Tray (A Hell's Harlem Novel Book 2)

by J. M. Walker

  “Yes,” I finally said.

  Catch flinched like I had slapped him myself.

  That look. That moment of pain that flashed behind his eyes. It proved to me that we were done, and I just broke my best friend’s fucking heart.

  (Zillah)

  When the last customer left, I went to change into my workout clothes to hit the gym, but my thoughts kept going back to Tray. Once he left the shop, I wasn’t sure what exactly had happened but I wasn’t stupid. Something switched between us. It was fast and hard, much like the two previous times he was inside me. I often wondered what he would be like slow and sweet. Or if that was even possible when it came to him.

  I leaned against the old beater I was working on and second-guessed whether I should text Tray or not. He was probably busy.

  Me: You good?

  My thumb hovered over the send button. Did that sound desperate or would he think I was being nice by checking in? I didn’t want to be labeled as a nag, but I also didn’t want him to think that I didn’t care.

  I inhaled. Pressed send. Exhaled.

  Whatever. If he thought I was needy, he didn’t know me at all.

  My phone dinged seconds later.

  Tray: Got shit to do here. We still on for later?

  He didn’t answer my question. I frowned.

  Me: That’s up to you.

  My phone rang, startling me. “What?”

  “Is that anyway to greet the man you’re fucking?”

  His deep voice slid over me. Even though he left the shop a few hours ago, my body still reacted to him. But it didn’t mean I was going to let him treat me any less than I deserved. “Listen, if this shit is too much for you and you have better things to do, then let me know and don’t treat me like … like ...”

  “Like what, Zillah? If I didn’t want more, I would have fucked and kicked you out of my bed the first time. But I didn’t. I slept beside you. Holding you. Keeping you safe. I made you fucking coffee in the morning when I don’t even drink it myself. I’m losing my fucking mind over not seeing you every damn second of every damn day. Does that answer your fucking question?”

  My mouth opened and closed.

  “Zillah?”

  “I don’t think you’ve ever said that much to me before.”

  “Woman, you drive me crazy but don’t you dare ever stop. You hear me?”

  My heart raced. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It means that no matter what, I don’t want you to fucking change. You be you. And don’t change that shit for me or for anyone.”

  “I think I like you, old man.”

  “Yeah.” He sighed. “I think I like you too, little girl.”

  My heart beat hard for the man on the other end of the phone.

  “What are you doing?” Tray asked me.

  “I’m playing with my new friend. He’s old. Rusty.” I walked along the old Chevy. “He’s forty-eight. Ten years older than you, Tray.”

  “Zillah,” he said, his voice filled with warning.

  “He’s a little rough around the edges but after some gentle touches, he purrs like a kitten.” When this car came in a few months ago, I almost passed out from the sheer beauty of it. Although it needed a paint job, new engine, and new leather interior, I begged my father to let me buy it. He complied instantly because then it would keep me off a ‘damn bike’.”

  “What’s his name?” Tray asked, his voice lowering.

  I grinned. “We haven’t made it to that point yet. He just stares at me and tells me to do whatever I want without talking.” But he would talk to me. As soon as I got the car fixed up, I would take him for a ride and I couldn’t wait.

  “Zillah, you better be talking about a damn car.”

  I giggled. “A 1970 Chevelle. By the time I’m done fixing it up, it’s going to come with a fuel-injected 496ci big block hooked to a T56 6-speed manual.” I sighed. “God, this car turns me on.”

  “Fuck me,” Tray growled. “I don’t think I’ve ever been turned on by anything having to do with a car or bike or any of that shit but hearing you talk like that? Zillah, you are something else.”

  I grinned. “My daddy taught me everything I know. He’s the best.”

  “He did well. I don’t know a lot about cars but give me a motorcycle and I can take it apart and put it back together better than it was before.”

  “I was taught about them too but this car is my favorite. I’ve always been a fan of the deep rumble when the engine is on. It’s like it brings the car to life. I can feel it vibrate through me.” I patted the hood. “But right now, he looks rough. Almost like the man I’m sleeping with.”

  “So, are you saying that once you’re done with me, I’ll be pretty too?”

  “No, old man.” I paused. “You’ll be even hotter.”

  “Zillah, Zillah.” He tsked. “You shouldn’t tease an old man like that. It’s not nice.”

  “What are you going to do about it, Tray?” I licked my lips. “Punish me?”

  “Fuck,” he breathed. “I’ll just have to let you feel the rumble of my bike between your legs.”

  My skin came alive at that thought. “You ride?”

  “I just told you I know my way around a bike.”

  “Right. I just thought …” I shook my head. “I don’t know what I thought.”

  Tray chuckled. “Yes, I ride. I ride hard and dirty, but you already know that, don’t you?”

  I laughed. “Well I—” An incoming call interrupted me. “Hold on.” I switched lines. “Hello?”

  “Meet me at the clubhouse,” my father demanded. “Now.” He hung up, the click sounding loud in my ear.

  I switched the line back to Tray. “I have to go.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “I—I’m not sure.” I ended the call, grabbed my bag off the table and left the shop. Making sure to lock up, I nodded to two of my dad’s crew members who sat on their bikes by the far fence. Even though he gave me free reign of the shop after hours and let me close up, I was never actually alone.

  “Drive safe, Zillah,” one of them called out.

  I waved, jogging to my blood-red Mini Cooper. Every time I sat in this car, I still couldn’t believe that it was mine. Although the Chevy was my dream car, this little thing was good for me while I wasn’t driving the big beast. And I had saved for them both all on my own.

  Tearing out of the parking lot, I drove the ten minutes across town to the old strip club that my dad turned into the clubhouse for Mayhem’s Revenge.

  Shadow’s had been part of my dad’s life for years. Although he had the nickname Shadow, he named the strip club after himself so people would know about him even after he was gone.

  The tone in his voice had proved something was wrong. Something was very wrong. I suddenly felt like a little girl about to be scolded by her father for getting caught having a cookie before supper. But this was worse. So much worse. He knew about Tray. I wasn’t sure how, but I had a feeling that he had known all along.

  When I pulled into the parking lot of the club, I cut the engine, took a deep breath, and left the vehicle. Locking it up, I kept my keys in my hand, knowing I would probably end up leaving abruptly and need to get out of there rather quickly.

  A small crowd was gathered to the left of the old building, smoke billowing out into the air every now and again. The sweet scent of weed wafted into my nose. I sighed, wishing I could have a puff or two to calm my nerves.

  Ignoring the lingering stares of the customers and people who worked there, I slipped around to the side of the club and made my way to the entrance for employees only.

  Before I could even knock, it opened.

  “Zillah.” One of the club’s security, nodded once. “Your dad’s waiting for you in his office.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured, heading inside and making my way down the long hallway lined with black and white photos of the women who had worked at the club over the years. This place was known for its d
ancers and even more so for its class. Although it was owned by a biker club, celebrities and politicians alike came and went from this place. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, of course.

  “Hey, Z.”

  I waved at the use of my nickname. I didn’t make an appearance here often. My daddy tried to keep me from the biker life. He was afraid that it would taint me. But when it came to my brother, he welcomed him into the world with open arms. Double standards and shit.

  Once I left the long hallway, I walked out into the open area that included three large stages, two bars, and over twenty-five tables. Five private booths sat at the far side of the club. You had to pay to sit in them and once you sat, you were never alone.

  When I reached the back of the club, I entered another hallway and finally stood in front of my dad’s office. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself for the onslaught of his wrath.

  Giving the door a light knock, I waited.

  “Come in,” he barked, his deep voice laced with an annoyance I had never heard directed at me before. Maybe he thought I was someone else.

  I swallowed hard and pushed open the door. “Hey, Daddy. You wanted to see me?”

  My dad stopped what he was doing at his computer and sat back. “Sit.” He pointed to the chair across from his big oak desk.

  I closed the door behind me and did as he said. Sitting in the chair, I rubbed my sweaty palms up and down my thighs. “What’s wrong?” I asked, noting the deep frown set between his dark eyebrows.

  “Something’s been brought to my attention.” My dad tented his fingers beneath his chin, his black eyes meeting mine. “Are you sleeping with Tray?”

  My heart jumped to my throat. Holy hell, he just went right there, didn’t he? “No disrespect, Daddy, but I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  “It is my damn business when he’s fourteen years older than you. You also have no idea who the fuck he is, do you?”

  “I … I don’t know what you mean.” I tried to be strong, to not back down, and actually stand up to my father for once, but the judgment in his eyes and the tone in his voice left me feeling like a little girl. He could yell and scream at me and I would get over it but hearing how disappointed he was hurt even more.

  My dad sat back, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “Tray Lister is a biker. He’s not with any club. He’s a damn nomad. Been a loner for most of his life. But he’s stuck by Hell’s Harlem’s side. Even though he’s not an actual member of that club, they treat him like he is anyway.” Dad placed a photo on the desk, pushing it toward me. “This is who you’re sleeping with.”

  I swallowed hard. Tray was a biker. Not that I was overly surprised. I just didn’t know why he never told me. Was he ashamed of that part of himself?

  Sitting forward, my eyes widened when they landed on the picture in front of me. Tray was locked in an embrace with another man. I wasn’t sure what that meant. Had he been gay until he met me? Was he bi-sexual? Did I scratch the itch he had? All of these thoughts raced through my head. No, I couldn’t judge. I needed to talk to him first before I made assumptions.

  I grabbed the photo and folded it up before placing it in my bag. “Are there others?”

  My dad’s lips twitched. “That depends.”

  “Wow.” I laughed. “I’ve been told that you could be an asshole, but I always defended you.”

  “Careful, Zillah,” he warned. “I’m still your father.”

  “No. Right now you sound like the president of a biker club. Are you embarrassed that I’m fucking a man who clearly likes men too? Is that not good for your reputation? Which is funny because I’ve seen some of the women you’ve been with. Clearly—”

  “Watch your fucking tone with me, Zillah,” my dad bellowed, slamming his fist on the desk in front of him.

  I jumped but I refused to back down. “I don’t know what you’re wanting or what you’re even implying. I like Tray. I’m sorry I never told you, but would you have approved of us in the first place? No. He took me on a date. He’s sweet and caring and doesn’t treat me like a little girl.”

  “You are my little girl,” my dad yelled, shoving to his feet. “I don’t want you seeing him.”

  I glared at him. “You can’t stop me.”

  “Watch me.”

  “What are you going to do? Lock me away? Daddy, I love you, but you’re being a jerk right now.” I turned to leave his office when his next words stopped me.

  “Do you think he’s with you because he likes you? Or because he’s trying to get an in with my club. Tray’s been a loner his whole life, Zillah. Think about it.”

  I inhaled a sharp breath and left the office. I didn’t give a shit what my father said. Tray was with me for me. I knew it. Even though I felt that way and had never doubted his reason for being with me, why all of a sudden was I?

  (Tray)

  “I miss her.”

  I glanced up as Chase King sat across from me in the booth. “Yeah.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Me too.”

  “It’s weird here without Butcher too,” he said, pulling back a swig of beer. “But it’s even weirder without Trixie.” He wiped his mouth and let out a heavy sigh. “She was the one who kept us all in line.”

  “We have Eve now.” I took a swig of my own beer that I had been nursing for the last half hour. I grimaced when I swallowed the piss-warm liquid.

  “I like her. She’s good for Greyson. He’s not so moody now.”

  I chuckled. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

  Chase grunted, his light-blue eyes flashing with amusement. He only winked.

  He was a good kid. Young enough that he hadn’t been tainted by the previous club he had been in but still impressionable that we could teach him right.

  I glanced out at the vast space around us. Club members came and went as they pleased. Their women doing the same.

  Greyson and Eve played a round of pool while Catch bounced their son on his knee. Psycho stood off to the side, talking to a woman who would laugh every so often at what he said. Other members talked, drank, and did their own thing. But what we all had in common tonight was that we were relaxed. It was odd in a way. So much death had come and gone through this place. Hitting our lives at different times but Trixie Butcher affected us the most. Being married to a club member granted her immunity. She went untouched by any other member and became family automatically. And when they had their twins? She was even more protected. But she was gone. And it hurt like a bitch.

  “Have you talked to Butcher?” Chase asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “No.” It had been the same question that I was repeatedly asked over the past few months. When Butcher wanted to speak to us, he would, but until then, all we could do was wait. “He’ll come around. Eventually.” But I missed him. It wasn’t the same without the big fucker here.

  “I don’t like this.” Chase frowned. “I don’t like this one bit.”

  I looked at him then. He was only twenty-three. A year younger than Zillah. He had so much to live for but Greyson felt the need to protect him after finding him getting jumped by four guys who were out for blood when his own club had thrown him into the lion’s den.

  “I don’t like it either,” I told Chase. I was bored, and when I was bored, it didn’t go over well for others. I should call Zillah and check in with her. My dick stirred, pushing against the fly of my pants.

  “I’m bored,” Chase added, taking the thought right out of my head.

  “We got this, King,” I told him.

  “Maybe.” He sighed, running a hand through his shaggy black hair, his robin’s-egg-blue eyes scanning his surroundings. He may have been young but he was a keen bastard. He was always watching. Waiting. I didn’t know his whole story besides Greyson saving him from getting his ass kicked, but something told me that there was more to him than he let on.

  Grey stood over the pool table, laughing at something Eve had said. His gaze met mine, his smile instantly falling
from his face. We hadn’t talked since I found out I was being watched. That fact alone didn’t sit well with me. I was a loner. I got that. But I didn’t appreciate people sticking their noses into my business.

  Grey raised an eyebrow, challenging me.

  I crossed my arms under my chest, jutting my chin. Come at me, fucker. You’re not my president. Yet.

  Fuck.

  ONCE I LEFT the strip club, I wasn’t sure where to go. It was too early to go to Tray’s, and I didn’t want to go home for fear that I would run into my dad. I loved him. I did. But I didn’t want to see him at the moment. I had heard for most of my life how much of a hard-ass he was or how much of an asshole he could be, but it was never directed at me. Not until now. Kian had always been the one to get in trouble. Not me. I was a good girl. But now, I felt like the worst child ever.

  God, I was twenty-four and felt like I was ten.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I was driving out of town. Where was I headed? I passed a road sign and my heart skipped a beat. I was heading to Tray’s house. Although I needed some questions answered, I needed him even more. I needed him to hold me, to tell me that everything would be okay. That he wasn’t only with me to get to my father.

  Once I arrived at Tray’s home, I turned onto the gravel driveway and parked in front of his house. Leaving the car, I pulled my phone from my handbag and took a deep breath before dialing his number.

  “Yeah.”

  I frowned when the unfamiliar voice sounded on the other end of the phone. “Uh, Tray?”

  “No. Who’s this?”

  “Who’s this?” I repeated instead, not sure why someone else would be answering Tray’s phone instead of him.

  “I asked you first. How the hell did you get this number?”

  “He gave it to me, obviously.” I rolled my eyes, not in the mood for this shit. “Where’s Tray?”

  “He’s around. Why are you calling?”

  “To ask how the weather is there.” I huffed. “Clearly I am calling to talk to him.” Who the hell was this guy?