Strip You Bare

by Maisey Yates

  Ajax lunged forward, hitting the old man’s head with the butt of his pistol. Delacroix pitched sharply to the side, then straightened, a gash in his forehead pouring blood down his face.

  “Talk about my old lady again,” Ajax said, “you won’t be getting back up.”

  “All your sons are dead,” Blue said. “Two of them because of you.”

  “Your uncle’s death is all on you,” Delacroix said.

  “I doubt that. You can’t exactly pass the buck for bad shit that goes down during dirty deals. Truth is, he didn’t like us asking for payment. He tried to back out.”

  Micah remembered that evening clearly. More than that, the man they’d been meeting with had threatened them with a loaded gun. An altercation had ensued, and Micah had come out alive. No one had any idea, because it was only one of the many deaths that happened during Katrina, fire and water washing away the evidence, the truth. And in the end, as Sarah had told him, he’d been pronounced the victim of a hurricane.

  But it was a lie.

  “You’re going to kill your own grandfather now?” Delacroix was appealing to Blue now, but he didn’t realize that the one person who could possibly be an ally in this was Micah. Not because of him, but because he didn’t want to hurt Sarah. Not again. Not knowing that he was responsible for the death of her father. He was going to allow her grandfather to be killed too?

  Yes, the old man was a bastard. An evil one. Priest was his son, his own son, and he had him killed to avoid giving him more money, more property. To avoid having his name exposed to any kind of scandal. But to Sarah, he was a person worthy of protecting. Part of the last of her family. He couldn’t overlook that. He had sworn to protect Sarah. He wasn’t certain there was a way to protect her from this.

  “You killed your own son,” Blue said. “So if you think appealing to a blood connection is going to work with me, you clearly haven’t been paying attention to the actions of our family through generations.”

  “I’m done talking.” Ajax took a step forward, pressing the barrel of the gun to Delacroix’s head.

  “Ajax,” Micah said, “don’t. You can’t do this. You can’t execute him in the courtyard of the family mansion. At a party that has half the blue bloods in New Orleans in attendance. You can’t do it.” He kept his hold on Delacroix, unwilling to release him to allow him to do anything stupid or potentially dangerous.

  “Someone has to.” Ajax’s tone was uncompromising. “There will never be justice for Priest. He was an outlaw, a criminal. A bastard son who no one wanted. This fucker,” Ajax said, his tone seething with hatred, “had him killed. Had his own son killed. But he’ll walk because he’s important. And Priest never could be in the same way. The only justice is going to come from me.”

  “And what happens to Sophie? Because you’re right, no one cares about us. No one cared about Priest. Justice won’t happen for him. But you? They’ll convict you, you know that. I believe you wouldn’t have cared a few months ago. You have her now.”

  And women made you crazy. A woman was the reason he was standing here, arguing with his president about blowing away a man who absolutely deserved it. He wasn’t lying, though. If Ajax shot Delacroix in the courtyard of his family mansion, the law would come down on him hard. There was no hurricane to wash this away.

  “She would be okay. She’s strong, stronger than most of the men in her family. Maybe all of them.”

  “She doesn’t want to live without you. Even if she could.”

  Ajax slowly lowered his gun. And Micah knew without a doubt that what his friend had with his old lady was more than possession. It was somewhere far past that. Because Ajax didn’t yield. He didn’t back down. He was ruthless and feared nothing.

  This was all for his woman.

  Even Ajax wasn’t immune to love.

  “Cash,” Ajax said, “I need you to go call the police.”

  Cash was the best person to contact the authorities, seeing as he probably didn’t have any outstanding warrants or a criminal record. The same could not be said for Blue and Ajax. As for Micah? He was still holding on to Delacroix. Still holding a gun on him too. Before the police arrived they were going to have to do some creative rearranging of the entire scenario, or they would all be spending too much time in the presence of officers.

  “If you call the police, there’s a whole lot of things he can tell them about us,” Blue said to Ajax. “Things you probably don’t want them to hear about.”

  “That’s true,” Ajax said, “but I don’t exactly plan on waiting around for them to show up. If they come knocking on my door, then we might have some words. But, as far as I’m concerned, there’s no body, no crime. His son was killed in Katrina, and anything he says about us now . . . well, the Ministry has plenty enough to blame on him without us even bringing up the subject of Priest’s death.”

  Blade nodded. “The payoffs that were coming to my men are easily traced. Their asses will get thrown in jail, but I can’t say I’m too broken up about that. Saves me the trouble of having to execute them out in the middle of the swamp.”

  “And you are willing to speak to the police?” Cash asked.

  Blade shook his head. “No. But I’m more than willing to let you have access to whatever evidence you need. As few of us involved, the better. I have a feeling some of you are more likely to come out smelling like roses than others.”

  Blue chuckled. “No shit.”

  “I’m not going to prison. I’m not allowing you to sully the family name,” Delacroix said, his voice shaking with rage. He was struggling against Micah’s hold, but Micah held him firmly, lowering the gun. It wasn’t necessary now. He was stronger than the old man, there was no contest.

  “You already did,” Blue said. “You’re responsible for generations of corruption. You made my father the man he was, and in so doing, caused me to have to leave home. You ordered your other son to be out there the night he was killed. Anything the city of New Orleans thinks about the Delacroix is a lie. Plain and simple. I’m not dirtying up your name, old man. Just exposing it for what it is.”

  Suddenly, Delacroix pitched forward, throwing himself down, flat on his face. Micah lost hold on him in his shock over the sudden movement. But Delacroix didn’t stay down for long. He rolled to the side, reaching into his jacket pocket, producing a gun. Ajax moved quickly, raising his own weapon at the same time Micah did. But it was too late.

  Delacroix shoved the barrel of the gun into his mouth and, without even a moment of hesitation, pulled the trigger.

  The gunshot echoed in the courtyard, loud enough that he knew everyone inside would have heard it, even over the concert pianist and all the horrible carols.

  No one said anything. All they could do was stand there, looking at the lifeless body in front of them.

  Finally, Micah found his voice. “Get out of here,” he said to the others.

  “Hell no.” Ajax said. “We still have shit—”

  “No. There’s no reason for anyone to ever know you were here. He killed himself. If the police know he killed himself because of a big biker showdown, the investigation is going to get ugly. None of you need to be here.”

  Ajax regarded Micah for a moment, then took a step toward Delacroix’s body. He looked down at the hollowed-out face of the man who had caused so much damage in their lives. The reason they’d all been banished.

  This man had destroyed the only family they’d ever known, along with his own.

  This man had killed their mentor. His own son.

  Ajax spit on the ground beside the corpse.

  “I guess I have to go tell Sophie that her family reunion is going to have a few less attendees now. Also, have to break it to her that she’s related to Blue.”

  “Shit,” Blue said.

  “Thank God you two never fucked,” Ajax said.

  Blue grimaced. “No shit.”

  They stood in silence for a moment before Blue spoke again. “Priest was a Delacroix,” he said
, disbelief coloring his tone. “I like knowing that.”

  “It got him killed,” Cash said, his tone rough.

  “Yeah,” Blue said. “But it’s nice to know there was some good in our blood after all.”

  “Well, right now your blood is all over the ground,” Micah said. “It won’t take long for people to start following the sound of the gunshot. I need to keep Sarah away from here. Ajax, call Sophie and Alice. I’ll go talk to her in a second, then one of you escort her down to the Priory. I need someone to stay with her. Just . . . if the girls could stay with her. And one of us has to deal with the police. It would be best if it was me. I was here as a guest, I am the one in the suit. Everybody else go.”

  “Careful, Prince,” Ajax said. “Someone might start to think you’re acclimating to your old self again. Making orders above your station. Acting like royalty.”

  “Could be, Ajax.” Though, he recognized the truth now. He’d never been anything but his old self. His past was a stain he could never wash out. The blood something that would never come off his hands. And it might not have mattered so much, except he knew it would taint what he had with Sarah.

  He knew this would end it. This, and the secret about her father. But it really was for the best. Whether or not he was responsible for the death of the old man really was irrelevant. He had always been bad for her, this just drove it home. He’d been thinking with his dick, that was the truth. He’d been thinking of nothing more than how much he wanted her, not how bad he was for her.

  The biker and the virgin debutante.

  That didn’t even work in a fucking fairy tale. It certainly wasn’t going to work in real life.

  “I can trust you with this?” Ajax asked, indicating the body.

  “I’ve been here for a month, even though I didn’t want to be. I’ve done everything you asked. But this is more than that. I’m not doing this for you. I have to do this right for Sarah.”

  “That I trust,” Ajax said. “Not that I don’t think you like me, Prince, but I think you’re more likely to do something for the sake of your woman than for me.”

  Micah gave him a measured look. “Something we have in common.”

  Ajax nodded once, then gestured to the other guys.

  The group of them melted away after that, leaving Micah in the courtyard with a dead body. He picked up his phone and dialed 911. And then he went to find Sarah.

  Micah had come back into the party, where everyone had frozen at the sound of a gunshot, his lips pressed into a tight line, his eyes glittering with an emotion she couldn’t name. He said nothing, he only went to her, took her arm, and led her out of the mansion, where Cash was standing, waiting for her. Just as silent and grim as Micah had been. Then, before she knew it, she was being sent to the Priory, where Sophie and Alice were waiting for her.

  “What happened?” she demanded, as soon as she was inside the bar.

  “He didn’t tell you?” Alice asked. Sarah shook her head, and Alice’s scowl deepened. “Fucking bikers.”

  “Tell me what?”

  Sophie, who had been wiping down the bar, paused, mid-action, her fingertips curled around a damp rag. “Your grandfather is dead,” she said, her tone hard, sure. There was no sympathy in her face, at least not the way Sarah would have been taught to recognize sympathy.

  There was nothing syrupy sweet in her voice, nothing large and dewy about her eyes. She was blank. Cold.

  That was why it felt real. Beneath the chill, beneath the control was something else. A matching wound. A kind of resigned understanding. It was not, she realized, about putting on a show to act appropriately sorry. Nothing like what Tansey or the other girls would have done.

  She realized then that she’d spent more time processing the way Sophie delivered the words than the words themselves. They hadn’t hit yet. Hadn’t penetrated through her brain, into her soul. Hadn’t soaked in, their truth still a mile away, out there in the air, not inside her. So she just stood there, unsure of what else to do.

  “He should have told you,” Alice said.

  Sarah shook her head, her brain feeling numb. “I’m not really his.”

  “As if Prince is going to put his patch on a woman,” Sophie said. “He’s not really Prince anymore, if you know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t mean because he didn’t . . . He doesn’t care for me, not really. I was just an assignment.” Silence settled between them.

  It was a dark, wounded silence. Everyone’s pain seeping out of the shadows to join hands in between them. She could hardly breathe. Could hardly think. Except for one suspicion that pushed hard at her brain.

  Until she couldn’t stand it any longer. Until she asked the question that was clawing around in her chest, tearing at her, begging for release. “Did he kill my grandfather? Did Micah kill him?”

  Alice and Sophie exchanged looks.

  “No,” Sophie said finally. “He didn’t kill him. Delacroix killed my father. And I wasn’t always fond of my old man, but I sure as hell didn’t want him killed. I’m sorry for you, but I can’t be sorry that he’s dead.” Sophie’s gaze was defiant, her posture strong. Proud. Sarah envied her for a moment. All that pride and certainty in the face of grief.

  “He killed himself,” Alice said. “I talked to Leon. He said the Deacons were going to call the police and expose the fact that your grandfather has been running illegal businesses behind the curtain of the family fortune and name for years. Delacroix shot himself instead of enduring the shame.”

  That hit home. Hard. Like an arrow finding a bull’s-eye. Sarah laughed, a brittle, strange sound. You weren’t supposed to laugh after your grandfather shot himself. You weren’t supposed to laugh for quite a while after. Certainly not less than an hour after the event, and five minutes after you just found out. But she couldn’t help herself. Not because it was funny, but because it was just so very Delacroix.

  “No wonder they all thought I was such a pussy for canceling my wedding just because my husband-to-be was cheating on me,” she said, unsure of where that voice had come from inside her, or why it was using those words. “My grandfather would rather kill himself than face any kind of shame. Better to live with a lying spouse than upset the apple cart. Better we die than dishonor the legacy of the Delacroix name.”

  “You realize he was the crazy one,” Sophie said. “Not you.”

  Sarah nodded. “I know. It’s just . . . I never thought I would have it confirmed quite so spectacularly. The way they clung to legacy and image was wrong. Insane. And I just . . . I was going to sacrifice the only thing that ever made me happy because of my image.”

  “What was that?” Alice asked.

  “Prince. I had myself convinced that he couldn’t work, because he’s not our kind. Because there’s no place for him in the life that I was raised to value. But I just don’t care about that. Not really. I’m tired of lies. I’m tired of dishonesty. So tired of being told what I should think is important. He’s important. He’s important to me. That’s all that matters. I’m tired of letting a family of psychopaths and liars decide who I should be.” She was breathing hard, her heart pounding heavily. “My mother wasn’t like that, just to be clear. But it does seem like there are rather a lot of psychopaths in my family tree.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” Sophie said. “Turns out I’m part of it too.”

  “What?”

  Sophie looked down. “This may not be the best time to bring it up, but I suck at sensitivity. Priest, my father, was one of your grandfather’s sons. A bastard, obviously. One that he never publicly acknowledged. It’s part of why he had my father killed. That makes us cousins. And Blue too.”

  Sarah laughed again, because, again, she really couldn’t help it. “So it turns out I have more family in this motorcycle club than I have out of it. At least now.”

  Sophie shrugged. “Looks that way.”

  Her grandfather was dead. Her whole family was gone now. And there was . . . nothing. Nothing ro
oting her to her old life. Nothing keeping her in place as Sarah the debutante. Nothing forcing her to stay in a life of pantyhose and pencil skirts.

  She looked around the bar, at the people in it. These people who were . . . her family.

  “Maybe I do belong here.”

  Chapter 14

  It was another three hours before Micah walked through the door of the Priory. He had expected Sarah to leave, in spite of the fact that he had asked Sophie and Alice to keep her there. Because really, no one could force Sarah to do what she didn’t want to do. Not even a couple of tough biker chicks.

  They could use physical force. But he doubted they would.

  Well, Sophie might. Alice wouldn’t.

  Sarah was staring down at the bar top, her fists pressing dents into her face. It was such a childlike pose. Not at all the stiff, poised position he was used to seeing her in. As if she’d been possessed by some Delacroix spirit that had exited the world when her grandfather had given up the ghost.

  “Sarah?” His voice was rough, a stranger’s voice.

  She looked up, dark eyes wide, and a tear tracked silently down her cheek. She didn’t bother to wipe it away.

  He wanted to go to her, but he didn’t feel he had any right. Not now. Not with all the Delacroix blood staining his hands.

  He didn’t deserve to wipe away her tears.

  “I’m glad you didn’t get arrested,” she said, her voice thin.

  “Well, so am I,” he said.

  The police hadn’t had an issue with businessman Micah Carpenter, with a penthouse in San Francisco and a verifiable job. That was why he’d traded in this life. Why he’d left New Orleans behind in the first place.

  At least that’s what he’d always told himself.

  He’d been a helpless boy here. A hostage of circumstances. Born so far outside of society he’d never had a chance at acceptance. He’d tried to do the right thing. Had told someone at school about his mother’s drug use, about the way she’d beaten him.