UNDERTAKER

by Nicole James

  Undertaker blew out a long breath, then stepped outside the room.

  Mooch was waiting for him in the hall. He pointed to the President’s office. “He wanted me to tell you some things. Let’s talk in here.”

  Walking into Skeeter’s office without him there behind the big desk felt so wrong. Mooch took one of the two chairs in front of it and Undertaker took the other.

  Mooch gave him a sad smile. “I know you’re blindsided by all this, but he wouldn’t let any of us tell you.”

  Undertaker nodded.

  Mooch lifted his chin to the big leather chair behind the desk. “He’s serious about that being yours. I know you’re probably not ready to take it just yet, but the club’s behind his decision.”

  “Yeah? Hell, Mooch, half those faces down there are strangers to me. They don’t fucking know me. And now I’m supposed to be their President? They’re supposed to follow me?”

  “They love the old man just like you do. They want it because he wants it, and they will follow you. You’re a natural leader, Undertaker.”

  He shook his head. “You’re all forgetting I’ve got a year of parole to get through. One screw up and I’ll be back inside to finish out my sentence. Hell, I’m not allowed to associate with the MC. How am I supposed to lead it?”

  “The old man’s got it all figured out. You lay low for a while, finish out the parole, and stay clean. I step in as interim president until you’re done with all that, but you will still be running the show by proxy. We work out some discrete meets, keep it all under the radar.”

  Undertaker leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and steepled his hands in front of his face. His eyes slid to that chair. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it; he did… someday, just not now. But how could he not take it? It was Skeeter’s dying wish.

  “The club needs you, bro. When Skeeter passes, it’s gonna hit hard. They’re gonna need a strong hand leading them out of this.”

  Undertaker studied his brother and had to ask, “You don’t want it?”

  Mooch shook his head. “Too many headaches.” Then he grinned and added, “But I’ll be glad to be your VP.”

  ***

  Three days later, Undertaker found himself standing graveside as the club buried their President. It was all happening too fast, and he felt like he could barely breathe. There was a tick in his jaw as he tried to keep his shit together, tried not to let the emotion that squeezed his heart show as reality sunk in that Skeeter was truly gone. The finality of it was almost unbearable.

  When the service was over, Undertaker had the honor of preforming one of the MC’s most sacred traditions. They called it The Last Rev.

  The club stood next to their bikes, which were parked in a long line. Bam-Bam, the club’s Road Captain, started his engine and everyone else followed suit. He then revved the throttle five times, and the rest joined in, all except for Undertaker who stood at the back with Skeeter’s bike.

  When the sounds died down to a quiet rumble, Undertaker—with a lump in his throat—gave the last rev, letting heaven know that another biker was on his way home.

  Then, without a word, they all mounted and rolled slowly out of the cemetery, two by two, with Undertaker bringing Skeeter’s bike back to the clubhouse in that final ride.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dr. AJ Carter sat in the passenger seat of Catherine Randall’s car and stared out the windshield. She took in the MC logo on the door of the building they’d just pulled up to. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  The stockade walls around the place suddenly made sense.

  “Please, just come inside and talk to Holly. No one will bother you. I promise,” Cat begged.

  AJ didn’t have the heart to turn her down. “Once. I’ll meet her here once. But if she wants my help, she’s going to have to come to my office after this.”

  “Deal.” Cat gave her a grateful smile and unbuckled her seatbelt. “Come on.”

  AJ eyed the building again as she unbuckled and climbed from the car. She hoped she wasn’t making a fool’s mistake by walking inside. God only knew what went on in a place like this, and how in the hell had Cat gotten mixed up with this bunch?

  Well, she was here. She’d just have to buck up and do what she could for Holly. But, by God, if this girl weren’t Cat’s sister, she would have had nothing to do with this situation.

  She gestured for Cat to precede her inside. “Lead the way.”

  When the door swung open, she’d half expected to be bowled over by a cloud of cigarette smoke and blasting music, but the cavernous place was quiet and empty except for a couple of guys at the far end of the bar. They glanced over but didn’t pay her much mind as she trailed behind Cat, her briefcase in hand and her heels clicking on the polished cement.

  Cat led her up to a second floor and tapped on one of the doors halfway down a long hallway. “Holly? It’s me.”

  A moment later, the door swung open and a younger version of Cat stood staring back at her.

  “Who is she?” Holly asked defensively, her eyes on AJ.

  “This is Dr. Carter. She’s here to help you.”

  “I’m fine,” Holly bit out.

  “Baby, you’re not fine. I just want you to talk to her. She can help.”

  “I don’t want to talk.” Her chin lifted.

  “Well, you need to talk, so it’s happening.”

  AJ liked the way Cat let Holly know that enough was enough and she was going to have to give it a chance.

  “Do you mind waiting out in the hall while I talk with her privately?” AJ asked Cat.

  Cat met her gaze. “Of course not. Take all the time you need.”

  “Thank you. We won’t be too long.”

  ***

  Undertaker sat at the bar, his eyes on the staircase. He’d seen Cat walk in, and he’d seen the person who had trailed behind her, and it wasn’t a man. By God… the good doctor, it seemed, was a woman. He wasn’t sure why he had assumed a man…

  Dr. AJ Carter. He supposed she used initials for just such reactions.

  “The doctor’s a chick.” Mooch stated the obvious.

  “Seems so.”

  “She’s a looker, huh?”

  She sure as hell was. Hell, it was hard not to notice with all that flaming auburn hair. It hung in a glossy sheet of thick waves to just past her shoulder blades. The dark suit fit like a glove with its short jacket buttoned primly at her tiny waist. Undertaker was sure she did it to appear professional, but all it did was accentuate her curves. The tight skirt had fallen demurely to her knee, but the sexy high-heeled pumps showed off her shapely legs. And yes, he’d noticed every inch of their length as she’d strut across his clubhouse, those sexy heels clicking away.

  He wondered if she even noticed the stripper pole she’d walked past. The corner of his mouth pulled up at the thought of her blushing and wide-eyed when she caught a glimpse of it. Or maybe, if the red hair were any indication, her temper would flare.

  Damn, he suddenly realized he’d like to see that. He bet she could be a real firecracker.

  He took a drink of his beer. Something else about her nagged at his brain; something about her seemed familiar, but for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine when they could have possibly met. He certainly didn’t travel in the same circles as a woman like her. They would never have crossed paths at any of the places she probably frequented.

  So where in the hell could he have conceivably met her?

  He nursed his beer, turning it over in his head as he waited patiently for her meeting with Holly to finish. He hoped Dr. AJ Carter was good at her job. Holly needed help, and she needed someone who knew what the fuck they were doing.

  He had never put much stock in therapy; perhaps that was because he chose to bury any problems he had in a dark hole, locked away in the deepest recesses of his mind rather than bring them out into the light of day and deal with them.

  What was the point? Bad shit happened to everyone—best to just put it behi
nd you and get on with your life. You couldn’t change the past if you wanted to, so dwelling on it was pointless.

  He supposed that theory didn’t relate half as well to a sensitive young girl as it did to his club brothers.

  Whatever it took, he wanted Holly to get better, to get back to the carefree, happy girl he imagined she’d been. Although he hadn’t known her back then, that was how he saw her. Before that night he’d had to coax her from the bedroom of that burning building with soft-spoken words and a small stuffed teddy bear of hers that he’d tucked in his vest. He’d held it out to her as a sign that he was who he said he was, and he truly was sent by her sister to rescue her.

  He couldn’t blame her for her distrust and terror that night.

  When she’d finally put her trust in him and reached out her shaking, tentative hand to him, it had touched something in him. Then she’d latched on and didn’t let go. When he’d gotten her safely away and back to the clubhouse, she’d been afraid to let him out of her sight. He knew the absurdity of it—him, the President of an MC, being anyone’s hero, least of all to a girl like her.

  He was distracted from his thoughts by footsteps on the stairs. He glanced up to see Cat and Dr. Carter descending. His eyes followed every move as they crossed the clubhouse and went out the door.

  Goddamn, she did look familiar. And fuck if it wasn’t going to drive him crazy until he figured it out.

  “Damn, she’s got a nice ass,” Mooch commented low. “Wouldn’t mind doin’ her.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” Undertaker snapped, shutting that down. “I don’t give a shit how fine she is; I don’t want you running her off.”

  “Party pooper.”

  Undertaker’s eyes returned to the staircase, and he wondered how Holly was doing. He prayed their first meeting had gone well and more would follow.

  Getting up, he pushed away the beer he’d been nursing.

  “You leaving?” Mooch asked.

  “Gonna check on Holly. See if she’s okay.”

  Mooch nodded, saying nothing, but Undertaker felt his eyes on him.

  “What?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “That look means you’ve got something to say. You’re just not sayin’ it.”

  “You ever gonna pull the trigger on that?” When Undertaker stared at him with a blank expression, Mooch added, “Seriously, you ever think about givin’ it a shot?”

  “Giving what a shot?”

  “With her.” Mooch jerked his head toward the stairs.

  Undertaker’s eyes drifted that way before returning to Mooch. “Nah.”

  “You’ve been alone a long time.”

  “I’ve been alone too long. I’m set in my ways.”

  “That’s not it, and you know it.”

  Undertaker huffed out a laugh. “We’re from completely different generations. What would we talk about?”

  “You don’t seem to have much problem talking with her now.”

  “That’s different. That’s me taking care of her, comforting her. It’s not the kind of talking a man does with a woman late at night in bed at the end of a long day.”

  The corner of Mooch’s mouth tugged up. “Didn’t know you were a fan of pillow talk. Didn’t figure the two of you would be doing much talkin’ if you ever got her there.”

  “The total of what you know about women ain’t much, you know that?”

  Mooch chuckled and took a hit off his beer. “You’re probably right.”

  “Oh, there ain’t no probably about it.” Undertaker leaned on the bar and grinned at Mooch. “Come on, you and Carol Ann don’t talk in bed? You don’t sometimes need to unload all the stress from your day?”

  “Nope.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Mooch grinned, but made no comment.

  Undertaker turned and stared down at the scarred wooden bar top. “Nah, me and her?” He shook his head. “That’d never work out. Not long term. She’s too vulnerable and fragile right now. There’s no way in hell she could handle being an ol’ lady to an MC President. Least not the kind of ol’ lady I’d need.”

  “You say so.”

  Undertaker pushed off the bar, slapped Mooch on the back, and headed upstairs. Reaching Holly’s door, he tapped on the wood.

  “Who is it?”

  “Undertaker.”

  The door opened, but he wasn’t greeted with the smile he expected. She stood with one hip thrown out and accused, “You sent for her, didn’t you?”

  Well, shit. He blew out a breath. “We gonna talk or are you gonna have an attitude?”

  She folded her arms and looked away.

  Attitude. Great. He closed the door and stared at her for a moment. “Didn’t you like her?”

  Her shoulders lifted. “She was okay.”

  “Was she any good? Did you talk?”

  “Of course we talked.”

  Undertaker drew in a long breath. If he wanted to know anything, he was gonna have to draw every answer out of her. He had a better idea. “How about that ride?”

  That changed her attitude like the flip of a light switch. She turned to him with a bright smile and nodded.

  He stepped back and jerked his head toward the door. “Your chariot awaits, my lady.”

  ***

  An hour later they were sitting side by side on the cement breakwater at the end of Lakeview Drive, overlooking the Pontchartrain. They were just west of the I-10 Twin Span Bridge.

  Undertaker dipped his head and cupped his hands to light a cigarette, the breeze off the water picking up as nightfall approached. He flicked his silver Zippo lighter closed and squinted up at the headlights passing by on the bridge. He exhaled a lungful of smoke and felt the nicotine do its magic.

  “Can I have one?” Holly asked.

  He eyed her doubtfully. “You don’t smoke.”

  “Maybe I should start. It looked like that cigarette felt good going into your lungs.”

  He glanced down at his cigarette. “It’s a bad habit. One I can’t seem to quit.”

  “Have you tried?”

  He grinned. “Many times. I get irritable. You wouldn’t want to be around me.”

  She gave him a smile and bumped his shoulder. “Oh, I think I’d manage.”

  He stared out over the water. “Tell me about the doctor. Did you like her?”

  “She’s okay.”

  He turned back to her. “And?”

  “She wants to meet with me again, in her office next time.” She glanced over at him. “She doesn’t want to come back to the clubhouse.”

  He huffed out a laugh and eyed the horizon. “No surprise there.”

  “Will you take me?”

  His eyes swung back to her. “You wouldn’t rather your sister take you?”

  She glanced away, shaking her head.

  “Then, yeah, sure. If you want me to, I’ll take you.”

  She turned a big smile to him. He knew it was more about having his attention than anything else, but he didn’t bring that up. If it was what it took to get her to go to therapy, then he would make the time. “When?”

  “Tomorrow at four p.m.”

  “I suppose I can swing that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He slapped at a mosquito and flung his smoke in the water. “Let’s get out of here, babe, before they eat us alive.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Undertaker pulled his motorcycle to the curb in front of the office building and stared up at it. Large bronze numbers read 790. “This must be the place.”

  Holly didn’t say anything.

  “Let’s go.” They climbed off, and he took her hand as they walked up the sidewalk. They found Dr. Carter’s name listed on a directory under Suite 202 then made their way upstairs.

  A receptionist greeted them as they entered the office. Undertaker had to hand it to her—her smile barely faltered as her eyes swept him from head to toe, taking in the faded denim shirt, leather cut, jeans, and
biker boots, the silver rings on his hands and the tattoos running up his arms. Then her eyes moved to Holly, and she gave a reassuring look. “Miss Randall?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Dr. Carter will be with you in a few minutes. Please, have a seat.”

  They were the only two in the small waiting room and took two seats next to each other, facing the wall of smoked glass windows overlooking the street. It made Undertaker feel a little less claustrophobic. He hated doctor’s offices or anything official like this. He crossed his booted foot over his knee, and it wasn’t long before that boot was nervously bouncing up and down. When he realized it, he dropped it to the floor and straightened in his chair, only to have his knee start bouncing a moment later.

  Holly, on the other hand, seemed calm as a cucumber, thumbing through one of the old magazines left out on a table.

  Undertaker tried to busy himself with studying the diplomas on the wall, but the lettering was too far away for him to read.

  The intercom on the desk went off. “Coralee, did I leave my briefcase out there?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s on my desk. Shall I bring it in?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll be out in a second.”

  Undertaker’s eyes strayed to the item in question, and his body froze. There sat the unmistakable red leather case he remembered from a lifetime ago. And suddenly it all clicked into place. Now he knew just why Dr. AJ Carter seemed so familiar, but the name was wrong.

  He frowned. It had to be her. But when he’d known her, she was Allison. He stood and moved to the wall with the diplomas, leaning to read the name. Allison Jane Banks, Tulane University. It was her. Somewhere along the line, she’d become AJ Carter.

  The door opened, and he straightened, his head turning to see her standing there, a smile on her face and her eyes on Holly. Then they swung to him, and the smile slid away. For an instant they stood, caught in the moment, recognition dawning on both their faces.

  She was the first to falter, taking a slight step back, but she recovered quickly. She cleared her throat and turned to Holly.

  “Miss Randall, it’s good to see you again. Please come in, and we’ll get started.” Then she grabbed up her red briefcase.