GRIT: A Spartan Riders Novel

by J.C. Valentine

  Blake stared out into the pitch black night. “It isn’t even a question.”

  Again, he felt the intensity of Tucker’s stare on his profile. “You thinkin’ about puttin’ your patch on her?”

  “It’s definitely on the table.” Tucker unleashed another curse, this one of profound disbelief. Blake’s head whipped around, his brows hanging heavy over his eyes. “You think I’m making a mistake.”

  “Nah, Prez. I met her. She’s good people. I just never thought I’d see the day when you would take an old lady. I guess sometimes miracles do happen.”

  Blake couldn’t stop from smiling. “You’re a real shit, Tuck.”

  Pulling a cigarette from behind his ear, he placed it between his lips, lit it, and inhaled deep, scowling at the night as he breathed out a cloud of smoke. “I’ll do some checkin’, see what I can find.”

  Blake nodded his thanks. Silence ensued, reminding Blake that Tucker had something to say as well. “You got somethin’ on your mind?”

  On an exhale, smoke bled from his nostrils. “First, Jodi made bail.”

  “Shit.” Blake raked his fingers through his hair.

  “Yeah, happened fast. Wasn’t shit I could do about it. But some good came of it. I got a bead on her,” he informed him, his tone dark and serious as the grave, thickening his southern accent. Blake continued staring out at the road, now shiny and slick from a fine mist that’d rolled in with the fog. “You ain’t gonna like what I have to say.”

  “Is this something I should sit down for?”

  Country’s caramel colored eyes slanted his way. “It’s something we should all sit down for.”

  Shit. That meant he’d have to call church. Whatever Country had uncovered, it was the worst of the worst. Through clenched teeth, Blake asked, “How bad?”

  He offered two words: “Ricky Cruiz.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  “If you give me an hour, I can run home and grab something to wear and join you.” Gabby watched Blake as he pushed his legs into a pair of black, thigh-hugging jeans that made his ass look bitable.

  “It’s not that kind of church, teach. I need you to stay here and look after Ash for me. I shouldn’t be gone long.”

  Gabby’s frown was deep. What kind of place would be called church if it wasn’t church? Pulling a white t-shirt over his head, Blake paused as he reached for his socks, catching the look on her face.

  “To the Spartans, church is just a fancy term for a private meeting. Club business,” he clarified.

  “On a Sunday? Isn’t that a little…I don’t know, sacrilegious or something?”

  “Don’t see how.” After he put his socks on and finished lacing up his boots, Blake knelt on the bed, planting his fists into the mattress on either side of her, and leaned in. “Don’t go anywhere till I get back.” He pecked her on the nose, then the lips. Pulled back. Narrowed his eyes. Then dove back in for another kiss that sent shockwaves of arousal throughout her entire body before shoving to his feet.

  Gabby sat up, allowing the sheet to pool at her waist. “When are you coming home?”

  Blake paused on his way out the door, his gaze dropping to her bare breasts. Her nipples tightened, and he groaned. “Witch,” he hissed, reaching down to shift himself. “You’re going to pay for that when I get back.”

  “Which is…”

  “Later.”

  She glared at him, not digging his elusive bullshit one bit.

  Slipping his riding jacket on, he lifted a brow and smirked, as if amused by her annoyance. “Club business, babe,” he reiterated. “Don’t know how long it will take, can’t tell you nothin’ about it other than I’ll be home later. Stay here, wait for me.”

  “Will you at least call when you’re on your way?”

  “Why, to give you time to let the boyfriend out the back door?” he teased, though a spike of jealousy flashed across his face.

  Gabby shook her head in disbelief. “I hope you don’t really think so little of me. I was actually planning to go through all your things, see what kind of skeletons I can dig up.”

  He grinned, and Gabby’s heart stuttered. God, he was hot! “Babe, you can dig all you want. I gotta run.”

  He puckered his lips as if blowing a kiss, and she did the same, causing another brilliant smile to expand across his face. She sat in the middle of the bed, listening as he left the house. For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to move until the sound of his motorcycle faded into the distance. Then she forced herself out of bed to get the day started.

  She took a moment to check in on Ash, who was still sound asleep, before taking a brief shower, then headed back to Blake’s bedroom.

  She stood in front of the open closet, dressed in a flannel she’d borrowed from Blake’s collection, towel drying her hair while contemplating where to start. Maybe he’d thought she was joking about snooping through his stuff, but he’d given her the green light all the same. She figured she might as well take it.

  Starting with a shelf mounted above the clothing rack—containing jeans, t-shirts, and various forms of leather—she pulled down several boxes, setting them out on the floor. The first box she opened was full of old papers—bills, notices, tax documents and the like. She picked up an old bank statement lying on top, and her eyes widened at the figures printed on it. Holy cow! The construction trade was doing very well for Blake.

  Unless that money was from the club, in which case she didn’t want to know.

  Putting the lid back on the box, she pushed it aside and opened the next. It was smaller than the last, roughly shoebox-sixed, and heavy. She opened it, frowned at seeing another box tucked inside, then opened that one. What she saw had her eyes opening even wider than the bank statement.

  Guns. Ammo. Plenty of both. If anyone ever thought of breaking and entering, they weren’t going to live to regret it.

  Unnerved by so much metal, Gabby closed the box back up and with extreme care, carried it back to the closet, making sure to put it back in the exact right place.

  Sitting back down on the carpet, she hauled the final box over. This one was much larger than the last two, long and rectangular, and fairly light. Her fingers itched with anticipation as she wondered what could be hidden inside.

  “Oh…wow,” she breathed upon peeling back the lid. Mounds and mounds of photographs were piled inside. She picked up one with an image of a younger version of Blake. He must have been in his late teens to early twenties. His hair was longer, touching his shoulders, his beard in full force, completely obscuring the lower half of his face, but one thing hadn’t changed: those eyes.

  Those silver eyes, lively with humor, beamed at the camera. She couldn’t help wondering who that look was meant for.

  The next picture she picked up answered that question. Dressed in the same plain t-shirt and jeans as the first photo, Blake stood next to an equally young woman with flaxen hair, round, rosy cheeks, and a white, toothy smile. They were leaned back, heads together, while the woman held the camera above them.

  It took a moment to connect the dots, but Gabby realized this must be Jodi. She looked so healthy, she almost didn’t recognize her.

  Gabby must have stared at that picture for ages. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. Even though she knew Blake had been with other women, had been in a long-term relationship that had produced a child, there was something about seeing evidence of it with her own eyes that made her stomach drop and her lungs squeeze too tight.

  She thought about being with him now and how he expressed his desire for her to move in with him. They’d be like a little family, the three of them. As she continued to stare at that picture, she wondered how two people who were seemingly so happy could grow to hate each other so much. And she wondered what that said for their relationship. If she allowed herself to move forward with him, what was to say they wouldn’t end up in the same place someday?

  She thought of her and Shane’s relationship. It had seemed so perfect. The day he’d asked h
er to move in with him was the day she’d begun dreaming of wedding cakes and white picket fences. When she’d learned of his deceptions, however, her vision of love had shattered like a rock thrown through a glass house.

  The sad reality was that Gabby wasn’t sure she believed in love anymore. At least not the power of it. Sometimes it just seemed that people weren’t meant to be monogamous. Men cheated, women lied, relationships died as fast as they could be built.

  The only exception to the rule that she’d ever witnessed was sitting in her own backyard in the form of her parents. Now those were two people who knew how to make it work for the long haul. They weren’t perfect by any means, and from what she could tell, the magic had fizzled away years ago, but they stuck to each other like glue, more friends than anything.

  Was that all she had to look forward to, a passionate love affair that would eventually cool to a mutual respect for one another? The thought was depressing.

  Dropping the photograph back in the box, she sorted through the rest, smiling at Blake’s smile, tracing Ash’s pudgy baby face. So many pictures, so much chaos.

  “Where’s Daddy?”

  Gabby jerked her head up, startled. Ash stood in the doorway, still dressed in his pajamas, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Hey, you. Your dad had to go to a meeting, but he said he’ll be back later.” He noticed the box in front of her, and seeing his curiosity, she said, “You want to see some pictures?”

  His expression lit up and he hustled over to where she sat, folding his legs beneath him.

  “Here’s one of you as a baby,” she said, handing off the one she’d been looking at.

  He studied it with a critical eye. “I look like a monkey.”

  She leaned over, smiling at how his ears seemed to stick out a little too far. Paired with the wide eyes and pursed lips—caught by surprise by the camera’s flash—he did indeed resemble a monkey. She laughed. “You were such a cute monkey though.”

  Losing interest, Ash discarded the photo in the box and rifled through it for another. He selected one of Blake. In this one, he held the camera overhead, his face turned away to kiss Jodi’s pregnant belly.

  Gabby’s heart lurched. Her thoughts whirled, pulling her down a road she’d never before entertained, one where she was heavy with his child. What would it be like to have Blake’s baby? Would he be as in love with their child as he appeared to be in that photo?

  She shook her head. She was a woman with a question mark hanging over her future. There was no sense in fantasizing about things that weren’t likely to happen.

  Watching Ash sit there, ogling all the pictures as if they were all brand new, Gabby got the sense that Blake had never shared them with him. She couldn’t understand why that might be, other than maybe he was trying to avoid the past just as much as she.

  “Daddy looks weird!” Ash threw his head back and cackled, holding out a picture of Blake, who was dressed in a pair of stone-washed, ripped-up, cutoff jeans and clunky, shin-high black boots. It was a travesty of early nineties fashion, but his bare chest and long, shaggy hair had her forgiving him instantly.

  Why did the man have to be so gosh darned delicious? It seemed that every time she looked at him—in person or in a picture, it made no difference at all—a slew of tingles ravished her body. It was maddening how little self-control she had when it came to him.

  Ash continued sorting through photographs, and seeing how much enjoyment they garnered for him sparked her inspiration.

  “Hey, I have an idea,” she said, unfolding from her seated position and standing. Her legs came alive, shooting with needle pricks as the blood rushed back into them. Carefully, she bent to pick up the box. “What do you say to doing an art project today? We could surprise your dad!”

  Beaming an identical smile to his father’s, Ash exclaimed, “Yeah!”

  She followed him out of the room and into the kitchen, setting the box down on the dining table. “All right, show me where you keep your art supplies.”

  ***

  Blake raked his fingers through his already mussed hair. He’d been doing it so much over the last hour that his scalp was beginning to chafe. According to what his men had uncovered, women in and around the area were coming up missing. The police were at a loss for where to look, but given everything going on, the brothers suspected it might have ties to Cruiz. Country’s girl, one of the Spartan’s bunnies that he’d been getting cozy with, claimed to have a nose on the inside, and confirmed their suspicions. Although, Blake didn’t make it a habit to take the word of a whore, so he was taking the information with a grain of salt.

  To top it off, earlier that morning, he’d sat around the table with his men and listened as Country spilled every detail of his latest recon: where Jodi had been spending her time and who with.

  He hadn’t been surprised—thanks to Country’s heads-up—that she’d been getting cozy with the Mexican. What he had been surprised to find out was that she was up to her eyeballs in dirty dealings.

  Apparently, not only was she sleeping with the fucker, she was wearing his patch. Of all the people she could have involved herself with, Cruiz was the worst. To make matters even worse, Country had reason to suspect that Cruiz and his men were in deep with the Cartel, which also made sense. They were getting their drugs and guns somewhere. Running reconnaissance during his time in the Marines, his SpecOps training came in handy whenever the Spartans needed eyes on the ground. Once again, Blake was thankful to have his skills at the ready.

  All things considered, as far as Blake was concerned, over his dead body would Jodi ever lay eyes or hands on Ash again. Even if she hadn’t attacked Gabby, getting into bed with Cruiz sealed the deal. Cruiz’s reputation preceded him, and if the stories were to be believed, once he grew tired of Jodi—and he would; he always did—she’d end up in the same place everyone who crossed paths with Cruiz ended up: in a shallow grave.

  Clearing his throat, Blake decided now was as good a time as any to put what had happened on the schoolyard on the table for everyone. All eyes were on him as he began talking. “A situation came up this week that needs dealing with. The other day, I was dropping Ash off at school when I found Jodi brawling with Gabby in the parking lot.”

  “Shit,” Moose hissed under his breath.

  Repo’s gaze darkened. He’d never hid the fact that he didn’t like Jodi, and it was apparent that his feelings hadn’t lessened over time. “Who threw the first punch?”

  Blake shot him a look. “One guess. Jodi shoved her around a bit, pulled her hair, typical cat fight shit. Even went as far as to threaten her away from me and Ash, but Gabby held her own. She walked away with a few scratches, and Jodi spent the night downtown. Posted bail before Country could work his magic, and I’d bet money a night in jail wasn’t enough to cool her off. The bitch is out for blood.”

  “Add to that her showing up at your doorstep in the middle of the night,” Bear added from the far end of the table.

  Repo’s fist curled tight on the hardwood. “You think that bitch needs a reminder who she’s fucking with?”

  Judging by the fire burning bright in his eyes, Blake didn’t doubt for a single second that the man was gunning for blood. “The crazy bitch isn’t afraid of us,” he informed him, his tone gruff. “Thinks the club is a bunch of pussies.”

  “She think we gone soft?” Cricket asked, disbelieving.

  “Half the fucking state thinks we’ve gone soft,” Moose said with a chuckle. “Anytime you ain’t spilling blood on the street is a moment of weakness in their eyes.”

  Blake’s jaw clenched, the truth irritating him. Once upon a time, when his pops held the gavel, the Spartans had been feared coast to coast. They weren’t much better than Cruiz and his minions, commanding loyalty and respect from anyone who drew breath, but that worldview came with a hefty price. A price Blake didn’t want to spend his life repaying. Living on a knife’s edge day in and day out had a habit of shortening a man’s life-span.

  I
t also had a habit of putting everyone he loved in the cross hairs of his enemies.

  Blake had seen the toll it took on his mother to be his father’s old lady. It placed untold strain on their marriage, caused fights, broke her heart in the end, which was probably why she was now off who knew where playing Columbus. Blake never wanted that for his family. He dreamed of quiet, easy days surrounded by his brothers and their kin. He wanted simple, so he’d set out to make it happen.

  In ten years’ time, and after a fatal run-in with a rival gang that took his father’s life, thrusting Blake to the head of the table, the Spartan MC became Spartan Riders, reinventing them as a harmless band of brothers who represented comradery rather than bloodshed.

  It was everything he’d ever hoped for, but now it looked like they might have to dip their toes back into the dead pool, and Blake was furious. All that hard work dragging them out of the pits, making a better name for the men and the club, only to throw it all away on a piece of shit like Ricky Cruiz.

  “Send Jodi a message,” Blake ground out, “but keep your distance. I don’t want to bring the house down unless we absolutely have to.”

  Repo nodded, triggering each member around the table to do the same. “You got it, Prez.”

  As each man got up to leave, Blake stared across the expanse of scarred oak and couldn’t deny the thread of unease working its way through his nerve endings. This thing between Jodi and Cruiz, Blake and Gabby, was going to come to a head, and when it did, shit was gonna get real ugly real fast, and the forty-five tucked in his holster said he’d better be prepared when it did.

  TWENTY-THREE

  When Blake arrived home later that afternoon, he’d worn a haunted look in his eyes that left Gabby feeling disturbed. She wondered what he and the other guys had talked about during their meeting to have him looking that way, and she grew increasingly concerned throughout the day as his mood continued to deteriorate. But when she’d tried to ask him about it, he’d brushed her off, reminding her that it was club business—in other words, butt out.