Wild & Free_A Motorcycle Club Romance_Burning Angels MC

by Claire St. Rose

  “Is that why you’re going at night?”

  “Exactly. It won’t be a problem, I’ll keep myself hidden.” Bo smiled, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “And that’s a promise too.”

  “But what if something happens to you?” She frowned as he continued loading his backpack. “Why don’t you just stay here and let the others go?”

  He sighed tersely, slinging the backpack over his shoulder. “It’s not that simple…and I don’t know how to explain it to you.”

  Dakota picked at a stray fiber on the bedspread. “So what should I do? Am I allowed to go back out there with the guys?”

  “Oh come on.”

  “I mean, you won’t get back and get jealous, right?” She hopped to her feet, slinging her arms around his waist from behind as he loaded up an over-the-shoulder gun holster hidden by his sweatshirt.

  Bo sighed, turning to face her, cupping her face in his rough hands. “I’m working on that. You just hang out here and stay comfortable. I’ll be back in a few hours. Maybe early morning at the latest.”

  She sighed, burying her face in his chest. The thought of something happening to him thundered through her, leaving her wobbly and nervous, like she hadn’t eaten in days. And the fact that she cared so much, after so little time, was even more unnerving.

  Dakota laid back on the bed, tugging the sheet over her naked body to fight the chill that overcame her. She watched as Bo packed another gun into the back of his jeans, and then a knife into the side of his boot.

  “Damn.” She wrapped the sheet around her tighter. “Got enough weapons?”

  “I like to be prepared.” He grinned at her, mischievous yet sweet, zipping up his black hoodie. “Because nobody’s gonna get the better of me, darlin’. That’s what you don’t know about me yet. I play the game, but I play it smart.”

  She sighed, a lazy smile crossing her face. “Well when you put it like that.”

  He came over to the bed, leaning over her to press a kiss to her forehead. “Get some dinner, and hang out, or whatever you want.” He brushed his lips against hers. “Go finish Jerry’s tattoo.”

  “Oh, now it’s okay, after we fucked,” Dakota cracked, unable to help the grin crossing her face. She nuzzled her nose against his. “I’ll keep that in mind. You just get angry as an excuse for sex.”

  “Hey.” He grabbed her chin between his fingers, laughing a little. “I don’t need your sass.”

  They kissed again, more tender than any kiss before it, one that made her chest tighten. When he pulled away he looked frazzled.

  “You make it hard to leave,” he murmured, smoothing his hands over the back of her neck.

  “That’s my job.” She pinched his cheek. “Come back soon, okay?”

  He brushed his lips over her forehead. “Promise. See you later, darlin’.”

  He squeezed her hip through the sheet and stood, grabbing for his backpack. He paused in the doorway, making a kissy face at her, then stepped outside, pulling the door shut. The silence bloated in the bedroom without him and Dakota lay staring at the ceiling, blinking while thoughts roiled through her head.

  Part of her was upset that she was so scared for him. What if he didn’t come back? What if he got hurt…where would that leave her?

  But another, deeper part was glad for the worry. It meant she could feel something again, after the brutal shattering back in Las Vegas. And if she was honest with herself, deeply honest in a way that almost hurt, she wanted to feel the knots associated with love again. Her ex might have broken her heart, but he didn’t kill it. And the thought that there still might be love out there for her—real love, the kind that didn’t hide or lie—made her entire body buzz with anticipation.

  Bo was the opposite of what she might have imagined for herself...but maybe that’s how real love worked. Her professor had been the paragon of her ideal soul mate—studied, successful, an artist, thoughtful—but that certainly hadn’t gotten her far.

  Maybe it was time to throw the book out and just follow what felt right.

  And Bo felt right.

  Hunger gnawed at her, so she slipped out of bed and got dressed, eager to eat some of those Thai leftovers in the fridge. Out in the main area, a heated pool competition took place, as well as plenty of revelry and loud music. But a lot of the brothers were missing—probably out on that surveillance mission—and the clubhouse felt strangely empty without their big, confident presence.

  Dakota smiled at a few of the guys she recognized—mostly friends and family of the club brothers. Across the room a Blonde Angel sat spread eagle on a stool, cheering on the pool game. Her shoulders tightened—that girl had eyed Bo plenty, practically fucking him with her eyes every time he was in the same room, and it reminded her of the darker thoughts that pressed at the edges of her mind. Was Bo really telling the truth? Or was he just jealous because he was like every other guy out there…secretly fucking around behind her back?

  She pushed into the kitchen, frowning as she rummaged for the leftovers. She crossed her arms, staring at the countertop as it reheated in the microwave. Have they fucked? Would Bo even tell you? How can you trust a man who looks like that?

  Dark thoughts like these weren’t helpful, but they were impossible to avoid after the shit show of her last relationship. The professor had been a jealous lover as well, which made perfect sense in retrospect because he’d been the most unfaithful of them all. Bo could very well be the same.

  Dakota slumped into a chair by the kitchen door, stabbing at her takeout box. The door swung open, startling her out of her thoughts. Turbo entered, sniffing the air.

  “Whatcha make?”

  She glanced up at him, smiling a little. He was one of her favorites. The guy who’d bought her the oil paint starter set, because she might like it. Like her ruffian older brother. “Just heated up some leftovers. What’s up with you? I thought you’d be out with the guys.”

  “Bo told you about the mission?” Turbo eased into the chair across from her at the small folding card table, a beer in his hand.

  She shrugged, chewing on a mouthful of slippery noodles. “Not much. Just that he had to go with you guys. I thought it was a bad idea though.”

  Turbo nodded. “Yeah. Same here. He’s wanted by Demon Seed, in a huge way.”

  Dakota frowned, forking at her leftovers to find the perfect next bite. “But why? I don’t get it. Seems like these guys like to cause trouble for no reason.”

  “Trust me, they do like to start shit for no reason. But they’re after Bo because…”

  Dakota creased her brow. “What? Tell me.”

  Turbo hesitated, searching her face. “He took out their president.”

  Dakota’s gaze dropped to her takeout box and she stared at the peas in her food for far too long. “Why did he do that?”

  “Street rules.” Turbo took a swig of beer, his gaze heavy on her. “That’s all I can say.”

  “Why? You think I won’t understand?” She scoffed into her takeout box.

  “No. It’s just this is club business. I can’t give you all the details. That’s not how it works.”

  Dakota chewed another bite, avoiding Turbo’s gaze. She didn’t want to betray the anger swirling inside her, the way her belly had tightened up like a vice at the news. So Bo kills people all the damn time. The guy at Ink Works wasn’t the first.

  Deception lashed through her. What an idiot she was to think that she knew this guy at all. To fall for him without getting the full story. This wasn’t okay—it would never be okay. Unless she wanted to cavort with murderers, which was absurd.

  “Seems like you guys have a lot of beef with people.” She tried to keep the comment light before she shoved more noodles into her mouth, but her voice shook, betraying the anger.

  “Yeah, well, recently, it’s been a little touchy.” Turbo took another swig of his beer. “It’s not always like this.”

  But even if it’s not always like this…it will be like this again. It might
get better, but it will also get worse.

  Dakota forced a smile, scooping the last few bites into her mouth. She crumpled takeout box into the trash and washed her fork. “I gotta get to bed. I’m wiped.”

  “All right, Dakota. Catch you tomorrow.”

  She smiled at Turbo before she pushed through the swinging door into the main area. Across the room on the pool table, guys were doing body shots off a couple half-dressed Blonde Angels. Dakota sighed, heading straight for the hallway, eager to shut herself into the quiet sanctuary of Bo’s bedroom.

  One more chance to bathe in his scent…to get lost in the quiet wonder of Bo’s embrace, even while he was out on a mission. Because this would be the last time. It had to be.

  There was no way in hell she could hang around a killer, someone who invited drama like Demon Seed into his life with any amount of frequency.

  He never told you that he was the one who started this fight. He acted like there was no reason for Demon Seed to be after him. Now you know the truth.

  Inside the bedroom, she looked at her few things strewn about the room. Outside in the main area was her tattoo equipment, which could be shuffled into her bag easily enough. Because right now, the goal was to slip out without raising any eyebrows.

  She reached for her phone, dialing Red’s number for the first time in a long time. Red picked up on the second ring. “H’lo?”

  “Red…I need your help.” She swallowed a tight knot in her throat. “I need you to come pick me up at the clubhouse.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Bo and his crew of four had been staked out for over an hour, crouched and rigid still in the shadows of a commercial complex a few miles from the clubhouse. This was Burning Angels territory, but apparently Demon Seed had moved into this abandoned building just a few days ago, trying to push up on the Angels.

  All that remained was to confirm the breach of territory. To spot someone, or their emblem. They wouldn’t retaliate today—no, they needed their full force behind them and a solid game plan. But if Demon Seed was cooking up something sinister in this warehouse in the meantime, Bo and his brothers had to know about it.

  A light flipped on in the recesses of the warehouse, the first sign of life since they’d arrived. One utility van had been parked near the garage door since they’d gotten there. Bo and the crew had come in their own utility black, painted matte black, which they’d parked about two blocks away just to be sure.

  Bo gestured for the others to follow him. They crept up to the side of the warehouse, dry weeds that had pushed up through the concrete crunching underfoot. They gathered beneath the window. Bo slid up along the wall silently, peeking inside.

  The window looked into a small, cinderblock room, but through an open door he could see the main portion of the warehouse. The light came from somewhere in there.

  Bo crouched down against the side of the building. “No signs of anyone. The light’s coming from deeper inside.” His voice came out a whisper—the place looked mostly deserted, but there was no telling who else might be here. Or what they were using the warehouse for.

  Time crawled by, the four of them pressed against the wall of the building. Bo peeked through the window a few more times; exactly nothing had changed. He jerked his head toward the back of the building, and they scrambled to conduct an incognito sweep of the perimeter. No other windows showed signs of life. Question marks sprang to life inside Bo, but he squashed them. Just had to get through the surveillance and then make it back to the clubhouse safe.

  Dakota passed through his mind more times than he cared to admit. It was like she’d become his secret talisman to be looked at whenever tension or anxiety streaked through him.

  At the other side of the building there was a dark window. Bo peered through it, but saw nothing. He nodded to the brothers and they crept forward, heading toward the front of the warehouse. Bo led the way past the utility van, pointing at the license plate. Butch paused to take a quick picture of it while Bo and the rest continued on. As they headed for the gate, stealthy creeping turning into confident walking, floodlights snapped on.

  Bo froze, looking back at Butch, the floodlight illuminating him in stark clarity. Bo gestured for him to hurry and Butch bolted. Their footsteps crunched over the gravel as they broke into a run, heading for the front gates leading to the street.

  Over the crunching of their feet Bo heard some voices, and then gunshots rang out. Pum. Pum. Pum. A bullet whizzed past his ear, maybe taking off a microlayer of his hoodie. Bo’s heart leapt into his throat and he ran harder, eyes focused on the gate like willing it to reach out and grab him. Shouts rang out and doors slammed. Bo looked back, finding his three brothers behind him running like hell—and the utility van’s tail lights flashing.

  The four of them broke through the gates onto the quiet street, footsteps thudding against the concrete sidewalk. Their van was too far away—they’d never make it there undetected, and they didn’t want to lead the Demon Seed thugs to their getaway car, anyway. He pushed himself as hard as he could, scanning the road for a hiding spot. The van would be pulling out of the warehouse lot any second. They had to act fast.

  Bo ran to the end of the block and hugged the corner, screeching to a stop. His brothers stopped with him and they crouched in the shadows of the corner, breathing heavily.

  “They fuckin’ got me,” Butch said, his voice ragged. He clutched at his side, pain contorted in pain. “Shit hit deep.”

  “Fuck.” Bo squinted as tires squealed; the van hurtled down the road, engine revving. His plan had been to crouch while the van blazed past, trying to follow them as though they’d kept running, and then bolt the other way. The van sped down the road, away from them, apparently still hunting for them.

  Bo relaxed a little as he watched the tail lights grow smaller. Outwitting the idiots hadn’t been so hard after all.

  “Let’s get to the van,” Bo said, jerking his head toward the street. At the very least the pursuing van had gone in the opposite direction of their own parking spot—but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be circling back soon, on the hunt.

  The four of them picked up a brisk run, Butch lagging, clutching at a dark stained spot on his shirt. Bo ran as fast as he could, the van in sight. He nearly shouted with relief once his hand touched the handle of the driver’s side, yanking the door open, hopping inside and unlocking the doors.

  One by the one the rest of the crew piled in—first Marty, then Tank, then Butch, who was wheezing at this point. The doors slid shut and the silence in the van was punctuated only by their heavy breathing. Butch groaned.

  “We gotta get back,” Marty said, pushing up the shirt to inspect the wound. Blood oozed from the bullet wound. “This one is bad.”

  Bo started the engine, heart racing as he scanned the area for anything suspicious before pulling out of the spot. He gunned it, eager to get out of this neighborhood and back to the clubhouse. Being out in the open air again was nice, but also made him feel like he had a target over his head, especially if the guys hunting them really were Demon Seed.

  Dakota’s worries rang in his head; he could practically hear her saying ‘I told you so’ the second he got back. And in a way, he wanted her to say that—it made him feel warm and fuzzy. Knowing that she cared for him was a relief, because it meant their feelings were mutual.

  Bo drove as fast as he could, racing through a couple stop signs and red lights to get back to the clubhouse in record time. Marty kept pressure on Butch’s wound as they wove through traffic. Butch only groaned once when they hit a pothole.

  Bo finally relaxed once they burst through the gates of the clubhouse, the van screeching to a stop under the garage overhang. Marty and Tank helped Butch out of the van, and Bo held the door for them as they shuffled inside.

  Music pulsed quietly from the stereo, but only a few people remained awake. They’d been gone longer than he expected—the wall clock read five a.m. A few Angels lay passed out on couches, the smell of
beer hanging in the air.

  “Take him to the sanctuary,” Bo commanded, rushing ahead to hold open the doors. Marty and Tank laid Butch on the sturdy wooden table.

  “I don’t know if I can get it out,” Marty said, glancing nervously between Butch and Bo. “It’s really deep.”

  “Try.” Bo rummaged through the shelves, looking for their bullet wound first aid kit. He grabbed it and a regular aid kit and pushed them across the table. “Tank, go get the alcohol.”

  Tank nodded and hurried out of the room. Bo held Butch’s wrist against the table, looking him in the eye.

  “We can get this one out, right buddy?”

  Butch nodded, but his eyes were dazed, not focusing well. His voice was weak and distant instead of its usual rumble. “Sure thing.”