clubhouse.
The idea, while riding in the back of the cab, seemed genius, until he slammed the door in my face. He’s my last chance of survival even though I have no right to ask him for help. When that door closed, dread, like I've never felt before, filled my body.
My eyes scan the room, realizing very quickly that it is better than the room Scorpion allowed me back home, and it also has a feminine touch to it. The throw pillows on the bed and sheer curtains a clear contrast to the gruff, manly biker who owns the home. It immediately makes me wonder if he’s got an old lady here as well. The thought is unsettling since she may take issue with another woman staying in her house even for a few days.
A room to the right of the bed reveals a full bathroom, and I can’t get my clothes off fast enough. Not only the time traveling and running through the back alleys of a less than stellar neighborhood in Durango, the sight of Grinder along with the memories of him from years past make me feel absolutely filthy. The insistence to get clean every time my eyes meet his hasn’t been stunted even after the hour-long drive away from him.