I screwed my eyes closed and let out a long breath, stroking the back of her head like it was her I was trying to calm. Then I leaned down and allowed myself just one kiss on the top of her head. I drank in the smell of her hair, the soft silk of those copper strands. I’d have to make that memory last the rest of my life.
She released me, moving slowly at first and then fast, turning quickly away to try to hide the fact she was crying. I watched her walk away towards the restrooms. I’d never felt like such a worthless son of a bitch in my entire life.
But if I wanted her to be happy, to have a life instead of some fucked up thing with me, this is what I had to do.
I turned around and walked away.
16
Annabelle
I couldn’t see where I was going: the sign for the restrooms was just a blur. But I didn’t want to wipe at my eyes or he’d see. So I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, letting the tears spill down my cheeks and drip to the floor. Thankfully, the bus station was nearly empty but I passed close enough to one woman to glimpse the sympathetic look she gave me. Then she looked over my shoulder at where Carrick must still have been, and glared reproachfully at him. Don’t hate him, I wanted to tell her. He’s the one who helped me. He hasn’t just dumped me.
It just felt that way.
I blundered through the door and into a deserted hallway. Three doors. I had to stop and wipe the tears away before I could see which was male, which was female and which was the rear exit. I made it through into the female bathroom, grabbed hold of the sink and then I finally let it all out. The animal fear at what had happened to me. The deep, wrenching shock at finding out that the world was an even shittier place than I’d thought, that the auctions and people like Volos really did exist. But most of all, the knowledge that I was on my own, now.
I’d felt like I was on my own ever since my mom died. But now—briefly—I’d felt what it was like to have someone, whether I was snuggled against his back on the bike or just sharing pastries with him in a motel room. Most of all, I’d gotten used to feeling someone’s hand in mine.
At last I sniffed, wiped my eyes and looked at my red, tear-stained face in the mirror. Idiot! Why had I pushed him? I had no clue about this stuff. This is what happens when you’re more comfortable around machines than people.
If I’d stayed in Haywood Falls, could I have helped him? Could we have built something? I fingered the shamrock necklace.
It didn’t matter now. I was never going to see him again.
I splashed some cold water on my face, dried off with a scratchy paper towel and took a deep, shaky breath. I needed to run if I was going to make the bus. Plus, hurrying would stop me thinking: if I kept thinking, I was going to start crying again.
I pulled open the door...and ran right into a wall of solid muscle. A white t-shirt. A leather cut. Carrick! He’d come back for me! A warm bomb went off in my chest.
Then my fingers touched something unfamiliar on the front of his cut. Metal. Eight legs.
I looked up.
“Hello, Annabelle,” said the blond-haired Blood Spider.
17
Carrick
People in Haywood Falls tend to steer clear of the Princes anyway. When it’s me, the Irish enforcer who hands out beatings? They cross the street. So when they saw me storm out of the bus station, my face like thunder, they got the fuck out of the way.
I’d never regretted something more. Not sending her away: that had been the right thing to do. It was the choices I’d made, years ago, that tore me up. Because if I’d made better ones, maybe it wouldn’t have to be this way.
Goddamn you, Briggs. I wished he was still alive so I could have the satisfaction of putting a bullet in his head.
I swung my leg over my bike. I’m going to get drunk, I decided. Absolutely shitfaced. Proper wake-up-in-another-state drunk. Maybe when I sobered up, it wouldn’t hurt so bad.
I started the bike up and checked over my shoulder before I pulled out, just to make sure a semi-truck wasn’t about to pancake me. Then I revved the throttle and—
I stopped and frowned, then turned and looked over my shoulder again. I’d glimpsed something in my peripheral vision. It took me a while to find it again….
There.
Two Harleys parked side by side in an alley, almost invisible from the street. Not ours. The custom paint job was red and black.
Blood Spiders.
I climbed off my bike, the shock making me slow. Here? Clubs are fiercely territorial. They don’t stray into another club’s town, not without a damn good reason.
I looked at the bus station...and started to run, fear clutching at my chest. Be wrong, I prayed. Be wrong….
I was halfway there when a dirty white van tore out of an alley and sped off down the street. As soon as I saw it, I knew. Then I saw the blond-haired Blood Spider from the auction follow it out on foot and race across the street to get his bike. He saw me, slowed to a jog and grinned at me victoriously. Why was the bastard grinning?
That’s when the second Blood Spider, the one I hadn’t seen, slammed his fist into the back of my head. As I fell, he followed it up with a vicious boot to the temple. I slumped to the sidewalk, everything spinning. I heard the echo of his boots as he joined his buddy, then the roar of their bike engines. As they turned to follow the van, the blond one swung wide so he could pass by me. I tried to get to my feet to take a swing at him, but I couldn’t get my arms and legs to work.
“Too bad, Irish,” he called. “Hope you had time to fuck her before we all do.” Then he twisted his throttle and roared off.
I stared at his bike as it grew smaller and smaller. Get up! But every tiny movement made my head pound. Get up! I tried to push at the sidewalk but my arms felt like wet cardboard.
She needs you! Get up!
I gave a low growl and heaved, sucking in air as the pain washed over me. I climbed to my knees, then to my feet. I stumbled towards my bike, moving faster and faster as the adrenaline started to kick in. By the time my ass hit the saddle, my head was almost clear.
And I was pissed.
“Irish?” a voice from the sidewalk. I turned and saw Tailor, one of the prospects, a paper bag of groceries in his arms.
“Get everyone!” I yelled. “Tell them to catch us on the highway!”
I started my bike. In my mirror, I saw Tailor drop the groceries and sprint off down the street towards the compound.
Already, the van was out of sight. I twisted the throttle and roared after them.
And prayed I could get her back.
18
Carrick
I roared down Main Street, weaving through the traffic. The light at the next intersection changed to red. I hunkered low on the bike, redlined the engine and sped across, drawing angry beeps. I wasn’t stopping for anything. This is my fault kept going through my head. If I hadn’t tried to send her away. If I hadn’t been such an evil bastard in the first place, so I didn’t have to….
If I got her back, I wasn’t letting her go again. I’d keep her close, keep her safe, even if I couldn’t be with her, even if it drove me fucking crazy. Because the thought of her in their hands—
I snarled and twisted the throttle all the way, blasting towards another red light. By the time I saw the bus coming across the intersection, it was too late to stop. I prayed...and flashed by just in time, the bus missing my back wheel by no more than a foot.
As we reached the edge of town, the road became twisty and I started to make up ground. Both the bikers were good riders but this was my turf: I knew every corner, knew exactly how fast I could push it. With every bend, they came a little closer. The fear was turning into anger, now, building and building the nearer I got.
I saw them turn their heads at the sound of my engine, then stare at me in shock. Yeah, that’s right, you bastards. I’m coming.
Both of them fumbled for guns. Amateurs, I thought viciously. It’s not like in the movies: it’s hard
to ride and shoot, especially at something that’s moving. I could already see them wobbling as they tried to aim with one hand and steer with the other.
There’s a reason I wear a chain as a belt. I reached down and unfastened it, then slid it out of the loops. The nearest biker turned pale as he saw me bearing down on him, the chain dangling from my fist. He raised his gun and fired once, but his hand was shaking. Twice, but I veered and the bullet sang past my head. Then I was on him, swinging the chain. It caught him in the side of the head and he tilted, then the road grabbed hold of him and he and the bike went spinning along the pavement.
I went after the blond biker next, whirling the chain in circles around my head. He scowled at me and pulled out around the van. I pulled out to follow him—
And saw the truck thundering towards me in the oncoming lane. I swayed right and it flashed past me, so close that the slipstream sucked the air from my lungs.
I pulled out again and bore down on the blond biker. He tried to avoid me by pulling in ahead of the van but the chain whipped out and I caught him on the hand. He cried out and slewed off the road and into a ditch, alive but with a handful of busted fingers.
As we hit the highway, I looked back at the van, eyes wild with fury. There was one Blood Spider driving and another in the passenger seat. Behind them, I could see shapes moving in the rear: two more bikers, maybe three? And all probably armed. Even if I could get the van to stop, I was going to be seriously outnumbered.
That’s when I heard the end-of-the-world rumble behind me, a bass throb that grew to a roar. First one bike then more and more shot past the van and formed up alongside me. Mac. Ox. Hunter Viking. More and more members joined the group, until we were five thick and three deep, blocking the road.
“They’ve got Annabelle!” I yelled to Mac over the deafening roar.
Mac nodded and then looked across at Hunter. He pulled a hunting knife from beneath his cut and throttled back.
The guys in the van had been forced to slow, the driver wide-eyed and pale. As Hunter dropped back alongside him, he swung sideways, trying to run him off the road. But Hunter effortlessly swayed out of the way and, as he passed close to their front wheel, the knife flashed in the sun. The tire exploded, pieces of scorching rubber arced through the air, and the van driver had to slam on the brakes as he started to skid. Three tons of metal slewed across the highway towards us, but everyone managed to dodge out of the way. The van spun a full one-eighty and finally came to a stop facing the wrong way in the center of the highway.
I got to the driver’s door just as he opened it and drove my fist into his face as hard as I could. On the other side, Ox was hauling out the guy in the passenger seat and hurling him to the ground.
The rear doors flew open and three Blood Spiders jumped out, pulling guns. But they were swarmed by members before they could get a shot off, punches raining down on them. I pushed my way past the fight and jumped into the rear of the van….
And there, lying on her side on the floor, was Annabelle. The bastards had put duct tape over her mouth and tied her wrists behind her back but she didn’t look hurt. I freed her hands, then carefully peeled off the tape, wincing along with her as it caught on her skin. “You okay?” I asked, as soon as it was off.
In answer, she threw herself into my arms, burying her head in my chest. I held her there, my hand on the back of her head. I didn’t want her to ever move. “I’m sorry I sent you away,” I told her, my voice tight.
She clutched me even harder. “Don’t do it again,” she managed.
I viciously shook my head. I wasn’t losing her again. Not this girl. Even if keeping her safe meant being around her—but not having her—twenty-four seven. Even if it drove me crazy.
I knew what I had to do. If the Blood Spiders were after her, she needed more than me. She needed the whole club. The last thing I wanted to do was draw them into this but I didn’t have a choice.
I looked up to see Mac standing with his arms folded, waiting for an explanation. And I could hear the wailing of sirens in the distance: some terrified driver must have called the cops.
“We’re going back to the clubhouse,” I told Annabelle. “You’re under our protection, now.”
19
Annabelle
The next few minutes were a blur. The Blood Spiders were left by the side of the highway, bloodied and bruised: hopefully the cops would pick up at least some of them. The Hell’s Princes and I continued on down the highway, staying just out of sight of the cops, then turned off down a country road and circled back to Haywood Falls.
It was the first time I’d ridden in a pack and it was terrifying...and wonderful. The bikes roared along well above the speed limit, but so close I could have reached out and touched them. We were all one slip away from a horrific pile up but they were all so practiced, so confident, that we swung around each bend in perfect unison, leaning in so far that I thought my long hair would brush the pavement.
Carrick and I were at the very center of the pack. The engine noise was deafening but I’d never felt more protected, a princess surrounded by her knights. The air around me was warm, heated by fifteen blistering-hot exhausts and scented with leather and smoke.
I was still trembling from how close I’d come. They’d been talking, in the back of the van, about how they’d hand me over to Volos. But not before they’d taken their frustrations out on me for escaping. They’d planned to take me back to their clubhouse, throw me down on the pool table and—
I squeezed my eyes closed and tightened my arms around Carrick’s hard body.
Pulling into the compound felt different, this time. The fences felt good—safe. Even the clubhouse felt solid and secure, not claustrophobic. Carrick and the others marched straight to the carved wooden doors of the meeting room and pushed them open. I caught a glimpse of a huge table surrounded by chairs.
“Wait out here,” Carrick told me over his shoulder. And then the doors closed behind them and I was alone in the main room, standing in sudden silence.
I knew it was some sort of private meeting but I figured they must be talking about me. I crept closer but the doors were thick, heavy wood. I could hear the rumble of deep male voices but no words.
I crouched in front of the doors and pressed my ear to the wood. That was better. I could make out Carrick’s Irish-tinged voice and just the sound of it made me go weak. He sounded so mad, so utterly determined to protect me. He was telling the others what happened the night of the auction—
A hand grabbed my shoulder, hauled me to my feet and spun me around.
I was suddenly face-to-face with a woman in her sixties, with long silver hair that fell almost to her ass. She was wearing blue jeans, a soft plaid shirt and she looked pissed. “What in God’s name’s going through your head, girl?” she asked in a fierce whisper. “You can’t listen to that!”
She hauled me across the room to the bar to put some distance between us and the door. Then she let me go and I stumbled to a stop. The woman let out an exasperated breath and glared at me, but then her eyes softened a little. “What goes on in that room is damn near sacred,” she explained.
I nodded quickly. “Sorry.” Then I realized something. “You’re....Mom.”
She smiled. “And you must be the one Carrick brought back from Teston.” She looked me up and down. “Yeah, now I see why.”
I flushed. What was that supposed to mean? I glanced at the door to the meeting room. “I don’t want to cause them trouble,” I mumbled. “I feel like I’ve dragged them into this. That’s why I was listening.”
Mom raised an eyebrow. “Girl, if those boys have decided they’re going to protect you, you’d better thank your lucky stars and accept it, ‘cause you ain’t gonna change their minds.” She paused. “Carrick, especially. Once that one sets his sights on something….” She trailed off but kept staring at me and I flushed again. Then she jerked her head towards the main doors. “Come outside. You look like you could use some tea.�
��
Moments later, we were sitting in the double wide trailer Carrick had shown me. At least half of it was filled by a huge kitchen, with eight propane-fueled gas burners and enough counter space to plate up a meal for twenty. There was a snug little bedroom, a bathroom and the rest was the living area. I sat facing Mom on an old, very comfortable purple couch. Mom caught me frowning at it. “You’re not crazy,” she told me. “It is too big to get through the door. The boys took the whole side of the trailer off for me, slid it in and then bolted the place back together.”
It had been worth it. It was the sort of couch you disappeared into. I could feel myself relaxing...and then it got even better. A gorgeous gray cat leaped up onto the seat next to me, padded onto my lap and curled up there, claiming it for his own. His collar read Mr. Fluffy.
I put my hand on his back: he had the softest fur I’d ever felt. Stroking him was addictive and rewarded by purrs. I felt myself relaxing even more...and I suddenly got the feeling that a lot of people had sat there before me, telling Mom their problems. “Carrick said you look after them?” I asked.
“I feed ‘em, fix their clothes, hear their woes. Tell them what to do when they fall for the wrong one, or get her pregnant. Most of these boys ain’t got much in the way of family.”
I frowned. “But how did you wind up here?”
She grinned and leaned close. “I’m Ox’s mom,” she whispered. “But the big lunk doesn’t like to be reminded of it.”
I blinked. Ox? That walking wall of muscle?
She handed me a cup of honey-sweetened tea. As I sipped, she said, “Carrick’s quite a catch.”
I coughed and spluttered tea everywhere, then flushed beet-red. “I don’t think I’ve...um…caught—”
“Oh, heavens, girl. That boy’s got a hard on the size of a ballistic missile for you. And the way you keep going red every time I mention him, you’ve fallen for those Irish eyes, so that’s not the problem.” She folded her hands in her lap and peered at me. “He’s not letting you in? He’s pushing you away?”
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