by Nicole Reed
Shyla didn’t wait for Hold’s reaction. She knew this man was trying to start shit, and drastic times demanded drastic measures. She slipped in front of Hold, her hand guiding his stubbly jaw downward.
“Don’t listen to him,” she begged and pleaded with her words and eyes, but Shyla watched his gaze never leave Sandman’s.
Her arms latched around him, grounding him, and he did the same for her. Even at the press of his gun in her abdomen, she didn’t retreat an inch, having to mentally fight the urge to flee.
“Outside, Sandman!” Sage ordered, grabbing his arm to haul him out the door.
He left with a chuckle and parting glance directed at Mikey. “Looks like your best friend here’s been fuckin’ your girl. Don’t worry though. I’m sure by now you’re used to passed-over pussy.”
The sound of Sage cussing Sandman was lost behind the door she slammed shut. Hold pulled completely away from Shyla, his gaze centering on Mikey.
“Damn, brother, you knew how I felt about her. Why couldn’t either of you ‘ve been fuckin’ honest this morning? Didn’t I at least deserve that?” Mikey asked, staring at Hold. He placed his hands on either side of his waist.
Hold turned his head to see Shyla also looking at him. He desperately and achingly wanted her. She’d felt real in his arms, more so than anything or anyone in the last year. But Mikey had sacrificed a ton of shit for Hold and had clearly called dibs on Shyla. What the fuck was he to do? Hold rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth.
“Mikey, man, I’m sorry. I don’t know what the fuck you want me to say?” Hold asked, cocking his head to stare up at his oldest friend. He wanted to assure Mike that there was nothing between him and Shyla before now, but that wasn’t the case. Hold didn’t understand the overwhelming need inside of him to reach out and make some type of contact with her—he had to touch her, almost as much as he needed his next breath.
“Whatever, man. You and I both know club shit is ‘bout to get real.” Mikey started to walk away, but turned when his hand grabbed the door handle. “You got more personal shit blowin’ your way, Hold.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Mike?” Hold asked, taking two steps to come face to face with him.
“You’d know if I could have found your ass this mornin’. But I guess you were too chicken shit to face me,” Mikey said through his gritted teeth.
Mike was right. Hold couldn’t face him this morning, and he sure as shit did what he had to do to evade his big ass. But he didn’t want to hurt him. Watching him leave with Shyla from his house had been the worse fucking torture ever. It took him hours of hard riding to partially clear his mind, but Shyla never left it, and the guilt for fucking Mikey over never receded.
When he’d received the call from Badger about Carrie and Shyla fighting at the clubhouse, he went berserk. He rode like a demon to get here, only one thought driving him, only one person centering his world. Shyla.
Hold cocked his head then nodded.
“But I don’t owe you any anything, brother,” Mikey said, turning to walk out.
“Mikey!” Hold yelled, as he watched him leave Sage’s office. He didn’t go after him. What could he say that wouldn’t make things worse? All the bullshit made his head ache directly between his eyes. He gripped the bridge of his nose between his thumb and middle finger to try and massage the tension away.
“I’m sorry,” Shyla whispered, standing behind him. “I didn’t want to come between you guys.”
“I know,” Hold sadly answered. “Mike and I already had a pile of shit to deal with. Nothin’ seems to squash the beef that’s ongoin’. You just happened to find yourself in the middle of it.”
He didn’t like the discomfort in his chest at hurting Mikey, the grief at knowing he’d been the one to cause more strife in Mike’s life for stupid shit was too intense. He was tired from every damn day being a motherfucking fight. From having his own family turn against him and not knowing if he could trust his own father—it was all beating him down. Yeah, he’d fucked up.
“Hold?” she asked quietly, her hand reaching out to touch his arm.
Hold hung his head. Her touch soothed him. It calmed the darkness that begged him to annihilate everything around him. The press of her fingers against his skin didn’t make everything better, but it quieted the rage that beat like an incessant drum inside his head. She was someone who cared enough to understand what he wanted. And he needed that with a bone-deep hunger that scared him beyond reason. He’d mentally and physically run this morning to escape the truth about her, about them. But now they were alone. And she was still here.
He quickly turned on her. Hold heard the gasp of surprise when he firmly took control of her body. His head leaned down to place his lips against the soft feel of hers. Something inside of him said to go easy. Be gentle. Shyla tasted so damn sweet. Their mouths opened and closed against each other’s. Small kisses that drove him fucking insane. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, sliding wetly through. The tiny moan she didn’t contain only spurred him further.
The heat between them spiraled out of control. He knew that if he let himself, he could become entirely mindless, letting his emotions guide his way, which would lead to fucking her on the floor of Sage’s office. But something he’d thought about earlier kept a tiny piece of his brain endlessly thinking. This life wasn’t for her, not how it was run now. He pulled back only enough to separate their mouths.
This town was poison with Ward in charge. The club was a dead-end life for someone who didn’t belong. If he really cared about her, he needed to force her to go. Her family would agree.
“What is it?” Shyla asked, her lips only inches from his.
Hold could think of a thousand reasons why he should let her go. War was coming and anyone close to him was in danger. He wanted to tell her. The truth was he should walk away and make her leave Harmony. But he knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. He couldn’t stay away from her. He’d let Hels leave and look how it fucked up his life.
She felt so good nestled against his chest. It seemed right to have her there, not forced like it had with Carrie. It didn’t even hurt like it had with Hels. Shyla fought to be here. As much as he wanted to do the right thing and let her go, he still was a selfish son of a bitch. This time he wasn’t freeing his future. He squeezed her tighter against him.
“What changed since this morning? You ordered me to go with Mikey,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.
“If I was truly a good guy, Shyla, I would let you go. I wouldn’t bring you into this shitty life that I can’t escape. You’ve seen firsthand for yourself what waits for you with someone like me. If for one second I have to harm you to keep you safe, I will. I’ve done it. This life makes you a liar, a thief, the villain—I can’t escape who I am,” Hold said, staring into her eyes. Every few seconds his gaze slipped hungrily to her lips.
“What are you saying?” she asked, tenderly blinking up at him.
“That if I was a good man I would let you go. But I’m not. And I want you too fuckin’ bad to let you walk away,” Hold said, standing broken before her. He opened himself up, not knowing how to shut it down in her presence.
“I don’t want to walk away. I’m not her. I choose to stay,” Shyla said, lifting up on her toes, letting her lips meet his. “I choose you.”
Her mouth barely brushed his—he held back, trying to let his racing heart slow down. Her admission, those few words she spoke, rocked his world more than she’d ever know. The small office surrounding them suddenly didn’t matter. Their hands found one another, hers pushing back his cut and his ripping the rest of her shirt away. He saw the torn flesh that Carrie had caused and the bruising that was just beginning to show. He really would kill the bitch for marring her perfect skin—skin the sun had kissed with a slight tan, highlighting her beautiful body.
Shyla’s hands slid underneath his t-shirt. The tips of her fingers feathered his nonexistent love handles, sending happy t
remors straight to his dick. She stretched her face upward to meet his kisses. The palms of her hands traveled up his back, gripping the tops of his shoulders on either side, her nails marking him. His mouth broke apart from hers so that he could taste the corner of her lips and trace kisses down her chin.
Hold’s mouth continued in a downward pattern. Her hiss of pain reminded him about the scratches on her neck and woke him from this sensual fog. He lifted his head to stare down at Shyla. The sheen of arousal transformed her face. She looked so goddamn sexy. Her eyes burned a pale liquid blue, and her lips, swollen from his kisses, only made him crazed to get her quickly in his bed. He removed his shirt, placing it on her to cover her up.
“C’mon,” he said, breaking them apart, but not letting her hand escape his. Hold pulled her toward the door wanting to get her injuries taken care of so that he could bury himself deeply in her body. There was an actual ache in his cock just thinking about being with Shyla.
The bright sun illuminated everything around them. He raised his hand to shade his eyes. Hold paused to see Sage standing, having a smoke with Badger. Several other guys including Shady seemed to be standing guard, waiting for something. Sage glanced up, putting her cigarette out when she noticed them.
“Let me grab the first-aid kit,” Sage said, marching into her office.
“You okay?” Badger asked, walking to stand before them. His own face had a cut above his right eye. It appeared to have been recently blackened.
“My God! What happened to you?” Shyla asked Badger, letting go of Hold’s hand to reach for her uncle.
“Let’s just say that somebody didn’t want you to have any help with Carrie,” Badger replied, wrapping one arm around Shyla’s shoulder. “You were set up, girl. And I’m sorry. I was worried about stupid shit instead of lookin’ at the big picture.”
“No. I know you were only trying to look out for me, and your brothers. Why would they do this?” she asked, glancing up to question Hold.
“Me,” Hold said without pause. “To fuck with me.”
“But we weren’t together. I don’t understand,” Shyla said, breaking free from Badger to return to Hold’s side.
He slipped his arm around her waist. A stupid-ass grin started to cover his face that she’d come to him. He glanced down to hide it. Hold started to answer, but Badger beat him to it.
“Remember what I said, Shy. Everyone saw the writing on the wall last night but you and Mr. Obvious here,” Badger said, his eyes narrowing onto Hold. “It’s time to rip this shit apart. I’m not followin’ that asshole anymore. We meet tonight to figure out who’s with us. I’ll call it out to the boys.”
Hold nodded and went in for a brotherly handshake. Their hands clasping together with each of their forearms bent at the elbow next to the other. “I’m fuckin’ ready. Hell rides with us tonight.” This shit with Ward had gone too far, for too long.
“Hell rides with us,” Badger repeated, grasping Hold’s hand tightly then let it go. “Shyla, you need to come to the house with Diamond. It’s safer there. Follow me in your car.”
“I’ll make sure she gets there,” Hold said, knowing he needed at least an hour alone with her.
Who knew what shit would go down tonight? It could even be his last. He’d too many regrets to add one more. Hold knew he’d said the right thing when a smile tilted the corners of her mouth up. God, she was so damn beautiful.
“You need to find Mikey before tonight, Hold. You have to mend your shit before this goes live. We need ‘em.”
Hold knew Badger was right. However, shit was already fucked between him and Mikey. How did he fix it when it might cost him something he wasn’t ready to lose?
“What are you two talkin’ about?” Sage asked, coming to stand between them. She held tightly to a white tube in her hand, her glare questioning Hold.
“Club business,” Hold answered, not knowing where Sage stood in the goddamn mess.
How would being irreparably torn between husband and son affect her? Hold loved his mother, but could he trust her? She’d always been too loyal to Ward.
“Well, then it’s my business. What the hell is goin’ on, Holden?” she asked, leaning over to doctor Shyla’s wounds.
“We’ll talk later,” Hold said, moving back so she could reach all of Shyla’s injuries.
“We will talk now.” Sage finished applying the antiseptic ointment.
“I said later, Ma.” Hold leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Don’t say nothin’ to Ward. Let’s go,” he said, pulling Shyla toward her car. They walked several steps when he realized Carrie’s car was gone. Thank fuck sake.
“My car keys are in my purse and God knows where it is,” she said, looking on the ground for it, but not before he heard the tremor in her voice.
Hold knew she needed to be comforted, but he was two seconds from losing his shit. If he held her in his arms it would all be over. He’d throw her over his shoulder and march his ass straight into the fire of his enemies, the clubhouse, and straight up to his room. The thought of burying himself so deep inside, to the point where he could forget the goddamn world, sounded like a better idea than finding Mikey. Too many times it’s what he did with Carrie and every other faceless sheep over the years. Not this time. Not today and not with her.
The red handbag happened to be sitting on her front seat. He noticed it at the same time she did. Someone must have put it there after the fight. Hold opened the car door and she started to get in, but then turned to face him. Nothing surprised him more than to see that she composed herself, locking away whatever she was feeling at the moment. For him?
“Stay away from Carrie,” he told her. “I’ll handle her shit, but until I do, if you see her, go the other way.”
Shyla nodded slowly. “I’m not afraid of that hooker, but fighting isn’t for me. Nor do I want it to be.”
“Good to hear it. Listen, I’ve got to go find Mikey. There is some hardcore shit we have to settle. I need to smooth things over with him,” Hold said, folding his arms against his chest. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to…”
“It’s okay. I understand,” she said, rising up on tiptoe to brush his mouth with hers. “I’ll be waiting.”
Shyla didn’t wait for an answer. Her tiny figure slid into the car and without a backward glance, drove away from him. Hold wished he was sitting next to her so when they came to the city limits of Harmony, they’d keep on driving. But he didn’t come this far to give up. No, he’d fight for the only life he’d ever known and God help any man who stood in his way.
Hold watched Shyla’s car until it became a tiny speck in the distance, the day’s events still not real in his mind. He turned to stare at the clubhouse, several members gathered around the entrance. He knew some watched in fascination while others were spies for Ward. Part of Hold wanted to speak to his old man, but he wasn’t sure he could without planting his fist in Ward’s face. How could things ever be fixed after last night?
Ward was lost in the shit he created. Hold knew he could let Ward have his way and stay in the background, be his puppet, keep his mouth shut. The easy way would be to work in the garage, run the guns, do whatever shit made the old man happy. It would be so much easier. Worst-case scenario, he’d end back up in prison.
Fuck that!
The very thought of someone having complete control of his life again made Hold’s stomach flip. Nausea rode high in his throat at the possibility of any more jail time in his future. He couldn’t survive it, not again. He barely covered his ass the last time. Ward had pissed off too many people and if they couldn’t have him, his son would be a good replacement. He’d taken too many beatings because of Ward. Hold had to admit the old man eventually came through with some allies who had his back, but it still left a bad taste in Hold’s mouth.
With one foot forced in front of the other, he made himself go look for Mike. His motorcycle sat in front of the clubhouse so Hold knew he’d probably be somewhere inside or over at the garag
e.
“Y’all seen Mike?” he asked, nodding to Robsen, one of his father’s closest allies.
“He’s havin’ a drink with Ward,” Robsen answered, smirking at Hold with a big wad of chewing tobacco in his jaw. “Boy, you’re dumber than shit.”
Hold darkly chortled at the man standing before him. “Keep thinking that,” he said, passing by the old fucker to enter the clubhouse.
A hush fell over the small group of men sitting around the bar. In the center sat Mikey, next to Ward. His father had his hand resting on Mike’s shoulder. Ward tilted his head to acknowledge Hold. His face held the bruising proof of Hold’s rage but his eyes held nothin’ for Hold—no connection, nor any compassion. Not that they ever had.
“You got somethin’ to say?” Ward asked, turning on the bar stool to face Hold, his elbows resting on the bar behind him.
“Mike, I need to talk you, man,” Hold said, ignoring Ward. He watched Mikey turn his head back to look at him then snickered before turning back to the bar to kill his drink.
“I ain’t got nothin’ for ya, Hold. Not anymore,” Mikey said, never glancing at Hold.
“Mike, we need to clear this bullshit,” Hold said, walking over to his friend.
It took less than a second for Mike to rise from where he was sitting to stand before Hold.
“What bullshit would that be, Hold? The one where you took my girl?” he asked, lowering his voice. “Or the one where your daddy here wants to put us six feet under because of your bullshit? What about the bullshit you don’t even have a clue is comin’ down? Which one is it, brother?”
“Enlighten me then,” Hold said, staring directly into Mikey’s face. His friend may have stood several inches taller than him, but it had never intimidated Hold.
“You boys gonna fight or what?” Ward asked from behind them. “I ain’t got all day.”
“You wanna see a fight, old man, why don’t you step up to the plate? I’ll finish what I started last night,” Hold said, shifting his angry glare from Mike to Ward.