Unruly

by Ronnie Douglas

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Also by Ronnie Douglas

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  A LAMO STOOD IN THE MIDDLE OF A SEA OF BOXES THAT filled his new house. He was no stranger to moving. Growing up, he’d been rousted from his bed more times than he could count to move to a new place in the middle of the night. His mother would let the back rent build up as far as she could, and then they’d skip out. Mix in a few turns in foster care over the years when she was arrested, and he’d become something of a pro at traveling light and moving quickly. This time, though, he was moving everything he’d accumulated over several years of stability. He had absolutely no desire to put it to rights in a new place.

  Truth be told, this new house was the nicest place he’d ever lived. It wasn’t home, though. Home was a modest-sized apartment in Durham, North Carolina. Home was having his sister Zoe in the house, badly imitating his Spanish cusswords and singing like a cat in a surly mood—and he missed it.

  He’d lost that right when he’d lost his temper. He knew it, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating. He’d done the right thing, and there wasn’t a minute of it that he regretted. The man deserved every punch, but that was neither here nor there. Truth didn’t change facts, and the facts were that Alamo was a big man, and his long-gone father wasn’t as white as his mama had been. Race shouldn’t matter, but sometimes having darker skin still did, especially in a city where drug traffic was as common as it was in Durham. The police tended to blame it on one segment of the population, those with darker skin. He was a large man with darker skin. To add to that, once the police saw the motorcycle club patches on his jacket, Alamo was far too likely to end up in jail if he stayed in North Carolina.

  This time they had a reason of sorts. He had put that pendejo in the hospital. And an uptown white boy in his expensive clothes could afford the sort of lawyers who twisted truth until it looked nothing like reality. Alamo knew it, had known it before he’d taken the first swing. Sometimes, though, a man had to stand up for a woman regardless of the cost. Zoe’s friend had no one else to stand up for her, so Alamo did what needed doing. It was that simple.

  “You can’t just do that!” Zoe snapped at him when he’d walked into the little apartment they shared. “I might not be a kid, but I still don’t need my brother in the lockup.”

  “He hurt Ana.”

  “You are not the law, Alejandro. You wear that jacket”—she pointed at the vest with the Southern Wolves patches prominently displayed—“and you forget that you’re not above the law.”

  “Lobita,” he started.

  “Don’t you ‘little wolf’ me, mister!” His sister’s hands landed on their customary position on her hips. She was a tiny little thing, but she had the attitude of a dozen girls. “If you end up in jail, I’ll . . . I’ll find someone big enough to kick your ass. Then where will you be, eh?”

  Alamo bowed his head, as much to hide his smile as to let her know he was listening to her chastisement.

  “You call Nicky, you hear me? You find out where you can move because you’re not staying here. That boy . . . he has friends. I don’t want this to get worse.”

  “Lobita . . .”

  “No! You call your Wolves, and you move. We talked about it for next year, anyhow. Clean start.” Zoe took a shaky breath, let it out, and looked at him. “Ana says thank you and that she’s okay. She’s . . . sorry.”

  “Don’t need to be sorry. She did nothing wrong, Zoe. You make sure she gets that.” His hands fisted despite his intention to keep calm, and the already bloodied knuckles smarted.

  Alamo might not have had a father most of his life, but he knew what a man was supposed to be like just the same. Growing up, he’d just studied what his mother’s long list of lovers did. Whatever they did, he did the opposite. That was all the guidance he’d needed. That was why Alamo went after the buttoned-up man-boy who’d gotten Ana drunk and taken what wasn’t his right to take.

  “Call Nicky,” Zoe said, and then she turned away. “And put ointment on those cuts.”

  She was right. Being the stand-in parent for Zoe had always been harder because she was right more often than not. Her excesses of common sense made her awfully hard to handle. Of course it also meant that it was less worrisome to leave her behind with Ana. She’d be okay; he knew that. Both of the Díaz siblings were survivors.

  So far there hadn’t been any charges filed, and the jackass who hurt Ana claimed never to have seen Alamo’s face. He did see Alamo’s jacket, though, and it was best for everyone if there was no reason for the police to be looking too closely at the Wolves. The local chapter president, Nicky, agreed with Zoe, so he’d made a call to another chapter. Within forty-eight hours, Alamo’s things had been boxed, and he was in Tennessee. Between a move and a stay in jail, moving was a better choice—but that still didn’t mean Alamo was happy with it.

  He looked around the cluttered house. Boxes and furniture sat in a jumble, but he needed to get out. Being here, being alone with his thoughts, wasn’t going to do anything but make him think about the mess he’d gotten mixed up in. He didn’t regret it. He didn’t think he was wrong to defend Ana. That didn’t mean the consequences were easy to take.

  He walked outside, pulled the door shut behind him, and headed to the bar that the Tennessee chapter frequented. Getting to know his new brothers was the best thing he could do now. The Southern Wolves were the only family he had other than Zoe, and while Zoe would visit, she was still in North Carolina while she finished up her college degree.

  By the time he pulled his Harley into the parking lot of Wolves & Whiskey, he felt more like himself. All he needed was to stay focused. No distractions. No trouble. No fights unless they were ordered by the club. He had to focus on his job, the Wolves, and not let himself get invested in anyone else’s life. He could keep his distance from everyone. That was the one surefire way to keep his temper under control.

  No more bad habits. No more mistakes—regardless of how good the reason for them was. Tennessee was going to be the beginning of a new lifestyle, one that would keep him out of trouble and able to build a stable home for his sister once she finished college.

  “ELLIE?” NOAH REACHED out, fingers catching a lock of hair and tugging like we were the kids we hadn’t been in years. Noah was turning twenty-four this year, old enough to have more of a plan for his life, old enough to stop running from anything that had even the shadow of commitment to it.

  I was only two years younger than him, but sometimes I felt older. He was a mistake I kept making and had been making since not long after I was old enough to get a driver’s license. Noah helped me learn, and we’d celebrated with what had turned into a decidedly unhealthy relationship. I wasn’t ever going to get my life together if I didn’t figure out how to change my bad habits, and Noah Dash was a bad habit. We were never going to be anything but friends who were naked together sometimes.

  He was propped up
on one arm in his bed, looking like we’d been doing exactly what we had been.

  “Do you want a ride to the bar tonight?”

  “I thought you didn’t want me on your bike where we might be seen,” I asked, my voice sounding a little more upset than I wanted to admit. He’d given me a lift to his apartment, but that wasn’t quite the same.

  “What’s between us is between us,” he said, as if that answer was going to sound less irritating with repetition. It didn’t.

  I rolled onto my side so I was facing him. “I’m going to drive myself.”

  “Come on, Ellie, don’t be like that.”

  “Leave it alone.” I folded my arms, feeling silly as I did so. It was hard to look stern while we were both naked.

  “You know people would misunderstand if you were on my bike regularly.” Noah’s fingers trailed up my spine. “Showing up at Wolves is like a statement.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want them to misunderstand.”

  “There’s no one else on the bike.” Noah sat up and eased closer. “You know that, don’t you? I might go on a date or whatever, but that’s not anything. I just like a little strange, you know?”

  “I know, Noah.” I’d known that he wasn’t particularly celibate before we were together, and that hadn’t ever changed. It was his way of making quite clear that he wasn’t in a relationship.

  I wasn’t sure whether I was more embarrassed that I’d wasted years in and out of Noah’s bed or that I’d resorted to manipulation to try to get him to see that we were having a relationship. Either way, the truth of the matter was that Noah Dash wasn’t going to change—and neither was I. I didn’t want forever, but I was over being someone’s secret. He wouldn’t carry me on his Harley more than once in a while because people might think I mattered. God forbid, they might even think I was his old lady. The truth was that I was his best friend and regular bedmate since we were young enough to start exploring. That was it, though.

  I used to think it was enough.

  I used to think it would change, that he would change.

  I even used to think I might change.

  “Do you think you’ll ever let people know about us?” I asked, even now hoping that he’d tell me I was wrong, even now hoping that there was an answer he could offer that would let us keep this messed-up thing that we’d had. Neither one of us had ever tried dating anyone else. We’d settled for this, and it was no good. Not for me. Not for him.

  “What if people did know?” I asked, pushing a little harder for the answer I hoped to hear.

  Instead he looked as if I’d just told him I loved him. Sheer terror was written on his face. “Ellie . . . come on. People know we’re friends. All they don’t know is that we do this.” He gestured between us at the bed. “Why would we need to tell anyone our business?”

  That’s all this was to him: friends who sometimes had sex. That was the bald truth. We were friends, so we talked, and if we were in a bad way about anything, we knew that we could call at any hour of the day or night. And if we had a need for something other than talk, we had that too. It looked a lot like a relationship, and maybe it was. It wasn’t one that worked for me, though. I wasn’t ready for kids or a husband or any of that forever stuff, but I was ready to matter. I was ready not to be a dirty secret.

  And I was ready for someone who knew why I was in a lousy mood this week, who cared enough to remember what week it was, who understood why I needed reassurance. I didn’t want to have to tell Noah to be kind to me because I needed it a little extra this week.

  Noah wouldn’t change, and I couldn’t. What we had wasn’t enough. I was done with that, with him, with being the girl who didn’t deserve more.

  I started to climb out of bed to grab my clothes.

  “Where are you going?” Noah tugged me back onto the bed and rolled me under him. “I just got you here, El.”

  “You got me here six years ago, Noah.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” He grinned down at me. “Beautiful Miss Ellen, all naked and in my sheets . . . so why can’t I take you to the bar tonight? It’s been a while. No one would think anything.”

  “Just let it go. Please?” I asked, hating that he thought that my worry was being found out. I’d all but asked him to be open about us, and he still couldn’t hear what I was telling him.

  “I’ll take you home later if you still want to get your car.” He was curled behind me, holding me to him as he did only when he was too exhausted to remember that friends don’t cuddle. He kissed my shoulder and murmured, “I hate when we fight, Ellie. Just think about it.”

  And then he slept . . . and I slid out of his bed for the last time. I felt like a thief as I tiptoed over to gather my clothes, shoes, and books—but better a thief than a fool. Maybe there wasn’t anyone out there who would be happy to be with me. Maybe I was an idiot for caring that Noah didn’t want more. I didn’t mean to care, but I had enough of my heart in the mix that I couldn’t stay, not if I wanted to respect myself at all. The next time I let a man into my bed, he sure as hell wasn’t getting into my heart. Keeping sex and love in separate rooms was a safer plan. I didn’t love Noah anymore, but I had been lingering on the edge of it far too long. I could love him like a friend, but I couldn’t do it and sleep with him. I’d rather have love or sex because this half-assed mess of neither and both was breaking my heart. No matter what, though, I wouldn’t be hidden away by anyone again.

  “Never again,” I promised myself as I went downstairs.

  At the bottom of the steps, I pulled the building door closed behind me. Not for the first time, I was left stranded because of Noah Dash.

  Truthfully, I was stranded in more ways than one. Job opportunities meant moving, and because of Noah I hadn’t been willing to leave Williamsville. Admittedly, fashion industry jobs weren’t thick on the vine in Tennessee—but those that were certainly weren’t in Williamsville. I was here because of him, though.

  My more immediate issue was getting out of his neighborhood. Later when I was calm, I could think about getting out of town entirely . . . or decide if I really wanted to go. For now I needed a ride.

  I could call my mother—who was more a roommate than a parent—but I didn’t know that I was in the mood for her counseling me on patience. For reasons I wouldn’t even try to fathom, she thought Noah could do no wrong. That left me with calling my friends who didn’t know about Noah, calling Noah’s cousin, Killer, or calling the bar.

  I called the bar.

  “What’s up, little bit?” Mike asked.

  “I need a ride. No questions, and no one who’d tell tales about . . . anything.” I walked farther from the building where Noah lived. I felt like a vagabond with my boots, bag, and helmet, but I was afraid I’d wake Noah if I tried to put them on inside.

  Mike sighed. “I can call a taxicab. Depending on who’s working, they might not tell Miss Bitty.”

  “Ugh.” I sat on the curb and shoved my feet into my boots. “Mama’s got everyone in her damn pocket. I swear she’d put a tracking chip in my ass if the veterinarian would do it.”

  Mike snorted. “Don’t go giving her ideas.”

  It was one of the mysteries of my life. My mother never put any restrictions on me, but she kept awfully close tabs on my comings and goings. There was no way that the local drivers wouldn’t tell her where I was.

  “I can send the new guy to fetch you,” Mike said. “He just walked in. Seems a good sort. Wouldn’t tell . . . either of the young’uns.”

  “That works.”

  Mike paused and cleared his throat before asking, “Do I need to guess where you are, or do I just assume you’re with one of the young’uns?”

  “Got it in one.” That was the thing. People did know, maybe not everything, but enough for me to be embarrassed by the fact that Noah treated me like I was a secret.

  “Do I need to send a helmet?”

  “I have mine,” I said, glancing at it, trying not to think of going shopping for
it with Noah and Killer. “I just need a ride . . . and if you can avoid mentioning it to Uncle Karl or Echo.”

  Mike’s tone shifted. “You know better than that, Ellen.”

  I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. Everything to do with Noah or Killer was reported to the Wolves’ president and to the biker who’d raised both boys. It was simply the way of it. Hell, I’d been the one reporting things over the years. Everyone did it. Echo cared about every little detail of their lives. Nothing was considered too insignificant to mention. Killer had coped by devoting himself to Echo, becoming Echo’s right hand. Noah had done the opposite—refusing to even be patched into the Wolves.

  “What’s the new guy’s name?” I asked.

  “Alamo.”

  “Okay.” Admittedly this was a somewhat silly question. I’d know him when he arrived because he would be wearing club colors, the Wolves’ insignia clearly marked on either a black leather vest or jacket. Plus, there weren’t any Wolves I didn’t know other than the new guy, so a biker who arrived with club colors was obviously my ride. That said, I wasn’t going to be rude and not know his name.

  I disconnected and sat on the curb. I wondered if anyone else realized that this week was the anniversary of my father’s death. Noah certainly hadn’t, and that told me more than anything else. A man who wasn’t there for me wasn’t what I needed. A woman didn’t need a man at all. Mama had been telling me that since my father died . . . but sometimes I wanted one, not just in my sheets but in my life. I wanted someone who cared about me, who remembered to hold me, who treated me like I was special. Instead, I was waiting for a stranger.

  Chapter 2

  TEARS OF FRUSTRATION WERE STARTING TO STREAK DOWN my cheeks when I heard the gorgeous growl of a Harley headed my way. There weren’t a lot of Harleys in Williamsville that weren’t ridden by Southern Wolves. It was sort of an unwritten law that if you were going to ride for pleasure but not be a Wolf, you rode something else. It was odd to me, but folks seemed to think it was a sign of respect to the club.

  Regardless of what I thought of the town logic, the result was that I knew that the sound of a Harley likely meant that I’d know the rider. Noah didn’t like drop-by visitors, either. It was just another way to keep me hidden. Well, it had been. No more. I wasn’t anyone’s dirty secret as of the past hour.