by Lana Grayson
“I’ll buy you a slice of pie?” I kept my eyes cast down. His fists clenched.
He liked my submission.
Goddamn it. So did I.
“Fine.” He rubbed his face. “Let’s...get you something to eat.”
The practiced flirt blended a schoolgirl charm and a vixen’s desire. I led him to the diner and tucked us into a booth far from the yellowed counter and old truckers leaning over their coffees. Noir followed. Slow. Eying the regulars—the ones who glanced up, saw the leather, and returned to their dinners with shallow profanities. A waitress snapped her gum and handed us faded menus. I pointed to the smeared picture of a chocolate milkshake.
“And a burger. Medium. With fries.” I handed her the menu but my rumbling stomach pestered me. “And an order of mozzarella sticks.”
Noir clenched his jaw as the waitressed poised a pen over the pad and awaited his words. His voice stayed low.
“Just a soda.”
The waitress rolled her eyes as she returned to the counter. “I’ll get you a pop.”
I snickered. “Giving yourself away. You aren’t from around here, stranger.”
He nodded. The hard line of his jaw tightened, rough with the shade of scruff. A thin scar etched into his black eyebrow, fading to white, just like the dust of grey at his temples. Not enough to age him, but enough to make me rethink my game plan. He wasn’t a young kid desperate to get lucky. He was wiser than that.
Sadder than that.
I doubted he was homesick, but he sure as hell wasn’t used to being anyone’s stranger. The waitress set my milkshake before me, and I tucked away another fragment of Noir’s mystery.
“Christ, when was the last time you ate?”
I sucked a good quarter of the shake down. It tasted more cold than sweet. That was fine. I needed the chill in my voice.
“Can’t say I’ve had much of an appetite since being traded like car keys to a loan shark.”
“Right.”
I spun the straw through the ice cream. The silence nearly refroze the drink, but two years of bartending taught me never to let a conversation fall on the rocks. I licked a bit of whipped cream off my lip. Seducing him was too much. I just needed a sign. A crack. Somewhere I could wiggle in.
Noir frowned and pulled a tracphone from his pocket. His hand didn’t hide the name glowing on the screen.
Rose.
He dismissed the call with a frown.
Interesting. If I was behind my bar, I might have tossed a towel over my shoulder, offered him a light to a cigarette, and given him my full attention for that story. Old lover? Waiting whore? Family?
Unfortunately, he wasn’t inclined to share. I bit the straw. His eyes lingered on my lips.
Bingo.
“Someone always calls when you sit down to eat.” I took a leisurely sip. “You can take it if you want. I won’t be offended.”
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t look fine.”
He snorted. I offered him a sip of the shake. He refused that too.
“Hey. We have another hundred miles together,” I said. “Might as well enjoy them, right?”
He didn’t answer. Neither of us were going to enjoy the ride or what happened once we reached our destination. The food arrived. I passed the basket of fries toward him.
“No, thanks.” He adjusted his phone in his pocket and tapped the rim of his drink. “Something tells me this ain’t strong enough.”
“Not a problem.” I searched through my jacket pockets, my fingers brushing over two flasks. I pulled both out. “Rum or whiskey?”
Finally, the tease of a smile nudged his lips. Not enough to crack the hardness, but the promise existed. I jiggled both flasks.
“You came prepared,” he said.
“Never leave the bar without it.”
He nodded toward the glass. “Rum.”
“A fine choice, sir.” I let the sir linger as I poured. If he reacted, he hid it well. I imagined it wasn’t the first time a man like him heard it, just as it wasn’t my first time saying it. Difference was, this man deserved the respect. “This might make the run a little easier.”
“You’d think.”
I pushed my burger aside and seized a breath. Flirting was getting us nowhere, and I was down to the bottom of my milkshake and last mozzarella stick. Within a few hours we’d hit our destination, right after the sun set and the shadows would hide everyone’s secrets. Enough was enough. I refused to be collateral, and I had played Sacrilege’s martyr for too long.
It was time to leave. And my ride sat before me.
“You aren’t taking me to the drop-off,” I said.
He expected my defiance. He leaned against the booth, stretching his arms over the back. The sleeve of his jacket tugged up over his wrist. Thick tattoos banded his flesh. Not surprising given his occupation and devotion to his bike, but he hadn’t removed the jacket, only unzipped it.
He hid the ink. That should have been my first warning.
“I’m not?” He said.
“I’m not fooling you, you’re not fooling me. Neither of us wants to do this gig.”
“Doesn’t matter what you want.”
“Funny how that works out.”
“You’re going.”
I leaned closer. “What if you were supposed to do something…something you knew was a bad idea, but you couldn’t refuse? And the longer you stayed in that mess, the more your life slips out of control?”
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
Noir’s expression hardened. “Life is a series of fucked up secrets and lies that doesn’t end until you’re staring down the barrel of the gun. Everything is out of control, and the only thing we can hope for is a death quicker than any of the bastards we take down with us.”
“Jesus.”
“I got a couple years on you, Darling. Gives me a unique perspective.”
Unique perspective? I exchanged one psychopath for another, and all I had to show for it was my behind parked between two clubs.
I had two options. Surrender and go willingly to the Kingdom MC as a favor to my club, or leave Goliath and hope he’d never find me in the bloody rampage that followed.
“Okay,” I said. “I have a unique perspective too. I earned it groping through the world with two black eyes, swollen shut. You can’t see much, but what you can is crystal clear. You get me?”
Noir shifted. “You in trouble?”
“Always.” I took a chance. “What about you?”
“Name of the game.”
“Then what do we do about it?”
“Why do I think you’ve already figured it out?”
I grinned. “My cousin Red rode off in a hurry. He said he was getting money. I won’t ask where or how he’s getting it, but we just need a little time.”
“Time for what?”
“For him to deliver the cash to Kingdom. He’s gonna buy out whatever they’ve invested into Sacrilege. They won’t use me as collateral, and you won’t have to act as intermediary.”
“And then what?”
I shrugged. “Then we get the hell out of here.”
“We?”
“It’s my moment,” I said. “Until now, I’ve never had the guts to start new. Too many other people I always had to worry about.”
“That’s life.”
“Yeah, but you know what worrying about other people gets you?”
He waited.
“Black eyes. Broken ribs. A life where you count the shot glasses until it’s safe to make noise around the house.” I sighed. “But I worry about Red. He gets a little hot-headed. He’s my cousin, but he’s like a brother. Always getting into trouble and making life messy. Any idea what that’s like?”
I got a genuine nod out of Noir. He took a swig of his drink, but I doubted there was enough rum in it to temper his honesty.
“Yeah. I got one of those brothers.”
“Well, sometimes they’ve gotta sink or sw
im on their own, am I right?”
“Not sure.”
“You haven’t given him the push off that diving board yet?”
Noir stiffened. “No. I’m the one holding him under.”
The ache in his voice wasn’t masked. My pulse fluttered as an opportunity presented itself. I had Noir where I needed him, exposing just enough of his thoughts to capture him.
I met his gaze.
“It’s time I take care of myself,” I said. “Let’s forget this deal. I’ll go free, and you can get back on the road. We’ll act like this never happened.”
He rubbed his face. “Not that easy, Darling.”
“It can be.”
“There’s a lot of money riding on this.”
I ground my jaw. “I have money. Not much, but I can earn. I’m a good bartender. I’ll get every penny to you, with interest.”
“I didn’t mean my money.” His laugh cut deep. “And I don’t want yours.”
Christ. I was an idiot. My stomach regretted the shake. Noir hated the thought of the drop as much as I did, but he was reluctant to abandon the deal. Only one reason why.
“Sacrilege threatened you,” I said.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
It didn’t make sense. None of it. Not how Kingdom found our little MC. Not the good luck on the runs and the lopsided deals. We tangled with one of the most powerful drug-running clubs east of the Mississippi, and not even Red knew what the end game was.
“What the hell was on that laptop?” I whispered.
“That’s not my business.”
“Really?” I gestured around. “Sure looks like you’re doing a lot of dirty work without knowing what or why. You always work like that?”
His brow threaded. “Careful.”
“Have you ever trafficked a woman before?”
“This conversation’s over.” He pulled a twenty from his pocket and flicked it on the table. “Get your jacket on. Time to go.”
“Why do this to yourself?” I didn’t stand.
“Get up.”
“You think I’ll be safe once you leave?”
“You’re no safer with me than you are with them.”
I didn’t believe that. “Goliath would do anything to score with Kingdom.”
Noir tensed. Somehow, he seemed even bigger than Goliath. “Get. Up.”
“Sam probably told you I’d be fine, but do you think Goliath hasn’t sold my ass to the highest bidder for the night?” I swallowed. “Do you think a club like Kingdom wouldn’t take what they wanted, even without my man’s permission?”
“Not my problem.”
“How much money did they pay you?” I held his stare. “Better be a good amount. You’ll need a couple grand to clear a rape from your conscience.”
In another life, in a different place, the rage tensing in his body might have ripped the table from the wall and chucked it through the window. His eyes, the blackness of charring smoke, flashed with the heat of the fire. He leaned over me, his arms pinning me in the booth.
His voice lowered. Deep. Pained. Vengeful.
“Don’t question what’s on my conscience. I don’t have one anymore.”
I braved looking into his eyes to see whatever monster he thought lurked within him.
I saw nothing evil. Just…sadness.
“You’re lying,” I whispered. “And you’re not even good at it. Whatever shit you’re running from, whatever it was that fucked you up, that’s over.” I read every sadness in his heart, and I made my move. “Don’t let another innocent person get hurt because of you.”
I waited, my breath held and muscles tensed. The first taste of a panic attack dried my mouth. I didn’t let it show, but Noir’s eyes were no longer on me.
The diner’s chime dinged a sound too pleasant for the crew who sauntered through the door. The waitresses scattered, and the men eating at the counter kept their heads down.
Three of them entered, branded in leather but patched with rockers I didn’t recognize. The inverted crucifix of crossed spears blended the right amount of horror and blasphemy.
Temple MC.
Kingdom paraded throughout the northwest of the state and into the Great Lakes region. Sacrilege and other tiny clubs rode around Pittsburgh and the surrounding counties, usually getting lost in the depressed river towns forgotten after the mills closed. We held a small territory, hardly worth Kingdom’s attention.
Hardly worth the notice of any other club, especially one with men as rough as Temple MC.
Buzz cut and tattooed, down to the teardrops around their eyes and the automatic weapon branded on their necks. They were armed with guns, knives, and blunt tools strapped to their belts.
They didn’t belong here.
Noir grabbed my arm just above the elbow. Squeezed.
Message received.
I checked behind us, but our booth hid within a sealed-off corner. Noir pulled me with him as he stalked to the front doors.
The men didn’t move.
Neither did Noir.
I didn’t like the look of the patches on their jackets—too many officers and not enough brainless members. Secretary, Treasurer, Sergeant-At-Freaking-Arms. It was the SA who stepped in front of Noir.
Trapped before these men, Sacrilege MC would have been annihilated in an instant. Sam crumbled too easily, Goliath got in everyone’s faces, and Red wouldn’t have the sense to cut and run. He’d end up at med school again, only this time he’d be the one on the morgue table for the students to dice up and judge for their better life choices.
But Noir didn’t surrender. He didn’t throw a punch when the men blocked his exit or cower when they stared him in the eye.
Three against one.
I was glad I stood behind him.
I held my breath as every part of me trembled, head to toes and back again. Noir didn’t hesitate. He hauled me through the crew without apologizing for crashing shoulders with the SA. The doors closed. The vice squeezing my chest hadn’t eased. Neither had Noir’s grip on my arm.
He pulled a gun from his belt. His command terrified me more than the men.
“Run.”
Running was the worst part of exile.
It tortured me more than casting off my name, hiding my ink, losing myself. I ached in destroyed pride and suffocating guilt and every other bullshit weakness that forced me to run when I should have grabbed my gun and redeemed myself in the glory of an empty shell and a taken life.
But I wasn’t risking death. Not yet. Not before I had that chance to finally protect Rose and fix the mess I left behind. My life was only worth the blood it spilled. I’d find the man who destroyed her—who destroyed our family—and I’d join him in the baptism of hellfire that awaited us both.
So I ran.
We ran.
Martini split before I barked the order. She was tougher than the front of her schoolgirl pout. She sprinted through the parking lot and slid smooth behind me, careful not to squeeze the injury she already exposed. The bike turned over with a roar.
She didn’t ask questions. She knew how to hold on and when to keep her mouth shut. Excellent qualities in a girl who spent her life getting used by the crew who was supposed to watch out for her. The thought poisoned me.
She asked for help.
I trapped her in the middle of a potential bloodbath.
“Who are those guys?” She twisted to search the road. No good ever came from looking behind. “Do you recognize them?”
The bike roared as I pushed it toward the first onramp I found. North, south. Didn’t matter as long as I had a couple miles of clear road to redline and get the hell out of the specter of my past. Rolling clouds blocked out the moon. Rain.
Thunder slashed through the night, immediately followed with another flash of hungry lightning.
Damn it.
“Noir!” Her fingers dug into my jacket as I cut in front of a surprised Jetta and into a non-existent space between two pick-ups. “Who a
re they?”
“Temple.”
I doubted she heard the world. I spat it into the darkness as a curse. I traveled three thousand miles over three months of endless travel, constant jobs, and wretched isolation, and somehow the worst mistakes of my past rode to my side—like a grim reaper of regret. Always chasing, just waiting for that first, only, and final mistake that would slice out my fucking heart.
The highway emptied at night. Rows of streetlights blasted light on me as I attempted to hide within the solitude of the road. I wore on the throttle, kicking the bike beyond eighty and counting the miles like I counted the hours since I last sped into the distance to put as much space between me and Temple MC as possible.
They weren’t supposed to be here.
Not on a run. Not on a drop. Not on a deal.
Temple had no business dealing this far east. They stuck to the deserts, to the lanes between Cherrywood Valley and Mexico. The drug trade necessitated it. Every hard vice and unforgiving sin passed either through their territory, their hands, or their workshops. Temple controlled the drugs. They also controlled the money, politicians, and land. Everyone wanted a cut.
And I was the son of a bitch who worked out a deal with them.
I was the son of a bitch who ruined it all.
They thought I was dead. If they recognized me, figured out I lived, breathed, and slithered the earth like the damned snake I was, every last hope I had at hunting my father would be flayed out of me by the chains wrapping over their fists.
I had ripped the Anathema patches off my jacket, but stripping the leather only destroyed my identity. It didn’t hide me.
I didn’t recognize Temple’s treasurer or secretary. But the sergeant-at-arms? That sleazy motherfucker lurked in the shadow of our meetings, hand always on his gun. Like he thought I’d pull something. Like he thought I was stupid enough to fuck with the most powerful MC in the state.
But I was stupid enough. I pissed off Temple and Anathema, even when I thought I could create the alliance that would save us both. Christ was I wrong. Not only did Anathema suffer from my idiocy, my brother poisoned himself with any drug he found and Rose...
Thorne would protect her, but it was my fault she ran into the arms of a ruthless president of a goddamned motorcycle club instead of confiding in her own family.