by Nina Levine
My phone rang at that moment. I held her eyes while I answered it, distracted as fuck. “Yeah?”
“Nitro.”
King.
I snapped to attention, letting Tatum out of my sight. “You’re done?”
A pause. And then, “It’s done.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding for hours.
Thank fuck.
20
Tatum
“To Be Loved” by Curtis Stigers
Three Weeks Later
“You look like shit,” Monroe said as she poured me a drink. Sliding it across the kitchen counter, she added, “Is Billy working you too hard?”
“It has been busy, but nothing more than usual.” I drank some of the rum and Coke she gave me. Friday afternoon drinks had been a thing for us for a year, ever since the day I was disbarred. We usually frequented a pub near her work, but for the last three weeks we’d chosen to have drinks at my house instead.
Her eyes narrowed at me. “So what gives then?”
It wasn’t a question I hadn’t asked myself. What the fuck was wrong with me? I leaned my elbows on the table and rested my chin in my hands. “I honestly don’t know, Roe. I thought I’d feel better after that Silver Hell biker was dead, but I don’t. I feel worse. Or, maybe not worse, just something different, but still bad. Ugh, I can’t even describe how I feel.” Tears pricked at my eyes and I sighed. Pointing at my eyes, I muttered, “And look! I fucking cry for no reason these days. Ridiculous.” I shoved my drink away. “And I don’t want rum. I want Milo.”
The room turned silent while we stared at each other, me through tears, Monroe through surprised eyes. And then she did what Monroe does—she moved into action and tried to fix me.
She picked up the glass of rum and emptied the liquid into the sink. Then, she pulled the fridge open and grabbed out the milk. Next, she reached into the pantry for the tin of Milo I always had on hand and made me the drink I craved.
Placing the mug of Milo in front of me, she said, “Drink that and let’s work this shit out because no fucking way can I have Friday drinks in your house anymore. And I certainly can’t do fucking Milo on a Friday afternoon. Milo!”
My mouth curled into the first smile I’d smiled all week. Placing both hands around the mug, I drank my drink and waited for her to continue.
“Right, let’s count all the ways you’re fucked.” She held up one finger. “Firstly, you were raped and beaten up by an asshole biker. And I know you say it wasn’t rape, but it doesn’t matter if he didn’t fuck you with his dick, it was rape. That’s gotta screw you up and I’m pretty sure you haven’t even attempted to emotionally deal with that.” She held up a second finger. “Next, your brother was murdered nine months ago and as much as you thought that his murderer getting what he deserved would make you feel better, that was never gonna be the case. The only thing that would make it all better is if Chris had never been killed in the first place.” She held up another finger. “Third, you’ve spent the last three weeks watching your back because although Nitro told you that you were safe, who the hell knows what these fucking bikers are capable of? I know you hate admitting defeat, but, babe, you are scared. And I don’t blame you, but you need to talk about this shit and stop bottling it up. That’s what’s bringing you down—you won’t ask for help and at this point, you need all the help you can get.”
I nodded slowly. “You’re right. You always are.” Tears slid down my face. “But I don’t know the first thing about asking for help, Roe.”
Her face softened and she reached for my hand. “Oh, babe. I’m always here for you. I do think, though, that you should consider therapy.”
My whole body tensed at that suggestion. Dredging up my past was the last thing I wanted to do.
When I didn’t agree with her, Monroe leaned forward across the counter and said softly, “Let’s not forget your mother’s death, the end of your marriage and your disbarment. I know those things aren’t as recent, but they’re all things I don’t think you’ve finished working through. You get up every day and put on your boss-ass-bitch pants, and you take care of everybody else’s problems, but you never take care of yourself, Tatum. I want you to love yourself first and I’m fairly fucking sure you’re gonna need a professional to guide you through that process.”
I exhaled, long and hard. And I made a snap decision. Monroe was right. I was sick of feeling like shit. It was time to reclaim my life. And I was going to need a fucking shrink to even begin to wade through the crap in my heart.
I raised my mug of Milo at her. “Cheers, Roe.”
She raised her glass and said, “Cheers to a psych? Or cheers to something else?”
I laughed and drained my mug. “Cheers to a psych and no more fucking Friday afternoon drinks at my house.”
* * *
Billy glanced up at me as I entered his office three days later. He did a double take and put his pen down as he frowned and shoved his chair back to stand. “Jesus fucking Christ, Tatum. What the hell happened to you?”
I collapsed into the chair across from him. Leaning my elbows on my knees, I looked at him through puffy, blurry eyes that had done more crying in two hours than they’d done in years. “I hired a shrink. She made me talk.”
His body sagged in what looked like relief and he sat back down. “Thank fuck.”
I smiled. “You do care.”
He scowled. “Of course I fucking care. I put a guy on you after King sent you home and you had me worried for a minute there that he hasn’t been doing his job.”
I sat up straight and frowned. “Wait. You have someone watching me?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just never thought about it.”
He sighed. “When are you going to figure out how important you are to me? And I’m not just talking about the shit you do for me here. It fucking killed me when you chose Storm over me. I needed to know you were safe and with you locked up in their clubhouse, I had no idea. I won’t allow that to happen again.”
“I don’t care what anyone says, you’re a good guy, Billy Jones.”
“Yeah, well don’t spread that around. I have a reputation to uphold and it’s easier to get what I want if people think I’m a bastard.”
Moments like this were so rare with Billy. Hell, moments like this were rare in my life full stop. My heart expanded to take it all in. For once, I didn’t push the warmth away. I let it all in and fuck if it didn’t feel good.
Tears threatened again, so I swiftly changed the subject. “Posey’s back tonight.”
“Good. Almost four weeks without her and they’re screaming for her. Has her asshole-ex finally decided to leave her alone?”
“Yeah. He’s actually moved to Melbourne.” I gave him a smile. “Thank you to whoever you got to help with that decision.”
“I should have done that sooner. Any news on those drug charges?”
I stood. “Duvall got them dropped completely. They wouldn’t have stuck in court.”
He grew pensive for a moment. “It seems Duvall is a worthwhile ally.”
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop. Duvall has done his time with you, Billy. I won’t be asking him to help us ever again.”
He raised his brows. “And it seems your heart isn’t completely buried.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “You’re confusing the hell out of me today.”
“Why?”
“When I came to work for you, you told me this was no place for emotions and that I should never get involved with anyone we worked with. Now it seems like you want me to open myself up.”
His eyes flashed dark. “To me, Tatum. I want you to open up to me. Don’t mistake my words for something they’re not.” He dismissed me with a wave of his hand. “Go work your magic with the girls. I’m sick of hearing them bitch about each other. Sort them out for me.”
It was no wonder Billy had the reputation he did. He was a contradiction.
One minute you felt the sun with him, the next, clouds. I understood that roller coaster because I lived it, too. And I’d always have his back regardless.
21
Nitro
“Cold Hard Bitch” by Jet
“I don’t want to,” Marilyn said as we pulled up outside my house.
“I know, but even your doctor agreed this is for the best,” I said, opening the car door and exiting.
I made it around to her side and took in the foul expression on her face. She shoved the door open, her mood in full swing. “So you and my doctor are going to run my life now, are you?” With that, she stalked inside, leaving me to contemplate the intelligence of my decision to have her stay with me for a while. Yet, there wasn’t even a choice as far as I was concerned. I’d go to the ends of the fucking earth to make sure my family were okay.
I grabbed her bag out of the boot and followed her in, ready for whatever she threw at me. As soon as the front door closed, she swung around, glare still in place. “Is everyone staying at the moment?”
Dustin dropped the TV remote and moved off the couch. “The mattress is mine. The floor is too hard for my back. Even Tatum said the floor was too hard.”
Marilyn frowned. “Who is Tatum? And just for the record, I’m not sleeping on the damn floor, Nitro. I’ll go home to my bed before that ever happens.”
A smile lit Dustin’s face as he proceeded to fill Marilyn in on Tatum. I blocked his voice out and took Marilyn’s bag into my room. He hadn’t shut up about Tatum for weeks and I’d heard enough. My dick had fucking heard enough, because every time her name fell from his mouth, it shot straight to my cock. I needed a goddam break.
They were arguing about sleeping arrangements again by the time I made it back out to the living room. Raising my voice, I barked, “Marilyn can take my bed and I’ll take the fucking floor. Okay?”
Both heads whipped around in surprise. “No need to yell,” Dustin said, hurt flashing in his eyes. He didn’t cope well with anger.
I raked my fingers through my hair, agitated as hell and unsure why. “Yeah, well you two need to let up. We all have to stay here for a bit and I’ll lose my shit if you keep arguing.”
Marilyn withdrew after that, burying her head in a book on the couch. Reading was her preferred way of blocking out the world and her doctor had warned me she was spending nearly every waking hour with her nose in a book. As far as I was concerned, better that than drowning herself in a bottle of cheap wine. The main thing I cared about was that she kept up with her bi-weekly therapy sessions, and I would make sure that happened.
Dustin stared at Marilyn for a beat. He’d always struggled with our sister’s tendency to spiral into dark places. His mind couldn’t seem to wrap itself around anything but light and happy. They may have fought a lot, but Dustin would do anything to put a smile on Marilyn’s face.
Finally, he turned and headed out the back door. I knew I’d find him in the shed if I needed him. He’d be working on one of my bikes. I always had at least two out there I was working on. It was the one thing we did together. The one thing that eased both of our demons.
My phone rang, dragging me from the problems at home.
Hyde.
“What’s up, brother?”
“Need you to meet Billy today to collect our next shipment.”
“I thought you were doing it with Devil.” I was the last person Billy would want to see. Not that I gave a fuck, but I was all for keeping peace at the moment.
He blew out a harsh breath. “Got some family shit to deal with that I can’t get out of. And King’s busy. I could send another one of the guy’s with Devil, but he wants you to do it with him. He would have taken Kick, but no way would King let that happen.” He was right. Although Kick was itching to get back to work, he hadn’t recovered enough to do this.
I swiped my keys off the table. “I’m in. What time?”
He gave me the info and then said, “Thanks, brother. I owe you one.”
It struck me how odd the conversation was after we ended the call. Hyde never told anyone he owed them.
* * *
Devil and I arrived at the drop-off point dead on time. We’d attempted to be early, but traffic had dictated otherwise. We backed the van into the driveway as were our instructions and sat with it idling while we waited for the signal to reverse into the garage.
Billy used a house in Alexandria for this. The street was narrow with high fences all the way down it. Trees and flowers everywhere gave an impression of a friendly neighbourhood, but I always wondered what people did behind closed doors. Most people I knew had shit to hide.
Two bangs on the back of the van signalled it was time to reverse. Devil eased the van backwards and the automatic garage door closed at the same time as bright lights illuminated the space. I jumped out and took in the length of the garage. It wasn’t your standard suburban fit out. By my estimation, another two vans could fit there.
Heels clicking across the cement floor and the jangle of bangles drew my attention. I looked around to find Tatum walking our way. Jesus, could she get any sexier? I adjusted my pants as my gaze travelled the length of her. She wore the tightest fucking jeans known to man and a white tank top with a skull and wing design on it that sat perfectly across her tits and revealed her toned arms inked with those tattoos I could spend hours investigating. I’d checked out her ink briefly when she’d been holed up at the clubhouse, and the designs were so intricate and full of such detail that I knew the more you looked, the more you’d find. I wanted to know what she’d chosen to mark her skin with for life.
“Tatum,” I greeted her, planting my feet wide and crossing my arms over my chest.
If she was surprised to see me, she hid it well. Instead, she nodded and said, “Nitro.” And then shifting her attention to my left, she said, “Devil.”
“Billy’s not joining us today?” Devil enquired.
Shaking her head, Tatum said, “No, he’s been called away and asked me to take care of this delivery.” She motioned for one of the men who flanked her to open the boxes on the wood pallet in front of us.
Devil and I inspected the shipment and once we were satisfied with it handed payment to Tatum. After we loaded the guns into the van, Devil lifted his chin at her. “Good doing business with you, Tatum. It’s a sweet change from seeing Billy’s ugly mug.” With a wink, he headed to the passenger side and waited in the van for me.
Tatum’s eyes met mine. It’d been three weeks since I dropped her at her home and told her to stay safe. It hadn’t been three weeks since I’d seen her, though. Dustin might not have stopped talking about her, but I hadn’t stopped watching her. Not every day, but a couple of times a week at least. I needed to make sure she was okay. That Silver Hell hadn’t broken our truce. That was what I’d told myself to begin with, anyway. I wasn’t so sure anymore.
“You good?” I asked.
She nodded. No smile, though. “Yeah.”
The pull to her was intense. I’d felt it every time I watched her. Pure animal need pulsed through my veins when I caught a glimpse of her and it did my head in. The fact I had never experienced that with another woman told me she was dangerous. So I checked on her, but that was all I did.
Devil banged on the side of the van, reminding me to stop fucking around. Tatum took a step back. Her expression still blank, her thoughts a mystery. No more words were exchanged and a minute later, I exited the garage.
“Billy should send Tatum to do every delivery,” Devil said. “A woman who knows how to execute a transaction with no emotions and no problems. She might just be my perfect fucking woman.”
My gut twisted at the thought of Devil pursuing Tatum and I gripped the steering wheel hard.
When he continued to describe the ways she was perfect, I scowled. “Can we talk about something fucking useful?”
He raised a brow and smirked. “I see the blonde has you wound tight, brother. You tap that?”
My irritation o
nly grew. “No, I didn’t fucking tap that.”
His smirk disappeared. “I’m thinking you need to. Because I’ve gotta tell you, you’ve been a bundle of fucking joy to be around since we called the truce. I’m not blind, Nitro. I saw the way you were with her and any fucker could see your dick was straining to get in her pants. So take care of business and get your shit together because we need your fucking attention on the club right now, not on some chick.”
I smashed my hand down on the steering wheel. “Fuck.”
Fuck it all to hell.
He was right.
22
Tatum
“Kill The Lights” by Luke Bryan
I held the glass to my mouth, eyeing the blackjack dealer over the rim. Adrenaline spiked in my veins and my heart beat faster as I contemplated winning this hand. I’d been counting the cards and by my calculation I would win this hand. Throwing some rum back, I indicated to him that I would stand. I then drummed my fingers on the table as each player finished their hand. Holding my breath, I watched in anticipation as the dealer completed his, a thrill shooting straight through me when he busted.
Fuck yes.
“You look like you can afford to buy me a drink, Vegas.”
Nitro’s deep voice and warm breath on my bare shoulder startled me and I jumped. “Fuck,” I muttered, swinging my head around to face him. Amused eyes watched me with intent, affecting me in the way only he could.
I gathered my chips and slid off the stool. Looking up at him, I said, “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Your face is so damn serious but it’s like your eyes are laughing at me.”