The Biker's Brother (Sons of Sanctuary MC Book 2)

by Victoria Danann

  “No. I didn’t,” she said. “I discovered that your son is a lying sack of shit.”

  Brant stared at her for a few heartbeats before saying, “Tell me how you really feel.”

  How she really felt?

  How she really felt?

  How did she really feel?

  Her eyes filled with liquid that threatened to spill over and soak the breast pockets of Brigid’s pretty red silk dress that looked ridiculous with spikey blonde hair and combat boots.

  She stood suddenly and rushed out of the room.

  Brant sighed. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

  He looked at Brigid who gave him a rueful smile and a shrug. “They’ll either work it out or they won’t.”

  “That the kind of philosophy they’re teaching over at the University of Texas these days?”

  Brigid laughed. “No, but maybe it’s what they should be teaching.”

  Brant turned to Rita. “I’ll have pastrami, heated up, on that…”

  “Rye,” Rita supplied.

  “Yeah, with that…”

  “Brown mustard.”

  “Yeah. Got any potato salad?”

  “Your wife is having truckloads of it delivered later. I got chips.”

  “Hmmm,” he grumbled. “Give me Doritos.”

  “Okay.” She grabbed three paper napkins and handed them to him with the bag. “Don’t eat the Doritos and touch stuff without wiping off your hands. It leaves cheese residue everywhere.”

  “You’re gettin’ a mite bossy.”

  “Somebody’s got to be responsible for keeping this place from turning into the pigsty it would be without somebody like me.”

  “I’m going back to my office and eat this. Then I’m going over to Wreck and Ride.”

  “I’m not your secretary,” Rita said to the wall over the kitchen sink without turning around.

  “Thank the Lord,” Brant said, walking away with his lunch.

  When he was gone, Brigid said to Rita, “What do you think of Cami Carmichael?”

  Rita continued working without looking up. “I think she’s perfect for him.”

  “Yeah,” Brigid agreed. “Me, too. I better get back to my own bar. See you tonight.”

  “See you tonight.”

  CHAPTER Thirteen

  Cami went to the door when she heard a knock. She didn’t really want to go to the door with swollen eyes and a pink nose, but whoever it was knew she was inside. After all, where else would she be?

  Feeling like there was no other choice, she opened the door.

  It was Brigid holding out the bag with borrowed clothes and a few toiletries. “You forgot these.”

  “Thank you.” She took the bag. “You’ve been really kind.”

  “Don’t mention it. You know you’ve been through a lot of changes in a short amount of time. Then there was the whole thing with the helicopter. Emotions have got to be running high.”

  “I guess.”

  “Why don’t you get a nap? Spend some time enjoying the feeling of being safe. Then get ready for the party tonight. You can have some fun. Maybe give Brand a chance to grovel?”

  Cami was surprised that Brandon’s sister-in-law would use the word grovel. Maybe she was the one who should grovel. She had to admit that she’d talked first and thought later when she was at Germane Enterprises. She’d also realized that Brandon had led her to believe he was homosexual because she was about to blow their chances at the last motel room available for miles, when they were both exhausted.

  After shedding a few tears over feeling like she’d been blindsided, she gradually gained a little clarity and perspective on what had transpired. He had misled her about his sexuality, possibly for good reason, but he certainly wasn’t under any obligation, moral or ethical, to tell her that he also ran Germane Enterprises, or to reveal his net worth. She had thought that not giving a last name was part of the client/provider wall that was supposed to have existed between the two of them.

  She realized that she’d behaved badly at his office and regretted it. If she’d had a phone and his number, she might’ve even called to apologize. That was a lot of ifs.

  She decided the best game plan was to put cold water on her face, go to the kitchen and get two slices of cucumber to put on her eyes and pull the puffiness away, take a nap like Brigid had suggested, then try to make herself look decent and wait for an opportunity to talk to him at the party.

  At five thirty Cami was almost ready when she heard knocking.

  Arnold’s eyes automatically swept down and back up when she opened the door. Force of habit.

  “Brant wants to see you in the office.”

  “Does this mean I’ve been summoned?”

  Arnold raised his eyebrows. The concept of being cute about the president wasn’t something that came up in his world. Ever. “Does that mean you’re not coming?”

  He was already trying to figure out how he was going to deliver that news to Brant and get away before being caught in the wave of reaction that would surely follow. Fortunately he didn’t need a Plan B.

  “No,” she said as she stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind her.

  Arnold gestured for her to go first.

  She said, “No, you first. I insist.”

  He smirked because they both knew he was planning to walk behind and check out the shape and sway of her derriere.

  “Whatever you say, Ms. Carmichael.”

  She followed Arnold to Brant’s office.

  He was on the phone when she arrived. He lowered the phone, but didn’t end the call.

  “Good news,” Brant said. “Your ex is in possession of your new will and your father persuaded the judge to sign off on the divorce decree ahead of docket. Looks like you’re shed of that son of a bitch. Officially. And your dad wants to talk to you.”

  He handed her the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s over. You’re free. On the way to making him a memory.”

  “That’s great, Dad.”

  “You don’t sound as excited as I imagined you’d be.”

  “I am. Believe me. I’m just… A lot has happened. The makeover. The running. The…” her eyes went to Brant, who was watching her, “unusual company.”

  Brant’s smirk said he wasn’t offended and might even be proud of the description. She was thinking that bikers must take Smirk 101 when they’re prospects because they were all pretty damn good at it.

  “I’m sure it’s been an experience, but it was worth it to be on the side of caution.”

  “Of course. I guess I’ll be coming home tomorrow.”

  Brant looked away. He didn’t know the girl, but he thought she didn’t sound either happy or excited about the prospect of returning home and he wondered what had really happened out on the road with his older son, meaning the one who was older by thirteen minutes.

  “I’ll send the plane for you and I’ll be there to pick you up.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Don’t be nuts. You’re my girl. Now put Mr. Fornight back on the phone.”

  She handed the phone back to Brant. “He wants to talk to you.”

  When Brant took the phone, Cami left the room to return to her temporary quarters. The clubhouse was starting to fill up with people who’d arrived for the party. Dozens of people she’d never seen before turned a curious look her way as she passed by on the way to her room. She didn’t see a single person she knew, but the congregation of people who looked so different from what she was used to wouldn’t keep her from finding Brandon later.

  She was on a mission.

  She might be headed back home tomorrow and never see Brandon again, but by all that was holy, she was going to get that kiss from the right brother before she left.

  Brandon had spent a lifetime developing the sort of discipline and single-minded focus it took to run a global concern. All gone in an instant at the hands of one medium-sized woman in a blood-red silk dress, bare legs, an
d combat boots, a sight that would possibly be burned into his memory forever because of the emotion attached.

  He spent the rest of the day trying to free himself from the entanglements of tasks that had backed up while he’d been on the road. But he had to return to things again and again because he’d let his mind wander and that had resulted in questions down the line. Every decision he made was like a domino effect. He had to have his mind in the game. Not on the way red silk seemed to float around a beautiful body when the wearer stomped across a room.

  At seven o’clock he was still trying to wade out of the maze of things that needed his attention, and was feeling conflicted. Germane Enterprises needed his attention, but so did the SSMC. After all, they were throwing the party for him in celebration of the greatest honor they could give. He couldn’t be late.

  On the other hand, bikers didn’t run on a German train schedule. Flexibility was built in. If he didn’t get there until nine, it would be no big deal. Still plenty of time to party. And plenty of time to find Camden Carmichael and make her listen to his perfectly reasonable explanations for making her sit on a toilet and look at his painfully erect Johnson while pretending to be gay.

  He sighed deeply running through that scenario in his head. Try as he might, he couldn’t find the words to get to the outcome he craved. He wasn’t sure he could even form a coherent description of the outcome he craved. He just knew it involved a Cami who wasn’t mad. Or hurt.

  At nine he more or less said, “Fuck it,” and walked out of the office. He used his key to take the private elevator up to the top floor, which had been redesigned as a penthouse when he’d bought the building. He changed into jeans, Ropers, and a black Henley. He’d found black was good for parties. No matter what rowdies spilled on you when they accidentally bumped into you, it never showed too badly.

  At ten o’clock, Cami was tired of watching people eat, drink, and dance. And tired of watching the door for Brandon. Supposedly the party was for him, but it was looking like he was going to no show. She entertained the possibility that he’d rather not attend his own party than have to see her after the way she’d behaved.

  In his office of all places.

  She, of all people, should know that, to the head of a company, the office is sacred no-family-drama ground. Even knowing that, she’d made a scene.

  Setting her red cup down on the bar, she made her way through the crowd seeking the solace of her room. A tall blond guy with light beard scruff grabbed her and twirled her into his arms when she tried to pass.

  “Hey, darlin’,” he said. “You can’t be alone. If you are, it’s my lucky night. If you’re not, who’s the stupid fucker who let you out of his sight?”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but Brash was there before she could speak, shouting over the music. “She’s not alone, Des. She’s a friend of the club.”

  The guy named Des raised an eyebrow. “Friend of the club? That works for me. I want to be her friend.”

  He looked down at Cami and smiled with even teeth so white they could have been veneers. His lascivious grin might have sparked interest if she didn’t already have strange, confused, and unresolved feelings for a bodyguard who’d turned out to be a famous player mogul. Christ.

  “She’s not looking for new friends, Des. Brandon says so.”

  Des turned his attention to Brash. “Brandon?” After processing that, he burst into laughter. “He ain’t here.”

  “He will be,” Brash countered. “This is his party. Remember?”

  “Oh.” Des’s eyes slid to Cami. “She’s for his party. Got it. Okay, sweetness. Some other time maybe.”

  Cami shot Brash a thankful look and continued toward her room.

  Brandon had almost made it past the fire pit when Carlot spotted him.

  “Brand’s here! Man of the hour!”

  Carlot gave him a hug and a few manly slaps on the back.

  Within minutes the clubhouse had emptied, making Brand the center of attention. They all parted like the Red Sea for Brant, who came walking through the crowd carrying Brandon’s cut. Anybody who saw the smile he was wearing had no doubt that the honoree got his own good looks from his father.

  Brash was standing next to his brother when Brant held the leather vest up for Brandon to slide into.

  Brand hadn’t expected to feel emotional about getting his own cut, but it was a little overwhelming. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted it until it was riding squarely on his back.

  He accepted hugs from Brant and Brash, followed by the other club members who’d formed a line to offer congratulations.

  From inside Cami’s room, she had no idea that anything had changed because the volume of the music coming from the bar was the same. Rescue hadn’t brought Daisy by because he wouldn’t have expected that she’d go to bed early. So she was alone. She lay down on the bed and faced the wall. She wasn’t ready to get undressed or take makeup off because there was a chance Brandon might still come.

  Edge recognized his chance. He slipped back inside, making sure that no one noticed. That wasn’t a problem. Everybody was busy making a big deal out of the second heir apparent.

  Like they said about the English princes. An heir and a spare.

  When Edge’s dad had sent him to Brant, he’d been delighted to find his way to the SSMC and thought he was going to live the life of a one percenter. But under Brant’s leadership, the club was becoming a legitimate enterprise, a network of businesses run by people who just happened to ride bikes.

  Hobbyists. The word sounded vile even inside Edge’s brain. They’d become hobby riders and he’d never had the chance to pursue the life he was born for. Until Michaels had sent a guy to recruit him.

  Edge was going to end up with as much money as the club made in a year, just for doing what he’d love to do for free.

  The door wasn’t locked. Bitch must be feeling right at home.

  Cami didn’t hear Edge come in. She’d dozed off and, even though the music was down the hall, it was still loud enough to block out ordinary sounds. Like footsteps.

  She woke when the pillow was jerked out from under her head. The guy named Edge, the one who was just naturally repulsive, was bending over her, his face just inches from hers. He smelled like stale cigarettes and sour milk.

  “Hey there, beauty. Your husband has a message for you. He says to tell you it’s not about the money.”

  The lamp gave off enough light to see the look on his face and it told Cami all she needed to know. The guy was there to kill her.

  He knew the moment she registered what was happening, and relished the fear in her eyes. It was a major turn on. And if he wasn’t in a hurry, he’d have had some real fun with her.

  When she tried to sit up, he moved fast, pressing her back down with the pillow over her face. At the same time he straddled her body to hold her in place.

  Her muffled screams weren’t heard by anybody but her. She fought to get free but the guy was stronger than he looked. Her legs were useless since he was sitting on them. She didn’t even know if she’d managed to scratch him through his clothes, but her efforts hadn’t resulted in any change in the pressure being applied to the pillow. Her nails had been cut short as part of her makeover.

  When her lungs started burning because of lack of air, her body convulsed, trying desperately to find oxygen. Her useless screams were coupled with tears, but somehow, in the midst of that, she managed to regret that she was going to die without that kiss.

  When the last of the guys had christened Brandon’s new cut with slaps on the back, he looked around, again, for Cami.

  As a few people had gravitated back inside, to the bar, Rita had returned to her station. When Brandon couldn’t spot Cami outside, he went in.

  “You seen Cami around?” he asked Rita.

  She shook her head. “Nuh-uh. Might be in her room.”

  Brand headed down the hall. He knocked, but there was no answer. Realizing that she might not have heard b
ecause of the music, he opened the door.

  Just in time.

  Cami felt the sudden absence of Edge and the pillow simultaneously. He’d left his position, sitting on top of her, as quickly as if he’d been jerked away. When she first tried to inhale, nothing happened. Her lungs and throat seemed to have stopped working. But after several agonizing moments while her heartbeat thundered in her ears, she heard a sound accompanying air being quickly drawn over vocal cords.

  That was followed by her body involuntarily squeezing air out and dragging it back in. After several repetitions her mind began to clear so that she could process something besides a desire to live. When she was breathing normally again, or close enough, she looked around.

  Brandon had Edge on the floor next to the bed and was beating the man with his bare fists. Blood had splattered on his face, but neither that nor the look of rage detracted from his beauty. To her it made him even more the bigger-than-life guardian angel who kept her safe, who’d saved her from Trey Michaels at least twice. Maybe more that she didn’t even know about, because he’d been smart, and dedicated, and resourceful, and committed.

  She sat up and tried to speak.

  “Brandon.” Her voice sounded like a crow’s whisper. “You’re going to kill him.”

  Brand stopped long enough to look over at her. He’d been so outraged that the weasel on the floor under him would put his hands on Cami. He couldn’t even get his brain to process that Edge wanted to kill her. But that was exactly what had happened.

  Thank God…

  He looked at her beautiful face. Her eyes were wide and haunted-looking, her mascara smeared around her eyes.

  Dragging his gaze away, he pressed his fingers to Edge’s throat. “Too late,” he said simply.

  There was no pulse. Brandon had pounded Edge with so much force, one of the blows had driven nose cartilage up into his brain. No doubt that was what had caused blood to spray all over his face and clothes.