“I was asked to bring you back to the clubhouse so we can have an emergency church meeting,” Truth replied quietly. “You weren’t answering your phone.”
“I was at work,” I told him.
“We know. Stone knows. Which is why I’m here, and we waited,” he replied just as quietly.
I sighed.
There went my beer and book.
“Okay.”
The drive to the clubhouse was one I’d made hundreds of times. So many times, in fact, that it was near to driving on autopilot.
Tonight, though, one thing stood out more than others.
The broken-down car on the side of the road.
Normally it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but for some reason my instincts were screaming at me.
Coming to a halt a couple hundred yards away from the car with its flashers on, I waited.
And watched.
“What is it?” Truth yelled to be heard over the motor of both of our bikes.
I shook my head.
“Something’s off,” I muttered.
Truth didn’t hear me.
“What?”
“Something…”
I didn’t finish it.
“What the hell are you doing?” Truth asked.
The road we were on wasn’t traveled often, and that wasn’t by accident.
The compound for our club was just down the road from here, and every single person had to pass this stretch of road to get to the clubhouse.
And we weren’t the only ones that knew this.
Anyone that was in our small town would know this.
Which was why that broken-down car was making me feel weirded out.
Not to mention I’d seen my share of roadside bombs thanks to what appeared to be ‘broken down’ cars on the side of the road.
“What are you doing?” Truth asked, alarmed now when he saw me pull out my Glock.
Without answering, I shot the tire of the nearest wheel.
Nothing happened.
For about ten seconds.
Then the entire world shook as a deafening boom filled the air.
The shock of impact was enough to throw me off my feet, but I held onto my gun.
It was held loosely in my hand, even after hitting the ground hard.
“What the fuck?” Truth scrambled to his feet. “What the actual fuck?”
Truth had been in the military.
Though, he hadn’t seen actual combat.
When he’d entered the Navy, he’d been on a ship each and every time he was deployed. What he hadn’t ever had to experience was roadside bombs in hostile territory.
In recent years Truth had learned to fly, and had then proceeded to fly the local station’s helicopter for them during times that they needed aerial footage of something going on in the area.
Sure, he had military experience, and he also had crime experience. What he didn’t have, however, was the same anticipation of danger that I did. The same thing was also reversed. I didn’t see the same dangers that he did.
“You see anything?” I asked him, looking around my quickly darkening surroundings.
“Nope.” Truth shook his head and went to where his helmet had fallen free of his grasp. “And I don’t think we should delay any longer.”
I agreed.
But where there was one trap, there was likely two.
Thankfully we didn’t see another thing as we finished making our way to the clubhouse.
And by the time we got there, every single person who’d been inside was now outside waiting for us.
“Was that y’all?” Stone looked angry, arms crossed tightly across his chest.
I snorted.
“In a way,” I conceded. “There was an abandoned car on the side of the road.”
“It set his spidey senses off,” Truth added when he realized I wasn’t going to.
“The car was what, a bomb?”
“One of those ones that’s meant to go off when we pass it. Likely to go off at a certain decibel level.”
“Doesn’t that mean that someone had to have been close to detonate it?” Stone asked.
“Not exactly,” Ghost chimed in. “It could be set to go off at a certain decibel level. If anything surpasses that sound barrier, it’ll go off.”
Stone looked pissed.
“Well this is just the icing on my goddamned cake,” Stone grumbled. “Get inside so we can have our meeting.”
I followed inside, and when I left thirty minutes later, I wasn’t any less confused.
“Someone’s blackmailing the club?” Seanshine mumbled as he followed me out. “Who would be stupid enough to do that?”
Not a fucking clue.
We weren’t one percenters like most clubs, but we sure as fuck weren’t fucking angels, either.
Sean, aka Seanshine, was born and raised in this club, since his dad was the vice-president.
He knew more about this club than anyone other than Stone himself.
“Apparently, someone is,” I muttered as I straddled my bike. “I’m no expert on all this shit. I’ve never actually had to deal with anything like this before…but that note Stone just read…” I shook my head. “That’s fucked up, and there’s nothing to even go by. How do you fight an enemy that you can’t see? Who disappears before you realize they were there in the first place?”
The note had been pretty simple and straightforward.
Stop fucking with our colors or you’ll regret it.
That was it.
It wasn’t even written or given to someone specifically.
The note itself had been found duct-taped to the front gate.
It could’ve been to anyone.
But me, that was. I kept my nose out of shit, and kept to myself.
I also wasn’t involved in shit that had the possibility to backfire.
I worked. I went home. I slept. I repeated.
That was literally it unless it came to club functions, none of which would’ve garnered that kind of reaction.
Every once in a while, I would go on a ride with the club, or go to a party, but then I’d disappear into a corner and nobody even realized I was there.
“I know,” Sean mumbled. “And I’m fairly sure it’s not directed at me or Dad…” he shook his head. “Ghost or Truth is my bet.”
“Hmm,” I murmured. “Just have to keep alert. You know how to do that, don’t you?”
Sean gave me an ‘are you kidding me’ look, causing me to laugh.
“Shut up.”
Grinning, I started my bike, strapped on my helmet, and took off, heading in the direction of dinner.
I slowed down when I came upon the cops that were checking out the car, waving to one of the officers that I knew—Martin Brown—as I passed.
He gave me a thumb up, and then answered his phone seconds after I put him in my rearview.
I pulled into the diner twenty minutes later, wondering if I could read and nobody would bother me.
I hated driving home and eating half-warmed food.
Five minutes into my dining experience, I was reading my book and snacking on fried pickles when someone sat down in my booth.
I contemplated not looking up, but that would make me ruder than the person who decided to join me without my expressed permission.
Carefully placing down my fried pickle that was only half eaten, I wasn’t surprised to find Tawny sitting there.
Tawny and me went way back.
She was my first kiss. My first hug. My first fuck.
Literally, she had all of my firsts.
I’d spent my entire teen years counting down the days until my vacation so I could spend more and more time with Tawny.
Tawny had also been my first introduction into how women intentionally fucked over men, though.
Of course, now that I was older, I realized that at Tawny’s and my age at the time, it
wasn’t really surprising that she would move on without me.
“Can I help you?” I questioned.
Before she could answer, the diner’s door opened, drawing my attention, and I had to clench my fists in order not to stand up and stalk toward the woman—and the man whose arm was around her—who came into the diner moments later.
Imogen was beautiful.
Though she was small, it didn’t detract from her hotness, it just added to her adorableness.
She was sexy as hell, and I would bet that the woman knew it.
“Aaron?” Tawny’s soft voice drew my attention.
“What?” I snapped.
Tawny’s brows rose.
“I wanted to know if you wanted to go out to a movie sometime,” she offered quietly.
No. No, I did not.
I didn’t do public places.
The diner was one of my only exceptions. A man had to eat, after all.
That didn’t extend to the movies. Nor did it extend to bars or other social functions outside of hanging with the club.
“No thanks,” I immediately denied. “I’m busy.”
“Really?” she asked. “It sure looks like you’re busy.”
She looked at my book, tapping it lightly with one well-manicured fingernail, and I had to fight the urge to pull it to me so her bad vibes wouldn’t extend to it and taint it in any way.
“That’s a good one,” Imogen said as she passed. “My favorite book is the fourth and fifth in that series.”
I looked at the book, Cursor’s Fury by Jim Butcher, and smiled.
“Those are my favorites, too,” I muttered. “This is my sixth or seventh reread. I read it when I don’t have anything else that catches my interest.”
Imogen grinned.
“I’m the same,” she informed me. “Have you ever read Ilona Andrews?”
“The Beast Lord?” I grinned, naming one of the main characters. “Who hasn’t?”
“Umm,” Tawny said. “Who’s the Beast Lord?”
Silence followed her question, and I wondered if it’d be rude to get up and leave, asking the waitress to make my order to go and bring it out to me when it was done.
That would be rude, though, and I tried not to embarrass my mother who worked—and owned—the diner.
“Hello, Tawny.”
Speaking of the devil. My mother liked to walk through and greet the customers when she had the time.
“Hello, Mrs. Chastain,” Tawny said sweetly, greeting my mother like they were old friends.
I gritted my teeth.
“And hello, Imogen Wild.”
My brows rose.
“Your last name is Wild?” I asked her.
Imogen shrugged. “Daddy was a Wild one.”
I snorted.
She grinned.
Tawny cleared her throat.
“Mrs. Chastain, I’d like to order a special with a sweet tea.”
“And I’d like to make mine to go,” I told my mom. “I forgot I had to run by the prison to get my phone.”
My phone chose that moment to start vibrating in my pants.
Luckily, I knew who it was, though, and wasn’t worried about answering it.
If it rang again, then I’d answer it.
But it didn’t, and everybody was none the wiser that I’d just lied through my teeth.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” my mom murmured. “I was making a blueberry pie for you.”
My stomach clenched.
Blueberry pie was my favorite.
“I can swing by and pick up a piece on my way home,” I told her.
“But we’re in the opposite direction of your house. That wouldn’t make much sense.”
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“I know,” I muttered. “I’ll do the best I can, though.”
Which would be to come back by once I knew Tawny was gone.
Something I could tell that everyone realized, but wasn’t saying.
“I’ll save you a piece so you don’t have to come all the way back here,” Mom offered.
I nodded my head.
“Sounds good,” I grabbed the last four fried pickles and dipped them in ranch before shoving them into my mouth.
“You not on a diet today?” Mom asked, leaning her hip against the table across the room.
“No,” I muttered. “It’s Wednesday. No calorie counting on Wednesdays.”
She snorted and got up, walking to the cash register and tallying something up before going on her tiptoes to place Tawny’s order.
“You gonna sit down, friend?”
I looked over my shoulder to see the man, my breath leaving me in a whoosh when I heard the word ‘friend.’ The way he’d said it made it sound like she really was his friend, and not anything more. There was no suggestive tone or hinting at anything when he’d said ‘friend.’
Why that would make me fucking happy, I didn’t know, especially when I could tell Imogen was trouble.
Maybe not in a criminal sort of way, but definitely in a trouble for my poor heart sort of way.
I’d sworn to myself that I would never fall back into a woman’s clutches, and I could tell by just one look that, although she may be small, she was fierce.
She was hot. She was well-spoken. And my downfall: she liked the same books as me.
Not to mention that I’d never once seen her flinch when she took me in.
Not like Tawny was doing.
Tawny who hadn’t even managed to look me in the eyes.
Tawny who’d seen my face for the first time six months ago and blanched the moment she saw it and me.
“Well, I’ll send some blackberry pie with you since you’re not counting calories. I’ll also bring you the blueberry pie when it’s done,” Mom continued.
“I can bring it if you want,” Imogen offered. “He does live across the hallway from me.”
Mom’s mouth tilted up in a small smile.
“That would be perfect.”
“You can’t eat it though,” I informed her. “If a single piece is missing, I’ll hunt you down.”
Imogen burst out laughing, and I found the corner of my mouth tipping up in reaction to her laugh.
Which then caused my mother to gasp.
“Was that a smile?”
My ‘smile’ quickly fell off my face, and I turned my glare on my mother.
“Shut it.”
My mother snorted.
“I changed your diapers, you know. Cleaned shit out of the creases of your balls,” my mother started.
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“That’s exactly what all of your diners want to hear, Mom,” I mumbled, standing up.
Mom snickered and walked away, quiet laughter following her all the way back into the kitchen.
My eyes met Imogen’s, who were shimmering with laughter of her own, and I sighed.
“Don’t forget to bring me my pie,” I ordered.
“Never,” she promised.
“Bye, Aaron.” Tawny waved.
My eyes slid past her as I nodded to the man at Imogen’s back.
Grabbing my still full glass of sweet tea, I walked to the counter, waited for only a few short seconds for my mom to hand me my food, and walked out to my bike.
I pulled my bike over halfway home and ate my food next to a small pond, contemplating the feelings that were warring away inside of me.
“Damn you, Lynn,” I grumbled as I tried to work through the feelings—feelings that I shouldn’t even be having after the way I’d been screwed over by my wife—for Imogen.
But after ten minutes of circling, I realized that these feelings—especially the one that I could feel deep in my chest every time I saw the woman—weren’t going to go away. Not any time soon, and certainly not if I was going to continue to see her.
It’d been unintentional on both of our parts, but now that
I was living across the hall from her and had my car at her shop, I knew I’d be seeing her quite a bit in the next coming months.
Since I wasn’t willing to move right now, and I wanted to get my car fixed up, it looked like I was either going to have to give in or live with the feeling.
And living with the feelings didn’t seem like something I could handle for the long haul.
Surely, I could scare her off.
If she was the one to put the wall up between us, then I wouldn’t have to try so hard from my end.
I was all set to push her away, too, but then she showed up with my pie after I arrived at my apartment, and I forgot what I was supposed to be doing.
“Your mom said to tell you that she stocked your freezer with ice cream last week,” Imogen informed me the moment I answered the door.
She extended her arms, the pie resting in her outstretched hands, and stared at me with a wide smile.
“Thanks.” I took the pie—which was still warm—from her hands and placed it on the entrance table just inside my apartment door.
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” she asked.
I blinked, then shrugged. “Sure.”
“Why did you go with your father and not stay with your mother?” Imogen asked.
I leaned against the doorjamb and stared down the hallway.
“When I was younger, I had a fairly bad health scare. Leukemia,” I murmured. “Which was inevitably the reason that my mother and father split up.”
She waited patiently for me to continue, and I offered her a wink.
“Dad met my stepmother a year or so after they split up. By that point I was recovered, but I had this weird separation anxiety. Any time my dad tried to leave, I’d have these panic attacks. As long as I knew he was close, I was okay. School. Camps. They were okay. But the minute I realized I wouldn’t see him every night, I started having the attacks. My mother…” I shook my head. “My mother did what any good mother would do, and insisted I go live with my father.”
“Wow,” Imogen whispered. “That’s a pretty selfless act right there.”
“My mother is an amazing woman,” I agreed. “By the time the attacks stopped, I was already in school. Had friends. So the decision was made on my parents’ end to leave me there until I asked to go back home…which I never did.”
Beard Mode (The Dixie Warden Rejects MC Book 1) Page 4