by Paula Cox
“Gunner Grisham,” Gunner said, running through the fine points of his posture in his mind. The last thing he needed to do was to set off some over-tired and trigger-happy ex-militia dude who was on completely justifiable edge. “VP for the Breed. I know you guys have been through hell tonight, and I’m not looking for any trouble. I just want the woman.”
The man took a few steps forward, moving into a patch of weak sunlight, filtered by the dusty shards of glass still left in the windows. He was bald; it looked like the top had come naturally, and he’d buzzed the sides short to match. He had a trim beard, however, salt and pepper brown, and tattoos of chains starting at his knuckles and wrapping up his forearms, then disappearing into his elbows. Gunner placed him then; just called Chains, the man wasn’t an official within the Red Vipers organization, but he was known as the kind of guy who really enjoyed doing the club’s wet works. Gunner’s stomach churned at the thought of anyone he knew at this man’s tender mercies, but especially those he cared for.
“What woman? What’s her name?”
There was something about the way he asked. It put Gunner even more on edge than he already was, and he felt the Breed behind him shift carefully. They didn’t want to set anything off, any more than he did, but they were just as concerned as he was. He could feel it, breathing behind him.
“That’s the funny thing,” Gunner said, pushing his lips into a smile that he hoped seemed genuine. “Marv wouldn’t tell me. But he assured me that at least one of them was here. That in fact, you had traded something important to get her, so that you’d have leverage over the Breed and me. Because Marv seems to have a funny idea that we were somehow involved in what happened to your clubhouse.”
“Weren’t you?”
“No. There are a lot of things that the Breed does, man, but violence and shit that gets people killed ain’t on the list.”
The big man shifted, crossing his arms across his chest in a way that made his tattoos ripple. “That’s not what I hear. In fact, the rotting body of my friend Billy seems to put the lie right to that idea.”
Gunner wanted to shout, but he forced himself to bite back his irritation instead. “Billy Calhoun was a friend of mine, too. I’d known him for years, since school. I want to find who killed him, and I want to obliterate them. If you want, we can have a foot race, see who gets there first. But me and mine had nothing to do with that. I give you my word.”
“Yeah? And what’s your word worth?”
Why was this guy standing here, jawing on his own? There had to be more people here, something had to be happening while Gunner was hyperfocused on the man in front of him. He trusted the rest of the Breed to have his back, but was there something none of them were seeing? He tried to be subtle as he glanced up, looking for rifles or guns in the upper story windows, but there wasn’t anything.
“I think you’ve got this the wrong way around,” he tried to say, but there was a tire iron coming at his head, so fast that he almost didn’t duck out of the way in time. He stumbled back, losing his footing, and threw up a hand, fully expecting the tire iron to break his forearm and then come for his skull.
But it didn’t. Chains stood over him, the tire iron raised and ready. The other Breed members had drawn back, and suddenly everyone had a gun on everyone else.
“Let’s all just take a breath here,” Gunner said, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to him. He’d fallen badly, lost his breath, and his voice was barely carrying at all.
“Bring them out,” Chains shouted, and one of the men that Gunner had known had to be somewhere started to move. “Let them see what’s going to happen.”
***
Lola tried to stay calm when the biggest number of the club members stepped out of the small backroom area, Chains in the lead. She could hear some conversation towards the front of the building, but not anything specific. Her heart was pounding in her throat when someone came back and motioned to the thugs still holding on to her and Laurel. They were pushed forward together, each of them held by one strong arm. Lola’s instinct was to kick and fight, but when she glanced sideways, she saw that Laurel was moving along smoothly. It made sense. They didn’t know where they were going, and they didn’t know how to get out of this damned building anyway. It was a maze of industrial machinery and raised catwalks and all sorts of mess. Lola knew she could find her way out if she were walking along, but running away from someone? Someone who was bigger than her, and madder than her? That didn’t sound like a good idea at all. She moved along, not pushing back against the too-tight grip on her wrists. No matter how much she wanted to.
She blinked hard when they walked her into the light. This didn’t look like the same dirt yard where the man in the car had left her behind, but she wasn’t sure she’d recognize it anyway. She looked around and saw a group of men facing off, around one big brute with a tire iron, holding it over a man on the ground. It took her a moment to recognize him, and then his name burst from her mouth before she could control herself. “Gunn!”
Both Gunner’s head and the head of the man over him — Chains — snapped in her direction. She tried to kick at the man holding her, but he easily widened his stance, so her foot went straight through his thighs instead of connecting. Well, that was fine. She threw her entire weight into him, twisting so that she hit him in the bread basket. He made a woomf sort of sound as he fell, the air knocked out of him. She ran, darting through people who had not expected to see her fight, and placed herself directly between Gunner and Chains, her arms spread wide. She had never felt so exposed in her life, in her shirt that showed off her cleavage and her low-rise jeans, but she stared up at Chains.
“Leave him alone,” she said, fully aware of how her voice was shaking.
“What’ll you give me, little girl?” Chains asked, a smirk on his face and in his voice. “I already told you. This man killed one of my best friends. A boy I was supposed to protect.”
“I know,” Lola said. “You told me. And I told you that he didn’t do it. I’m pretty sure that the guy who DID do it was the shithead who dropped me off here. But you said you didn’t want to hurt me. You just wanted to send a message.” He hadn’t said any of those things, but hey, it might work. It seemed like at least a sensible shot in the dark. “Come on, Chains. Come on. Hasn’t enough blood been spilled today?” Shit, she sounded so goddamn corny, but he was adjusting his grip on the tire iron, and his eyes were shifting in a way that reminded her of a really big preschooler who was realizing that the situation was not unfolding the way they had wanted it to. She reached out slowly and laid her hand on the center of Chains chest. His eyes closed, and she almost thought he was holding back tears for a moment.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s work together. Let’s fix this together.”
The tire iron fell in the dust.
“Let her go,” Chains said, his eyes still closed. “Let them all go. I don’t want to see them again. Get out of here.”
Laurel yanked free from the man who held her and ran towards them. Lola thought she’d run to Gunner, but instead, she went straight past him, into the arms of one of the women who’d come along with Gunner, wearing the same colors. They slid into a passionate kiss, then simply clung to each other.
Gunner watched them, mild surprise playing over his features, and then he took Lola’s hand as she boosted him to his feet.
“Let’s go,” he said, dusting himself off. He glanced past her at Chains; Lola followed his eyes and noted how the big man was standing, his eyes still shut tight, his fists opening and closing as he stood. “Let’s go now,” he amended. He took her arm, and they moved quickly to the small cluster of Breed bikes on the edge of the property.
“We need to talk,” Lola said, but Gunner shook his head.
“I’m getting you home,” he replied. “Your part in this is done. I’ve put you through enough.”
***
As the day wore into night, it started to rain. Not just a mild, lig
ht, summer rain, but the kind of sky-opening rain that made people run for cover, holding whatever they had over their heads even as the rain came at them sideways.
Gunner sat on his sofa, a bag of frozen peas on his jaw where the rat had hit him hours ago, trying to relax past the tension that hadn’t faded out of his arms and legs. He’d gotten Lola home, and Sue had assured him that she was taking care of Laurel. How he’d missed their connection completely boggled him, and at some point, he and Laurel were going to have words about that. All the shit she’d given him about still being tied to the club, and she was making out with one of his club siblings? If she had avoided telling him because she thought he’d be grossed out about it being Sue, that would be annoying. Rib her about all her harassment, then falling for a club member, yes. Homophobia, hell no.
He had hated dropping Lola off. He wanted to take her somewhere and keep her safe, but so far, as far as he could figure, all he’d done was make her life worse. He’d listened to her report about the man who’d kidnapped her, and he’d told her what he knew about the Vipers and what was going on. And there had been a moment, a long one, where she ran her fingers down the back of his hand and asked him if he needed to go.
He didn’t know what she was asking in that moment. He’d forced himself not to care. Whether she was asking him to stay or not, he knew what needed to happen. He needed to walk away. What had been between them had been born of stress and tension and nothing else. They had no foundation, and keeping her close to him, no matter how much he wanted to do it, would just hurt both of them. He didn’t want to hurt Lola anymore.
Laurel was home safe. Grace wasn’t. Laurel hadn’t even known that Grace was taken. He had no leads. Lola said that the man who’d taken her appeared to know where Grace was, but there was nothing defining enough about her description, either of him or the car, to let him track them down. Lola had begged him one more time to call the police, and he’d refused again. To his surprise, Laurel had sided with him. “This isn’t a normal thing, and even if it were, it’s not like the cops give a shit about a little black girl. Not in this town. If Gunner thinks the club has the best chance of finding her, then that’s what we’re doing.”
Lola’s fingers on the back of his hand. What had she wanted? Had she wanted him to turn his palm to hers, take her hand, and hold it tight? Lead her back into the bedroom and reassure her, with his mouth and his body, that she was finally safe?
Whatever she wanted from him, at that moment, he felt completely sure that he couldn’t give it to her. He had nothing left, nothing to offer her. His own child was in the hands of monsters, and he couldn’t do anything about it.
So, he’d drawn his hand back, and nodded, and left. He’d gotten on his bike and ridden into the night as if he were a dark hero at the end of a noir film, disappearing out of her life as quickly as he’d come into it. He’d gone back to the clubhouse and relayed everything to Horse, who promised that he’d take care of things while Gunner got some sleep. It seemed painfully clear that if Gunner didn’t get that sleep, Colton was prepared to knock him over the head and make sure he got the rest.
He could barely see, he was so out of it, so it made sense. But it still felt awful. He couldn’t make himself go lay down in his bed. It was too much like accepting that Grace was gone, that he’d somehow failed. And besides, the pillow still smelled like Lola’s hair, and just putting his face near it had brought his cock to such painful attention that he couldn’t make it go down, even after he stroked out a release.
So, he laid down on the sofa, holding the bag of peas against his jaw, and let himself drift. Sleep was way too much. But drifting was all right. It was okay. It was a different kind of restful, but he also trusted that if his phone rang, he’d grab the call before it went to voicemail.
Lola had told him what happened with her phone. It had been left in the park, she assumed; at least, she didn’t have it when she woke up. But she’d told him that the texts had come from Cassidy, so he’d sent someone to look for her phone in the park, and someone to check on Cassidy, and someone to get Lola a new phone. If he managed all of these things, maybe he could be good enough to deserve her.
No. He shook himself mentally. He had to stop thinking like that. He had to remember how things had been when he first met Lola at the childcare center, when she was all dressed up, passing as middle class and respectable, not when she’d put on her club gear and walked next to him just as strong and confident as any patched-in club member. But he’d been on the edges of society long enough to know the look of someone who was trying to make themselves respectable. He wasn’t going to be the person who made that not true for her. At least, he wasn’t going to pursue her. That was wrong. But if she came to him, all on her own?
His cock sprang to life again, and the roaring of blood in his ears was so loud that he almost didn’t hear the soft knock on his door. It took him a moment to recollect himself, to tuck himself away and stand up. To walk to the door.
It would have been poetic if lightning had cracked through the air as he opened the door to find a petite, curvy woman on his doorstep, her curls soaking wet in a way he already knew was going to infuriate her as soon as they started to dry and frizz. But his life wasn’t poetic, and he’d never been as goddamn okay with that as he was right now.
“Lola,” he said, and his cock twitched, angry against the zipper of his jeans, and he did not care even one iota.
She looked up at him, and her eyes were red-rimmed, her lower lip quivering.
“I tried to stay away,” she whispered. And then she wrapped her arms around his neck, and it never for a moment occurred to him to turn her away.
Chapter Eighteen
As soon as it was quite clear that Gunner wasn’t going to shut the door in her face, Lola stepped inside, put her arms around his neck, and sealed her mouth to his. If he had any resistance, it melted away in a moment. He wrapped one arm around her waist as the other tugged her further inside and then swung the door shut. As soon as it was closed, he rushed her back, pressing her tight against the door, his hands skating over her clothing. She was soaking wet, and her skin felt clammy and cold, even to her, so when his hands came up under the hem of her shirt and teased at the flesh of her stomach, she gasped at the sullen heat in his hands. His mouth left hers, leaving traces down her neck as he kissed her jawline, her pulse, and the base of her throat. It was all very nice and sweet and incredibly hot, but it wasn’t what she wanted.
She reached between them, cupping the growing hardness between them and hearing him groan.
“Give me this,” she said. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Lady’s choice,” he replied. “Bed’s further but more comfortable. Couch is right there. Tell me what you want.”
She gripped him harder, and he cursed, breathless, against her mouth. “I already told you. I want this, fucking me as hard as you can.”
He laughed, the sound bordering on cruel. “That’s pretty damn hard.”
“I can take it,” she said. “I’m not made of glass.” She heard her voice shaking, though, and much to her extreme irritation, Gunner seemed to hear it as well.
“Hey,” he said, all of the heat melting away as he stroked her jawline with one finger. Lola felt the tears welling again, and pointed her gaze up at the ceiling, trying to keep control of herself. “Hey, beautiful. What’s going on?”
The tone of his voice, careful and kind, made her think he knew but didn’t want to put words in her mouth. She took a few long, slow breaths, working to get control of herself again, and then eased gently past him to sit down on his couch. She took off the sweatshirt she’d thrown on before she left the house; it was damp on the bottom and soaked around the shoulders, and it felt uncomfortable and unpleasant now. He took it from her and draped it over a chair where it could dry. Once she sat down, he covered her knees with a light blanket. “Coffee or tea?”
“Just water,” she replied. “I’m too jittery for caffeine.”
<
br /> “Sure.”
She waited until he handed her a glass filled with very cold water, and had sat down on the other side of the couch. It was close enough to be comfortable, but not close enough to make her feel pressured. Careful. A warmth swelled through her, chasing away at least some of the fear.
“I keep thinking,” she said, and even just those words slipping out made her body quiver in the most unpleasant way. She swallowed hard and focused on the feeling of cold emanating from the glass. “That — the man who took me. He didn’t hurt me. I’m sure he didn’t hurt me. But what if he had.”
Gunner nodded, his expression carefully neutral, and she liked that. He wasn’t horrified or upset by the idea that she might have been violated.
“What if he had?” he repeated, adding just a little bit of a spin to the statement, turning it into a question.
She shook her head at the darkness of it. “I don’t know. I thought I could let it go. Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t — I really don’t think he was trying to hurt me in any way, Gunner. But he’s been in my home, and I couldn’t stay there. I tried to lie down and sleep, and it was like the walls were staring.”