by Wilde, Kati
Rolling onto my back, I pull her with me and tuck her against my side. Pale strands of hair stick to her sweaty face.
Softly she says, “That’s my favorite kind of fight.”
Mine, too. “You think it’ll be that hard, you and me?”
“Not most of the time.” That’s all she says for a long second, her fingers idly trailing through the hair on my chest. “This past month was good. Mostly.”
“Mostly?” I can’t recall anything that was a fight outside of the bedroom.
“It was good. When you were here.” She blows out a short breath. “When I wasn’t fucking with my own head.”
“Thinking I’d lost interest?”
“Yeah.” Her face turns a little as she says it, like she’s trying to hide whatever she’s feeling.
Running scared. Just not going so far this time.
I can only imagine one thing that might scare her. “You think this will hurt your place in the club?”
“No.” All at once she looks up at me, her eyebrows arched, a faint smile curving her plush lips. “And I notice you’ve gone from ‘being Lily’s shield’ to ‘I’m just going to scare the fuck out of anyone who throws shit at her.’ Like you did with Burnout.”
“It’s all right?”
She nods. “It’s good.”
“Good.” Because I don’t want to hurt her again.
And because it was pretty fucking fun.
Sleepily she rubs her cheek against my chest, snuggling in. “But, you know. This is all new. And I can’t promise I won’t freak out again. I’ve never had a…a relationship. Only hookups. So I don’t know how to deal with all of this stuff yet.”
Shit. “I don’t either. But I figured that every time you push me out, I’ll just fight my way back in.”
“Good.” She smiles faintly and closes her eyes. “I love you, you know.”
I didn’t. And it’s a knockout blow, leaving me so fucking stunned I can’t say another word. So I just hold her tight as she drifts to sleep and I’m still holding her when the birds start singing outside and pink streaks the sky.
Now I know what scared her so bad. Now I know what knocked her down. Because me, I’m lying here, holding more in my arms than I ever dreamed I’d have.
And the thought of losing any of it is damn terrifying.
Chapter Six
Lily
Monday night is the special club meeting, where the prez basically tells all of us to put on our dancing shoes Saturday night—and that any Rider who doesn’t have a damn good reason to show better hit the road now. I don’t think anyone will miss it. Burning Jack’s shop down essentially lit a fire under the whole club and we’re out for blood.
But the setup isn’t sitting right with Jack. All week, he pores over everything he knows about the Hangmen and makes calls to friendly clubs more familiar with the Hangmen’s larger chapters. On Thursday, he out-and-out tells me that he doesn’t expect it to go down like we all think it will, because Croc’s looking for patchholders to bolster his ranks. He’s already down by three men, and his numbers aren’t as strong as the Riders’ to begin with—so tearing into each other on this kind of scale doesn’t make any sense. The Hangmen will lose. But even on the slim chance the Riders get thumped, Croc only ends up with a strip joint. So Croc’s challenge is most likely a bait and switch.
The question is: What the hell is the switch going to be?
Jack and I ride out to the Barracks early. Some joker’s playing Beat It over the sound system. Probably Spiral, since he’s the getting up on the stage with the dancers and moonwalking. I settle in at the bar next to Gunner while Jack and Stone meet up with the prez.
Gunner’s got a beer bottle in his hand, but like the rest of us, he’s not drinking much. He lifts his chin toward the stage. “You think Spiral’s trying to say that we should all just bust a move with the Hangmen instead of busting their heads?”
“Maybe. Or maybe he wants a dance off. He’d be more likely to win that than a fight.”
Gunner nods. “He’s got good moves.”
“He used to be on Pine Valley’s high school cheerleading team,” I say and laugh when Gunner chokes on the sip he was taking. “Just fucking with you. He really was on the cheerleading team, but he was on them.” And because making him choke isn’t mean enough, I add, “Anna Wall was a cheerleader around that time, I think.”
His pretty face closes up tight but the poor guy can’t help himself. He’s been hung up on Stone’s sister for years, but the funniest part of that is he thinks no one notices. Now his gaze shoots to Spiral again like he’s wondering if Anna ever hooked up with him.
Anna hasn’t. But I’m not going to tell Gunner that. Let him stew in it.
I’m not all mean, though. Pulling out my phone, I send him one of Anna’s pictures.
He glances at his screen and frowns at the glittery mess. “What’s this?”
“Anna’s bathroom,” I tell him. “I thought you might like some spank material.”
Gunner looks at me like I’ve lost it, but I notice he doesn’t delete the photo.
Poor sap. I grin and sip my beer. This is already shaping up into an entertaining night and it only gets better when Jack heads my way again. God, he’s my own spank material. His dark eyes are flat and empty and he’s got his Don’t fuck with me face on tight. The long sleeved T-shirt under his kutte conceals all that glorious muscle but the fabric’s hugging his skin as closely as I’d like to, so the view is still damn good.
And this past week has been freaking amazing. I made the right call by going all in with him. Now his toothbrush is right next to mine, right where it belongs. And belonging to him—belonging with him—feels like everything in my life just locked right into place. Even if he hasn’t said he loves me.
Who needs the words? He just has to look at me.
“Scarecrow just spotted the Hangmen on the highway, heading this way,” he tells us and takes the drink I slide over to him. “Thirty men.”
Compared to the Riders’ fifty. I shake my head. Jack was right. This doesn’t make sense. The past few days we’d begun thinking Croc was going to bring in men from the chapters out-of-state. But Croc hasn’t come with anyone.
“I feel like we must be sitting on a bomb,” I say and Gunner nods. “Something we can’t see that’s going to blow up in our faces.”
But Jack shakes his head. “No explosives, nothing wired. I checked.”
Always so literal. But in this case, probably a good thing someone is. “Maybe it’s just a mental thing. We can’t figure out why he’d do this, we assume he’s got something, so we’ll be real fucking relieved when he makes the switch.”
Dark eyes narrowing, Jack seems to roll that over in his head. “Maybe.”
“What’s the prez think?” Gunner asks.
“That we let them come in and see how it plays.”
Saxon’s sitting as his table with the old-timers again, but this time he’s got a chair open. Not out of deference to Croc. He’s just making his first move before the other man even comes in. What Croc does with it will determine the next step.
The music goes quiet when the Hangmen roll in. They come in with Croc at their head, walking two by two. Jesus, most of them are so fucking young. All of them probably with something to prove, probably looking to impress Croc and the Hangmen with more miles under their belts. It’s so damn sad. All those little boy dreams are about to be shattered.
The prez is wearing his deadly cold smile when Croc takes the empty seat. “You seem to be down by a few men.”
Croc turns and looks over his guys, then slides his gaze over the rest of us. “I think we’ll do all right. What we lack in numbers, we’ll make up in strength and determination.”
“That right?” The prez leans back, settling in like he’s about to watch some funny shit go down. “I hear you’ve been going around making proposals to some of my men. I suppose that means you’ve got a proposal for me, too.”
“I do. Like I
said, I want to keep this amiable. And I don’t see any reason for either of us to lose any men when we can make this real simple. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link—and a club is only as strong as its weakest member. So I’ll put my weakest up against yours and we’ll settle this easy.”
The prez’s eyes gleam with amusement. “My weakest against your weakest for this strip joint?”
“You have it. And to make sure there’s no cheating, I pick out your weakest. You pick out mine.”
“You’re shitting me.” Saxon’s laugh starts deep. “Just so we’re clear what you’re offering: You come in here with barely over half the number of men I have at my back. You know you’re going to get your asses handed to you, so you come up with this proposal that gives you at least a little chance, because otherwise your position is absolute shit. That about right?”
“We’ll hold our own,” Croc says. “What this will prevent is bloodshed.”
Wearing that dangerous smile again, Saxon leans forward. “You afraid of a little blood?”
“I just think it’s a goddamn waste.” Ice cold, Croc’s gaze doesn’t stray from the prez’s face. “So what do you say? You pick one of my men to go up against your girl.”
I freeze as every eye in the place turns my way. Beside me, Jack stiffens. Gunner makes a choking sound.
“Zoomie?” The prez sounds bemused. “You want your weakest man to go up against Zoomie?”
“That’s right,” Croc says. “And whoever taps out first loses.”
Saxon’s gaze shoots to Valentine. “He tell you how she took him down?”
In less than three seconds. But apparently Valentine spun the story his way. Croc’s all easy as he nods and says, “He told me he held back because it didn’t feel right beating on a girl. And I’ve put him up against a few of my men. He held his own. But if you want to pull him in as the weakest, be my guest.”
The prez sits back again. He’s quiet. Actually considering it, I realize.
Holy shit. I’m confident I’ll pull through, but that’s a hell of a thing on my shoulders. If we lose a little territory, it won’t be just this once. The Hangmen will just keep chipping away at all the rest. Saxon knows that. It’s a huge fucking risk to put on one person.
But I don’t think he’d be considering it at all if Croc had named any of the Riders who truly are the weakest fighters. He’s only considering it because he has that much respect for me, and I watch him, my chest and throat swelled up like a hot balloon.
I guess we’re doing this, though, because finally he says, “What the hell—we’re in. We pick who fights her?”
There’s a chorus of hoots from the Riders, most of them shouting “Val!”
Croc ignores them, looking satisfied all at once, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “You pick. And being a Vegas man, I think we should make it a little more interesting.”
Oh, God damn. I was thinking that this one-on-one fight was the switch. But it was just the second piece of bait. Here’s the switch—and a trap. Because Saxon’s thrown himself behind me. He can’t back out.
But although he’s got to be pissed, he just says, “How interesting?”
“All the territory east of the highway.”
Half our territory—including the Wolf Den, which the prez owns. Jesus fucking Christ. The warm feeling in my chest deflates to a heavy leaden lump.
“Now you’re just fucking with me,” Saxon says. “But all right. And if she wins, then I don’t see a fucking kutte with your colors on it this side of the county line again.”
Croc’s eyes narrow. “No territory?”
“We like what we have. What we don’t like is your filth riding through it.”
“Fair enough.” The other man nods. “So who are you putting her against?”
My heart’s thundering as Saxon looks them over. I’m pretty sure I can hold my own and I’m ready to kick some ass, but I can’t get my pulse or my nerves to settle. At least none of the brothers look worried or are questioning whether Saxon’s lost his mind. Instead most of them are grinning.
“Seems to me,” the prez says after a long second, “that one of my men has already lost something in this amiable little altercation we’re having, and that he’s been waiting to get a little of his own back. So I’ll let Blowback choose.”
Not just because of the fire, I know. The prez is asking because choosing Valentine is too expected, too easy. And Jack’s been looking at the Hangmen as hard as he can. He’ll have a better idea of who’s going to be easiest to take down.
Holding his beer easy in his left hand, Jack doesn’t even hesitate. “I think it’s time to shut this shit down. Putting the weakest up against the weakest doesn’t mean anything. But if our weakest beats their strongest? So I want her up against their prez.”
Up against Croc. Oh my fucking God. A roaring fills my ears. All the hoots and grins stop—except from Croc, who bursts out in a laugh. Because he doesn’t know Jack.
And Jack doesn’t fuck around when the club’s on the line.
Croc seems to slowly realize it, the laugh turning into a shake of his head. “That’s a fucking joke, man.”
“No.”
That’s all Jack says. Just no. Croc looks to Saxon.
“You heard him,” the prez says.
“I heard him. But I don’t believe in hitting women.”
“But you planned to sit here and enjoy watching someone else beat her down?” Saxon shakes his head. “You’re either full of shit or you’re a coward.”
Jaw clenched, Croc comes up out of his chair. “You watch your fucking mouth, boy.”
Still seated, Saxon just stares him down. “This was your proposal. These are your terms. Take them or we’re going to have that bloodshed you were trying to avoid.”
“You’re going to have it anyway. Hers.”
The prez shrugs and stands. Saxon’s got inches and muscle on him, but to his credit, Croc doesn’t back up. But then, I’m realizing he has more balls than sense. Either that, or the Vegas man thinks he’s just too fucking clever for some Pine Valley yahoos.
And the prez is fucking pissed. He’s hard to read so I don’t know if Croc can tell, but Saxon is out for blood. He just intends to watch me shed it. His gaze meets mine before sliding over to Gunner.
“I think we’d best get this area cleared,” he says and in the next second Gunner’s up, pointing to the brothers who all snap to and start dragging tables and chairs.
Beside me, Jack says quietly, “You all right?”
“I am.” Just eyeing Croc and taking his measure. He’s a heavy motherfucker, solid with muscle. “What do you think?”
“He’s going to be all fists unless he gets you down.”
So straight up swinging. And if he connects any of those punches, it’s going to feel like I’ve been hit by a sledgehammer.
Jack winds his fist around my braid, tugging until my face is aligned with his. His eyes are dark and intense and don’t hold a single doubt. “You keep your feet moving.”
“I will.”
“Go for the incapacitating blows. Get him down.”
The kind of moves we practice in the gym but have to hold back on. No holding back here. I can’t trade punches with Croc and win. I’ve got to get in there and disable him. Nodding, I say, “I need your switchblade.”
A knife is holstered in my boot but it’s not as sharp as his. There won’t be any weapons allowed when we’re facing off, but this is just to make sure I don’t give Croc any advantage. If he gets his hands on me, if he gets me down, I’m going to have a bad fucking time until I make it up again.
I pop the blade and grab my braid. One sharp slice at my nape and it’s gone. I toss the rope of pale hair to the floor and go after the long strands still hanging around the front, hacking them away by the handful. If it was just Valentine or one of the other young Hangmen, I wouldn’t bother. But there’s too much on the line for me to get stomped because Croc swings me around by my ha
ir.
While the tables were being moved, it had been noisy in the joint, wood screeching and the brothers all talking trash, but now everyone’s gone quiet—as if watching me shear myself bald drives home how fucking serious this is. Maybe they hadn’t realized the prez’s Den is in that territory. That’s the Riders’ usual hangout. A couple of other places, too, that the men wouldn’t be able to wear their kuttes riding into work. Even if they own the damn place.
I flip my head back up. Jack catches my chin and runs his fingers through my short, uneven hair.
His eyes burn hot. “Even more stunning than you were ten seconds ago.”
Yeah, I’m pretty fucking hot. With a grin, I give him back the knife before shrugging out of my kutte. I’d rather wear my colors when I fight, but if Croc catches hold of the leather I’ll be yanked around. If he takes hold of my shirt, the thin material will just rip.
“All right then.” I roll my shoulders, loosen up my neck. “Let’s do this.”
I tap my lips and Jack cradles my face and kisses me, full on. Hard, quick. We haven’t done that in front of the brothers before. But right now? I don’t even give a shit.
The prez is waiting when I turn. I tell him, “I’ve got your back, boss.”
“We’ve got yours,” he says and bumps my fist. “And you’ve got this.”
Of course I will. And that’s not just bluster or confidence. I have to win. There’s no other option for me. If I don’t walk out of here the winner, I don’t walk out. It’s that simple.
My heart’s thumping as I get eyes on Croc again. Fuck, he’s big. Not as big as Jack or Saxon, but heavier than Gunner, my usual sparring partner.
I can’t let him touch me. And I’ve got to get him to make himself vulnerable to a strike that’ll end this.
“Zoomie.” The prez raises his voice behind me, loud enough for anyone to hear. When I glance back, he’s wearing that mean smile again. “Croc said there’d be some cock sucking tonight. So don’t leave him with any front teeth. I fucking hate it when they scrape my dick.”
And there’s the noise again. Riders laughing, Hangmen talking shit about how we’re going to be the ones sucking dick.