by Wilde, Kati
I wish mine had.
“Lily,” Jenny says quietly, her gaze locked on someone behind me, and for a bright, terrible moment I think it must be Jack.
The rush of pain and anticipation falls flat when I see my mom, instead. Of course. Because my crappy luck just keeps getting crappier.
She looks as fantastic as always, sleek and tanned and polished like armor. It is armor, built up over years of living with my dad. The former first lady of the Hellfire Riders, she’s got an image to maintain, and maintain it she does. As if she can still feel my dad pinching the skin at her tiny waist and hear him saying, “Putting on a few pounds, aren’t ya, Meggie?” Or maybe it’s her own voice saying it now. I don’t know. My mom and me, we don’t talk much.
After my dad died, I thought we might start talking more. I thought things might change between us. They never did.
But she’s great. Everyone says so. She volunteers for pretty much every charity in Pine Valley, gets along with all of the MC’s old ladies, is funny and sweet and says all the right things. So a long time ago I started thinking of her as a prism—like a clear crystal that you can shine white light through and see the rainbow of colors that make it up. Everyone else gets to see the colors with a lovely glow. I get the disappointed and bitter end of the spectrum.
I see it now when her gaze lands on me. For a moment, her face stiffens into a smiling mask. That’s not happiness curving her lips, but I’m never sure whether it’s embarrassment or anger—because here I am, six feet and a hundred fifty pounds of evidence that her world isn’t as perfect as she’d like everyone to think it is. She’s got a girl who became a Rider instead of a Rider’s old lady.
“Mom.” I get up and hug her, because if I don’t she’ll give me a hurt look and say ‘What, no hug for your mama?’—even though she doesn’t really want one. But I can’t deal with that manipulative shit right now.
The top of her head only comes up to my shoulder. I know she hates that. When we’re this close, her giant daughter looks even more giant by comparison. She’s rigid against me. Probably smelling the long night on my clothes.
Probably wishing she’d chosen another restaurant.
My poor parents. They really got a bum deal when I was born. My dad wanted a son to follow in his footsteps and got me, instead. My mother wanted a daughter to follow in her footsteps and got me, instead.
So they each got half of what they wanted…but neither is the type to ever settle for half. Just like me, when they want something, they’re either all in or all out. Eventually they both decided all out was preferable.
Unfortunately, a kid doesn’t just go away. No matter how much they’d have liked me to. On my dad’s part, he just stopped giving a fuck and let my mom deal with me. That was her responsibility, after all. The woman takes care of the brat.
Of course, she didn’t resent him for essentially making her go it alone. Nope. He wasn’t wrong; I was.
I still am. At least her resentment toward me has faded. Probably because she doesn’t have to take care of me anymore—and because I finally did go away for a while, serving as a helicopter pilot in Afghanistan.
I didn’t receive a single call from my parents while I was deployed. Didn’t get a single letter or e-mail. At the beginning, I picked up the phone a few times, sent a few messages. After a while I just didn’t bother.
I don’t bother much now, either.
She awkwardly pats my arm. “It’s good to see you, Lily.”
Yeah, I can tell. My duty done, I slide back into my seat and grab my coffee. My mom aims a warm smile at both Jenny and Anna as she greets them. That warmth is real enough, especially toward Jenny. She likes the prez’s woman. Who doesn’t, right? Jenny’s so freaking nice. But with my mom, there’s another layer to it. Jenny is Saxon’s, which makes her the Riders’ first lady—a role my mom used to claim. There’s no jealousy there, though. No queen whose position was usurped. Instead, Jenny’s exactly what my mom wishes I would be. Smart, sweet, petite.
I’ll never be sweet or petite. My mom’s convinced I’m not all that smart, either. If I were smart, I’d have taken her advice five years ago when I came back from Afghanistan. My dad was dead and Saxon Gray had just been voted in as president of the Hellfire Riders. Her suggestion? Get into his bed as fast as I could. Secure my spot at his side.
I didn’t. And I prefer the spot I have now—at his back, whenever he needs it.
Jenny’s sandaled foot presses against my shin. She’s smiling at my mom as she asks, “Will you join us, Megan?”
I stiffen and her toe pokes me harder, as if she’s trying to say, Trust me, Lily. Or maybe just, Shut it, Lily.
It’s probably a good thing, too, because without that poke I’d have shut that shit down. But there’s no need. My mom gestures behind us. “I’d love to, but I’m meeting up with Crystal and Barb. I see you’re almost finished, anyway.” Her gaze lands on my empty plate—on my empty plates—and her eyebrows arch. “This was all yours, Lily?”
Here we go. I jab my fork into Jenny’s leftover French toast and drop it onto my plate, then casually cut off a bite. “Yes.”
“Just don’t let it catch up to you.” The lightness of her voice suggests she’s teasing, but she’s not. “Though I suppose softening you up a little wouldn’t hurt.”
Because God forbid that a woman has steel in her muscles and not just her spine, right? “What’s that Daddy used to say?” I shove the triangle of syrupy toast into my mouth and act like I’m trying to remember. But I don’t have to try. I remember clearly. “Oh, yeah. ‘Soft has no place in the club.’”
Oh, there’s the resentment, bright and clear in her eyes. “He said you don’t have a place in the club, either. But that’s progress, I guess. Women get to pretend they’re men.”
I don’t want to be a man. Who the fuck wants to be a man? I love being a woman. And I think progress is women getting to be who they are, not shoved into a box that someone else built.
But I just shrug and keep on chewing, because we’ve had this argument a million times. She’s not going to change her mind now. Nothing I say will ever make her give a shit about me, and I’ll never be the daughter she wants, because I refuse to crawl into that box.
Her gaze drops to my chest, and for a second I think she’s going to make a crack about the Mother of Dragons written on my tee. Maybe something about needing a man before I can have kids, or how my tits aren’t big enough to feed a baby, or that me giving birth to a dragon sounds about right. Instead she looks over to Jenny again, with that warm and lovely light back in her eyes.
“How is Red doing, Jenny? If you think he’s well enough, I thought I might pay him a visit.”
Jenny’s voice goes tight and she nods. “He’d like that.”
“Then I’ll give him a call. Oh, and there’s Crystal waving me over. It was lovely seeing you all.”
“You, too,” Jenny says, and as soon as my mom’s gone she looks to me with a grimace. “Sorry.”
“For what?” I push my plate away, stuffed so full I can barely swallow the last bite of French toast. “You didn’t ask her to show up.”
“Yeah, but…” Jenny doesn’t finish, and both she and Anna are quiet and awkward for a minute. Maybe because they’ve both got parents who love the hell out of them. Or loved, I guess. Jenny’s mom is dead. But every time Jenny or Red mentions her, it’s clear they were some kind of fairytale family. And Anna’s mom, Jesus. She’s the high school counselor and talked me down more than a few times when I was a teenager. Anna and she still get along great, even though her mom’s whole purpose is to bring out the best in people, and to help them reach goals, and Anna’s been puttering around the Wolf Den for years. But it’s like that doesn’t matter. She loves Anna, anyway.
Yet it couldn’t be more obvious that my mom would like to trade me in for a softer, nicer version—someone who doesn’t fly helicopters or fix engines or wear a kutte that says I’m a patchholder instead of property.
The waitress swings by with the check and my stomach tightens. Okay, so brunch was nice. But I’ve got a whole day stretching ahead of me and a lot of thinking I don’t want to do.
“What are your plans for the day?” My gaze skims the bill without really seeing it. “You working, Jenny?”
She nods. “I have to open up the storefront at noon.”
“My shift starts at the same time,” Anna says and glances at her watch. “That’s pretty soon, actually. So I guess we’re heading the same way, Lily.”
Because my bike is still sitting in the Den’s parking lot. Straddling a Harley is always something I can look forward to. So I’ll just ride—then take this day one mile at a time.
• • •
The first mile takes me back to my place, a split-level in one of Pine Valley’s older neighborhoods. I brought my helmet when I caught a ride to Willy’s with Anna, but I don’t wear my kutte while I’m in a cage. And although I don’t need much gear for a day trip, it’s best to grab my emergency kit before heading out.
A shower wouldn’t hurt, either.
Just inside my front door, I strip off my slept-in clothes and toss the bundle down into the basement. They land at the bottom of the stairs, where I figure they can wait until I get around to doing laundry. It’s a habit that I’m pretty sure drives Jack crazy, but he hasn’t said—
No. Not going to think of him.
Jesus, but it’s difficult. Only three days ago, I got home from the airfield to find him waiting for me in the driveway, just like he waited the first night of our bet. Easily straddling his bike, boots solidly planted, his dark gaze like the edge of a blade. Less than two minutes later he had me sprawled on these stairs, his strong hands gripping my hips and his thick cock slamming deep. God, he fucked me hard. So hard, with pleasure splintering through my senses with every rough stroke, the inner muscles of my cunt clutching his iron length until my entire body was shaking with the need to come. As soon as I did, he carried me up to the bed and devoured my pussy until I shattered against his tongue.
Each night he came over it was like that. Crashing together, our hands and mouths all over each other. Fucking again and again. When we were spent, we’d grab something to eat, or take a ride, or kill a few hours at the Barracks or in the clubhouse garage. Then we’d ride home and fuck all over again before falling asleep in my bed.
Now there’s nowhere in this house I can escape him. And it was only a month.
Except it didn’t take a month for Jack’s presence to be imprinted on every room he was in. It took one night. One night, and I was seeing him at my table, his dark hair tousled by my fingers. I was seeing him in my bed, his features as hard as sculpted stone even in sleep. But even when I close my eyes to shut him out, he’s here. I slide beneath the shower spray and feel him against me, his muscles like steel, his bronzed skin slick with soap.
I never thought it would end this way. The way we go at each other, I expected an explosion, a fight. Not this slow, quiet end.
I hoped it wouldn’t end at all. When I made the thirty-day bet, I thought he just needed time. Everyone has issues, but Jack could medal in the Shitty Childhood Olympics. Beaten and raped by his dad until he was fourteen, the abuse stopped only because he killed his father after the fucker moved on to his younger brother. But his brother never forgave Jack. Neither did his mom. He’d protected them; they’d rejected him. A few years down the line he tried to join the armed forces, failed the psych evals, and was recruited for covert ops, instead—because he was good at working solo, he could kill without blinking an eye, and he never expected anyone to have his back.
So is he fucked up? Beyond a doubt. And I knew it when I made that second bet. He’s got demons riding his back and he’s no good at asking for what he wants. Instead he waits for an opportunity and takes it.
These thirty nights left me wide open for the taking. Hell, he could have moved in and I’d have let him. But although I can feel him here, see him here…he’s not here. Not just physically absent—he’s left nothing of himself behind. When I brush my teeth, there’s no toothbrush next to mine. When I put on my clothes, I don’t find any of his stray socks in my laundry. Not a trace of him remains. Like he was never here.
Like he never meant to stay.
I’ve got a choice now. I can try again. I can make another bet. I can make it so easy for him.
But I don’t really see the point. This is the story of my life. I have to fight tooth and claw for everything I want. But no one I’ve been with has wanted me for more than a fuck. They sure as hell never wanted me enough to fight for me.
Jack let me go so easily. Do I really think thirty more nights will make a difference? Because I believed they would last time. I thought for sure he cared enough to hold on. I risked my heart on that belief.
I risked my heart and I lost.
My chest feels like someone is drilling a hole past my ribs as I pull on my boots, then sit on the stairs and stare at my phone. Last night, I wrote and erased a million messages to him. My throat is a solid ache as I write one more.
Our bet was for a month. That ended last night. So I guess we’re done?
My thumb hovers over ‘send.’ That question mark. Why am I asking him whether we’re done? Jesus. By not showing up last night, he already said we are.
That question mark just drags this out.
Before I can think it over, I replace the mark with a period, then hit ‘send.’ And I wait. I don’t even know what I’m waiting for.
Yes, I do. I’m hoping for a response. I’m hoping Jack says he lost track of the days—that he intended to ask for more. No reply comes. That doesn’t mean he won’t answer. If he’s on the road, he probably won’t check his phone right away. If he’s at the clubhouse, the message won’t hit his phone until he leaves the property. Reception is shit out at the ranch.
I know all that. Yet every passing minute drills a deeper hole into my chest and it hurts so fucking bad. Only two things might numb it: a bottle of whiskey, or the wind in my face.
I already drank all my whiskey. So I head for my bike and ride.
Chapter Two
Jack
“The way I see it, we’ve got three options,” the prez says. “We let Valentine be, we remind him it’s best to keep his mouth shut, or we put a bullet in his head.”
As the Riders’ warlord, I’d carry out two of those options, using my fists or my gun. They probably won’t be needed. I can see the prez is leaning toward the first option. But he’s leaving the question open for discussion.
It’ll be a short discussion. A meeting like this doesn’t include most of the brothers. There’s just the VP, the enforcer, and me in the prez’s office today—the two men who’ll decide Valentine’s fate, and the two men who’ll make the boss’s orders happen.
Thorne knows Valentine best. One of the old-timers, he’s got steel in his hair and a leather kutte worn thin over the years. He was the VP for the Steel Titans before the Riders folded that club into our own. Valentine came with them.
“He never could keep his mouth shut,” Thorne says now. “He’ll flap his gums to any Hangman who’ll listen.”
“And it’ll all be hot air,” Stone Wall adds from his seat next to Thorne’s. “That boy likes to exaggerate the size of his dick. Anything he says will only be about making us look like shit so that he looks better.”
“Do we care if he’s talking shit?” the prez asks.
Stone shakes his head. As enforcer, his role isn’t much different from mine. We both only answer to the prez. Stone makes sure that people outside the club do whatever we’ve asked them to do. If someone sees Stone coming, they’ve got one chance to fall in line. If someone sees me coming, it’s already too late. I take care of the shit that goes unasked, making certain everything runs smoothly—and if it doesn’t, I clean up the mess.
Valentine is a mess, but only a small one. He had it in for Lily. She took him down. So he turned in his colors, thr
owing shit at us all on his way out, but making sure most of the disrespect landed on her. I can still her face as she silently absorbed every insult, her spine rigid and rage flushing her skin.
Killing isn’t something I like or dislike; it’s just something I do. But I’d enjoy putting a bullet between his baby blues.
“Talking shit does us a favor,” Stone says. “If he makes us sound weak, they’ll underestimate our strength. That’ll give us the early advantage.”
“He’ll just puff himself up,” Thorne agrees. “I can’t see that anything he’ll say is a threat to us. He’ll talk about the brothers, their ranks, but it’s not anything the Hangmen couldn’t have learned from anyone with eyes.”
From behind his desk, the prez turns his gaze on me, waiting. I make sure things run smoothly. That means I do the risk assessment.
That means my word weighs more heavily than any other.
“He doesn’t know anything worth telling,” I say. “He wasn’t on-site when we took down the Eighty-Eight. Maybe he’ll tell them the Riders took out Reichmann and his crew, but they’ll figure it’s more of his bullshit because he won’t have any details to share. The feds believe a cartel was behind it. The Eighty-Eight’s mother chapter is convinced the DEA burned them down. No one’s thinking we did.”
“Will they start looking at us if he says so?”
“He’ll only bring pain on himself if he does. Not from us.” The Riders would shut him up if it came to that. But we wouldn’t get the chance. “Because that would mean he was with us when we took out the Eighty-Eight, and their California chapters still have strong business ties to the Hangmen. The Hangmen would hand Valentine over so that they can find out more. Then they might start looking at us. But he’d be dead before they do.”