Indecent Lies (Renegade Souls MC #7)

by V. Theia

  Connections didn’t come easy or simple for Lawless but he knew he’d kill for any of those men inside and the one in front of him in particular.

  Maybe he did care to an extent, but it was never in the flavor that people wanted from him.

  Humans were skin and bones and so much neediness that his intestines hurt.

  Noise crawled through his chest wall.

  Determination warred with hesitancy.

  Anger looked back at Lawless. “You’re just fucking telling me this now?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is insanity. You could have told me at any time, you didn’t just wake up today and decide this.” Snake blew out frustrated air. “There’s other ways.”

  “There isn’t.”

  Lawless would know.

  He would not wait. Not for this. He wanted it done and finished.

  He let Snake go through his ranting and pacing like a worried housewife.

  “I could punch your fucking face off; I fucking swear.”

  “We have no time for kinky games and your wife would object, unless she gets off on watching, then maybe another time.” He smirked in return, loose with his blood on fire.

  His feet wanted to carry him back inside so badly, just for a minute to indulge … and he never gave in to compulsions.

  Until he did.

  He was such a fucking contradiction.

  He pulled the two sets of keys out of his pocket as sirens in the background started to grow closer. He pushed them into Snake’s hands, said a few quiet instructions to make sure the bodyguard took it all in.

  “You’ll do this for me.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  Snake snarled and showed his true self by jutting his chin up.

  Not many saw through Snake’s comical personality.

  Winter and Lawless had seen.

  “Don’t fucking insult me with even asking, you jackass. This is fucking insane, you know that…what if something happens?”

  “It won’t.” Maybe. That was the dice he was rolling.

  Lawless had purposefully left the three gates open.

  And not a minute later the courtyard had two squad cars and the sheriff vehicle screeching to a halt.

  Both men turned to watch the sheriff of Nottingham…or Armado Springs, climb out of his vehicle and head toward them.

  He’d already had one big bust recently, his chest was going to snap in two all his pride puffing out for a second.

  The MC usually got a visit from the law at least once a week for one reason or another, but they never had anything they could pin on them.

  Not unless it was hand delivered in a gift basket tied with a neat bow and explained in small words even a town sheriff could understand.

  Seriously, Lawless had left nothing to chance.

  Charlie Timmons was an okay man as it went, Lawless knew this because he’d done extensive background checks on the do-gooder. Pity he wasn’t a closet pervert who wore his wife’s lipstick in private or liked to have his Johnson ticked by a gigolo while a hoard of degenerates jacked off watching.

  Nah, this guy was cleaner than most and always on the right side of the law.

  Lawless smiled while Snake at his side started to rattle a growl right as some of the other brothers came out to see what the ruckus was.

  The lawman said Lawless’ given name, not one of his aliases as he started the Miranda warning. “You’re under arrest for the possession and selling of class A drugs. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. You have the right to talk to a lawyer for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to have a lawyer with you during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish. If you decide to answer questions now without a lawyer present, you have the right to stop answering at any time.”

  He didn’t protest when his arms were taken behind his back to be cuffed.

  He didn’t reject being led toward the cop car.

  People started to fly out of the clubhouse, naturally they were shocked and angry. Lawless nodded his head only slightly to Rider who gave him one back, his jaw tight as he stood there, flanked by Hawk.

  It was the dark hair flying behind the girl that got everyone’s attention.

  Largely because her scream pierced the frosty air and caused battery acid to pour into Lawless’ chest cavity. That place which was dank and empty.

  He couldn’t look. But he did. Maybe he was more meat that he realized.

  He met Snake’s eyes as his friend caught and held Angela by both arms as she tried to struggle to get free, calling his name, trying to get to him, big fat tears falling down her cheeks.

  She’d be fine.

  The boys would make sure of that.

  He tried to give her a reassuring smile but wasn’t sure if it came out right.

  Before he was shoved into the back of the car, the other officers rightly so standing warily by in case trouble was to start. They always came in heavy with any MC, but he could have told them there was no need.

  He looked to Snake. “Tell your old lady I’m sorry about dinner, another time, yeah?”

  “Lawless! Get off him, he hasn’t done anything wrong!” Her scream pierced the air.

  His jaw twitched and he forced his gaze forward. “Let’s roll, sheriff. You have a fish to grill.”

  * * *

  Snake shared a look with Rider who wore the same jaw cracking grimace as he did.

  The brothers were going nuts, rightly so, no one would ever expect Lawless to be lifted for any crime.

  He covered his tracks like the catholic church did with all the molesting.

  Lawless was careful.

  Lawless was fucking smart.

  He shared a second understanding look with Rider, who whistled for everyone to shut their mouths.

  “Church. Now.”

  “We need to give Archie a call, get our boy out of lock up asap.” Arson said.

  The others agreed. There was nothing their on-call attorney couldn’t do. They paid Archie a big enough retainer to make sure no one from the club ever got into trouble and if they did, they soon were let go.

  “Church,” growled Rider.

  “What we gonna do about Law? This has to be a mistake, right?”

  “We do nothing.”

  There would be questions to answer.

  Snake just hoped Lawless knew what the fuck he was doing.

  Because they’d just lost the scary brains and enforcer of their MC … for fuck knows how long.

  * * *

  Angela stood outside in the cold for a long time.

  Her feet rooted to the forecourt ground, looking off into the distance of where she’d watched the cop cars take Lawless through the gates.

  No one would tell her anything, other than it would be okay.

  But if it were okay, why then was no one going after them?

  They thought she was a stupid kid offering her candy to shut her up.

  She wanted to know what the fuck just happened.

  Worrying her lower lip, she held her gaze and prayed for a miracle.

  A shadow fell over her shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”

  She was not okay.

  She was far from okay.

  Her chest gaped open and all she felt was pain.

  Lawless was security.

  He was protection.

  He was home.

  He was the only one who ever treated her as a normal person and not the poor girl who lost her parents and was nearly sold into the sex trade.

  He was caustic and blunt and her best friend in this cold, cruel world.

  Zara was her best friend too, but it was different. She felt more like a sister.

  She didn’t feel right inside her own skin knowing something bad was happening to him. Something his clever brain couldn’t get himself out of.

  How could this have happened?

  It felt unreal.


  It made no sense.

  Lawless was the smartest of the smart.

  He outsmarted the police all the time, he didn’t get arrested for bogus crimes and not drugs for god’s sake.

  She just bet he had more money than Google, why would he need to sell drugs?

  It had to be a case of the wrong identity.

  But why wasn’t Rider breaking the world to get him back?

  Lawless was not and never would be a drug dealer for fucks sake and everyone inside was just accepting it as though they believed it.

  She didn’t get it.

  Why weren’t they rallying the troops to get him out?

  “Trust Lawless,” Snake told her.

  “Trust Lawless, he’ll be fine,” Zara told her.

  Trust him for what?

  Everyone treated her like a kid, but she was not a kid.

  She hadn’t been a kid in a long time.

  Death changed her, made her grow up real damn fast.

  She couldn’t cope without Lawless, she couldn’t. She’d go crazy.

  He was the one pushing her to get into the college she wanted, she couldn’t do it without him.

  He was kind and clever and he told her things plainly when others pussyfooted around afraid of hurting her feelings.

  He always gave her the truth.

  “No,” she answered the man who’d come to stand at her side with his hands tucked into his pockets.

  “Ah, sorry, mamacita, bad day, huh?”

  You could say that, Einstein, she thought.

  Her eyes forward, willing that cop car to drive back through and drop Lawless off.

  “You wanna head in for a drink? It’s freezing out here.”

  She shrugged and turned toward the door. She supposed she should.

  She was meant to be staying at Zara’s this weekend but she just wanted to go home to her foster parents' house.

  The new guy didn’t smile, just as well, she wasn’t in the mood for kiss-asses.

  But his eyes were watchful. “I’m Judge.”

  “Angie.”

  “Come on, mamacita, we’ll get you something warm to drink for the shock.” He surprised her by putting his hand on the base of her back, leading her inside and he smiled down at her. “Think we’re gonna be good friends, Angie.”

  She didn’t want friends.

  She already had a best friend and he’d left her without a word.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  “I get screwed over from beyond the grave.” – Texas

  Life was sweet.

  For the last two weeks, Texas woke smiling.

  Sometimes he woke with his girl sucking him off, that was even better.

  Most often he woke to the sound of bleating, the damn tiny goat demanding attention from his crate. Or the newly chunk of a kitten who ate like a horse, giving off her tiny mewls for food.

  Life was sweet as it had ever been because every day he got to roll into Poppy and kiss her neck and hear her contented sigh.

  It didn’t matter that her mom suddenly started to message her again or that they put Poppy in a spin every time her phone pinged, because his girl was happy.

  He got into being a boyfriend really quickly and found he thrived in that role.

  Texas hadn’t known being a biker was in his soul, it killed not to wear his patch, it always meant something to him, not just a status but belonging somewhere, so doing without it while being back in Armado was an adjustment.

  Poppy continually reminded him he was still a biker and it was time he got back to being who he was.

  Texas.

  Only she called him Tait which he really fucking liked.

  But he was Texas.

  So, he stood in his bathroom that morning, shaved off the closely clipped overgrown facial hair until he recognized himself again. He styled his hair with all his products. He used moisturizer, shaving balm and his cologne before he slid into a crisp white shirt, wrapped a thick tailed gray and white tie around his neck and his fingers wound it around in a Windsor knot.

  He didn’t have his cut to slip into and that burned but when he got into a black vest and soft-worn denim on his legs and his tan Mohawk boots, he felt more like himself than he had in a while and it had a lot to do with the heavily sated, snoozing woman in his bed.

  With one last job to fix up downstairs in a last apartment, he left her asleep, kissing her neck, so he could ride across into Fort Springs.

  Jamie Steele owned a hardware store and Texas wanted a discount.

  He didn’t intend to be out all day, the quick fix in the apartment wouldn’t take a couple of hours, then he was officially done with his project, unsure what he wanted to do after that. But his main reason for rushing was because last night, after a hard round of wear-me-out sex where Poppy had the idea to ride his brains out until he was ready to call mercy, she proclaimed she was making rosemary meatloaf tonight for dinner.

  Her food was hit and miss, it reminded him of Zara when he used to sit around her table, but there wasn’t one time he didn’t love to watch her wreck his kitchen until it resembled a tornado had swept through.

  Poppy was a fan of using every utensil.

  She cooked and he cleaned and in between he got in a few good kisses.

  In her lifetime she’d had three nannies, she’d told him. One taught her how to shut her mouth and not be seen. That bitch he somewhat remembered and hated her on principle for treating Poppy that way. The second nanny taught her etiquette shit, he didn’t care if she blew her nose on the table napkin, as long as she was happy. It was the third nanny who Poppy loved, she taught her how to cook. Texas didn’t want to tell Poppy that the nanny had failed, he just choked down her attempt at butter scones and charred pancakes because he saw the pride she took in doing things for herself.

  Poppy had been in touch with her nanny Trey this past week. He’d take her to Florida to see her old nanny sometime in the spring.

  He was now that man who walked a goat.

  Or to say, his girl walked the goat and he prowled beside her holding her hand.

  They got stares, some giggles and Poppy loved Glenn getting attention.

  Glenn Coco was her favorite accessory in his winter coats she ordered from Amazon or made him drive to PetSmart and when they got home, the kitten would be rolled up on the couch in one of Texas’ old t-shirts, the thing cried if it didn’t have that shirt.

  Yeah, life was sweet.

  Some of that sweetness left his tongue when he got home just after 4 that afternoon, bone weary, wanting to lay eyes on his girl, maybe crash in front of the box and maul her some with his hands down her pants making her cry into his mouth.

  His Penelope loved his mauling, she told him often enough.

  His dick got hard just thinking about what part of her body he’d suck on first.

  He had a great relationship going with her little tits.

  The girls loved him and he thought they tasted like sweet toffee.

  “Poppy.” He yelled through the apartment. She was usually skidding across the floor the moment his key opened the door. His frown hit his forehead when only the goat bleated from his cage. That was unusual because Poppy bitched at him for putting the goat in there at night, she never had the animals caged during the day. “Poppy, where are you?” He repeated and got no reply as he let the animals out.

  He knew why a minute later after dumping out the old coffee to start a fresh pot and noticed a brown envelope on the countertop. It looked official with an attorney’s stamp in the corner. Addressed to Poppy. Next to it was a handwritten note and his belly bottomed out the moment his eyes scanned over the few sentences.

  Tait,

  I’ve had to catch a flight to Harrison. I didn’t want to tell you over the phone and have you come with me; I know you don’t like being at home. We’ll talk about the envelope when I return. Poppy.

  No love. No kisses.

  What the fuck. She’d left him?

  He about tore int
o the envelope to see what the hell was inside that needed talking about. And when he saw the brief letter, detailing that Grigori Kuznetsov, instructed to have a package delivered to Poppy Astor, c/o his address, he nearly exploded.

  Inside were five photographs, black and white, grainy quality that wasn’t Instagram worthy, but they absolutely showed Texas with his arms around a woman. That Russian woman from the warehouse. The one who got railed over Grigori’s desk. The same woman he fed drugs to in front of Texas.

  The photos appeared damning to anyone who didn’t know the backstory.

  Motherfucker.

  The rage that exploded out of Texas could have shook the walls.

  It definitely scared the goat who started bleating frantically and butting his leg until Texas crouched down and rode a hand down his back. “Shhh, little buddy. It’s okay. I’m pissed off, it’s okay.”

  That dipshit, even from the grave had orchestrated to fuck Texas up the ass.

  It was probably his insurance policy, by taking covert pictures that day of Texas helping the woman, in order to get him to heel by getting Mal on side.

  Little did Grigori know his death would happen that day.

  He could only surmise that shithead had put it into place while Texas stood around waiting for him.

  Now Poppy probably thought he was running around on her when he wasn’t in the house.

  He paced, swore and he tried to call her. Of fucking course he did, but she rarely had battery, something he’d bitched to her about, so it dumped him to an automated service.

  He paced some more and dragged both of his hands through his hair, while the goat trotted at his heels and the kitten slept away on the couch in her t-shirt fort.

  “This shit is not happening, Poppy.” he muttered.

  He was not losing his good life now.

  No fucking chance.

  He’d carry her back over his shoulder if he had to.

  She was not running back to New York where people treated her like she didn’t matter.

  She mattered so fucking much to him that his heart was about to rip out of his chest but he had things to do and no time to brood.

  With the goat bleating on his lap for attention, he idly stroked Glenn and connected a call. “I know it’s a shit thing to ask, Snake, considering, but whatever, I’m asking. I need you to do me a favor and come and watch my goat and cat while I catch a flight.”