“No,” Will shook his head firmly. “No thinking required. Okay, we don’t storm the place, but I ain’t letting this lie. Dixie answers for this. He answers to me.”
“Damn straight, bro. But when the time’s right ... Where’s Colt?”
“What?” came the impatient response, the president’s mind already fully focused on what lay ahead. “Oh, hospital. Something to do with the girl.”
“Shit – Callie?” Sam asked in concern. “What happened?”
“How the hell should I know? You don’t think I got enough on my fucking plate trying to keep you boys’ asses outta jail, without keeping track of the pussy you’re banging as well?” Will scowled, making his sergeant sorry he’d even asked.
***
Feet propped on the end of the bed, his gaze shifted from the sleeping figure it held to the ceiling as he stretched back in his seat, rolling the tense muscles in his shoulders. Much as he wanted to spare the girl the killer headache she was certain to be waking up to, counting the journey from the hospital, she’d been out for nearly three hours and he couldn’t risk not checking on her any longer.
Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Colton leaned forward, feet back on the floor and elbows resting on his knees. “Hey, Callie, time to rise and shine, darlin’,” he tried, his low voice rough from tiredness. He noted the pain etched on her face, even as she slept on though - the weak-ass drugs they’d given her at the hospital evidently wearing off already. “Callie?”
Watching her stir, the biker shifted to sit on the edge of her bed, just like he had in the hospital - this time, reaching out to brush her hair back from her face so he could check on her properly. “Come on, baby girl, lemme see those eyes.”
With a whimpered groan, her lashes flickered, eyes opened ... and immediately squeezed closed again, her nose crinkled and a hand going to her head as she tried to sit up. “Holy shit.”
Colton knew from personal experience – having, among other incidents, once taken a crowbar to the head back in his younger car thieving days - just how badly her head must be pounding and had two painkillers ready for her, along with the glass of water he pushed wordlessly into her hand. Technically, she should have been waiting another hour to take them, but he figured she’d hardly OD on a couple of over-the-counter pills that would probably only take the edge off.
Swallowing them quickly and then leaning back against the pillows, looking like she was struggling against even just the cool water hitting her no doubt queasy stomach, Callie took a deep breath and finally forced her eyes open again.
“Thanks,” she managed, before trying to see the digital display on the clock by her bedside. “What time is it?”
“Just gone four,” Colton said, taking the glass from her and setting it aside. “You been out for hours.”
“You look tired,” Callie said softly. “Did you sit up this whole time?”
“Someone’s gotta wake you up - stop you slipping into a coma or some shit,” he shrugged. “I sent Sketch and Lana home. Didn’t see a point in us all being here. Hey, where d’ya think you’re going?”
Slipping out from under the covers, Callie’s hand went shakily to her head again as she found her balance. “Need some fresh air,” she explained over her shoulder, padding for the sliding door that led to the tiny balcony outside her bedroom.
A touch on her shoulder had her turning from where she was leaning on the railing and he simply swept her into his arms and off her bare feet, carrying her easily to sit on one of the two metal folding chairs with her on his lap.
“Better?” he asked gruffly, feeling her nod as she laid her aching head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.
***
Will had, in something of a turn-around, been the one to suggest they get some shut-eye. A sensible suggestion, give the late hour and the fact he and Sam seemed to be the only ones still up. The clubhouse was otherwise deserted and even the most dedicated of the female hangarounds had retired for the night, though he’d have bet good money on at least a couple being tucked up in the beds of some of his brothers.
Sam had been visibly relieved by the apparent change of heart, having been fighting sleep for a while and trying his best to stifle yawns while his president’s wrath raged on around him. As the one charged with their leader’s protection, he rightly didn’t want him rushing off half-cocked. And, as he’d been quick to declare, they could always deal with Dixie tomorrow. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere ...
Technically though, Will thought grimly – slamming a fresh clip into his gun and heading for the door – it was tomorrow.
***
“Colt?”
She knew he’d hear the uncertainty beneath the drowsiness she couldn’t quite shake yet – she’d never been a good patient, always expecting to bounce back straight away instead of giving herself proper recovery time - and that he’d know it foreshadowed an impending question coming his way. But she was kinda hoping she’d earned the right just this once.
It wasn’t like her, she didn’t poke and pry. Didn’t push. But not because she was scared of him. She had a healthy appreciation of his capabilities, but didn’t have him pegged as the monster some would choose to see. No one was that black and white. She just got it, got him. Probably not everything, he was far from an open book after all – but she understood how he operated, respected that he didn’t feel the need to share every thought in his head. Felt much the same herself, in fact.
But, curled up on his lap as the first rays of dawn crept over the horizon, she still had to at least ask. “Why’d ya come, Colton? To the hospital?”
A beat passed in silence as he seemed to consider a response to the quiet question. “Don’t fish for answers you already got, doll.”
It was more than she’d expected, even if it did little for the doubts in her troubled mind. “Sorry, I just ...”
She trailed off as a hand fisted unexpectedly in her hair, but he was mindful of her injury and made sure he wasn’t hurting her as he guided her head back for a long kiss. One that steadily deepened as she started to respond to him, fingers twisting in the soft material of his long-sleeved t-shirt and her tongue tangling with his.
The doubts faded with the night as he stood up and carried her back inside …
***
Just gone 4am, his favourite time of day – when he could retire to the sanctity of his locked office and count the night’s takings. There was nothing like cold, hard cash to sweeten the dreams that came when he finally crashed and slept well into the afternoon. That and the other perks, made getting up and doing it all again worthwhile.
Business had certainly been booming tonight too. The thought put a smirk on his face as he recalled the group of businessmen that would, do doubt, cross the street to avoid him under normal circumstances. Yet when their predictable little lives got too dull to bear, who did they run to? They were the best kind of customers – more money than sense and an overwhelming need to out-do each other, not caring if they paid hand-over-fist to do it ...
Running a weary hand over the graying hair held in a thin ponytail, he fished in the inside pocket of his suit jacket and retrieved his keys from where they were tucked securely away, singling out the one he needed. Or that he would have needed, had the door not already been open just a crack. The lock was busted open, with no attempt to even hide the fact.
In retrospect, it was a schoolboy error, but he was through the door before he could stop himself – concern for his money overshadowing even thoughts for his own safety in that split second. His hand slammed down on the light switch and flooding the small room with harsh fluorescent light, his eyes immediately widening.
“Morning, Dixie,” came the greeting, from his own office chair. Heavy motorcycle boots were kicked up on the desk and a pair of knowing brown eyes watched him, with a coolness that proved deeply unnerving, as he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. “I think you and me need to talk.”
***
CHAPT
ER 27
“W-Will,” the stocky little man stammered, floundering before he managed to turn it into a poor approximation of relieved laughter. “Christ, man, you had me going there! Bit early for visitors, ain’t it?”
The Haven president laughed as well, the sound loud and warm and almost enough to reassure his unwitting host. Almost. “Busy night, Dixie? Take a seat, relax,” the biker said pleasantly. But the gun never wavered.
“What’s this about, man?” Dixie tried to recover himself, hoping he looked and sounded less nervous than he felt. “Hey, come on now, friends don’t point guns at friends.”
“That so?” his visitor drawled casually. “What about if one friend thinks the other friend’s a lying sack of shit?”
Dixie was about to protest in the strongest possible terms, but wisely clamped his mouth shut again. You didn’t argue with a pissed-off guy with a gun levelled at your head, regardless of how much you wanted to tell him he was in the wrong. And especially when deep down, you knew he was actually in the right ...
But before he could decide the best course of action that would see him live to see another day, Will was on his feet – with surprising agility for a guy his size – and crossing the room to clamp a heavy hand on his shoulder and steer him backwards towards the seat he had just vacated. “I said sit,” he barked, shoving Dixie down.
“Will ...” the club owner tried, the pleading tone in his voice almost pitiful. Almost. “Come on, man, I dunno what this is even about, but can’t we talk about it?”
“How about I talk and you listen?” came the snarl. “And to make sure I don’t have to listen to you run that lying mouth ...”
Dixie’s eyes widened at the feel of cold steel against his temple, trailing slowly along his jaw and under his chin, before winding up pressed against his trembling lips. “Jesus Christ!” he squeaked, trying to pull away. But the exclamation proved to have been a mistake when Will simply took the opportunity to push the barrel of the gun into his one-time friend’s mouth, muffling his alarmed protests.
“I’d shut that hole in your fucking face if I was you, before I give you a matching one on the other side,” the biker warned, fisting a hand in graying hair and pulling Dixie backwards – the chair tilting precariously on two legs – until he was glaring down into watery blue eyes that bulged in terror. “I don’t wanna hear you so much as breathe.”
***
Colton was used to functioning on very little sleep – eight hours was all well and good when you could kick back in your own bed knowing all was right in the world or, at the very least, that it was someone else’s turn to keep the shit at bay. But, more often than not, you slept with one eye open or not at all. Maybe just snatching a few hours when you absolutely had to in some cheap road-side motel or in another charter’s clubhouse halfway across the country.
Or by your frail mother’s hospital bedside, never knowing if her next breath would be her last.
That wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on but, by comparison, making sure Callie’s concussion didn’t take a turn for the worse was a piece of cake. The little blonde was tougher than she looked – obviously in pain, but sucking it up. No tears, no clingy whining. Not that he’d have expected anything else from the girl with an independent streak a mile wide.
It seemed since he’d carried her inside and climbed into the comfort of her bed with her that, despite the waves of drowsiness she’d been suffering, sleep was now proving elusive though – at least the kind that would let her get any proper rest. So he had to ask. Regardless of what wanting to know might mean ... “You worrying over shit, kid?”
“Huh? Oh. Worrying, nah ...” she said, looking up at him with a half-smile that was less than convincing. Each of them propped on an elbow in the early morning light, their bodies just inches apart. “Thinking too much? Maybe.”
Colton frowned at that. He got it - the need to process shit, mull it over ‘til you had it all straight in your own head. But her head had taken a hell of a rattle, she didn’t need that right now. “About?” he prompted, his stern face at odds with the reassuring hand that settled on her hip. “Callie? Listen, you sure that prick ain’t out there right now needin’ his ass kicked?”
That got him a little laugh, even though he was deadly serious. “Come on, Colt, I’m sure.”
He accepted that. Reluctantly. The silence between them was heavy but not uncomfortable, as he cocked his head and just took in the sight of her. Her cheeks flushed pink under the scrutiny and drew one of those rare smiles from him. The chick was no wallflower, but he was pretty sure she had no fucking clue just how gorgeous she was either ...
“So this ex of yours,” Colton tried casually. “Think he’s got the message or do I gotta set him straight on a few things?”
“Such as?” Callie murmured, feeling those strong fingers slip below the hem of her top to graze the soft patch of skin that lay beneath. His head dipped to let his lips graze her throat, making her breath hitch.
“How he ... had his shot ...” Colton shrugged, between trailing hot kisses over her skin - even as he slowly started to ease her pyjama vest upwards, wanting to feel more of just her underneath his hands. “And he ... pissed it away ...”
Her body gravitating towards his, arms wrapping around his neck, Callie simply lifted her lips to his. A sigh of pleasure escaped her as he rolled her onto her back, the biker only pulling away long enough to tug his t-shirt over his head. Her hands slid down his bare skin, over the taut muscles of his back.
Colton wanted her, couldn’t deny it. But, although he wasn’t exactly prone to bouts of selflessness, he couldn’t quite shake the thought that he was supposed to be making her rest. “Shit, Callie ...” he broke off with a frustrated growl. “Your head--”
Concussed or not, the closest thing he’d heard to a plea from her cut off what would have been his warning that they shouldn’t start something they couldn’t finish.
“You’re not gonna hurt me, Colton - just please ... don’t stop ...”
***
“I’d quit shakin’ if I was you, Dixie – you sure don’t want my trigger-finger slipping,” Will advised, still in that conversational tone that was completely at odds with the latent violence of his actions. But at last, the barrel of the gun was none too gently retracted and the club owner’s hand went straight to his throat as he fought the urge to retch.
“Jesus, man, have you lost your m-mind?” Dixie spluttered, between gasps for air. “Have you seriously lost your mind?”
“Have you? Because crossing me means you, buddy-boy, either got a screw loose or some big-ass balls of steel. And, going by the way you’re quivering, I’d say we both know which one’s more likely.”
“Crossing you? Come on, Will ...”
“Spare me the bullshit, Dixie – I already know how you played me. Coming into my clubhouse with your sob stories, trading on our history to have me pull some strings for you. And all the while, I’m the one being turned into a goddamn puppet!”
“Who’s been filling your head with this shit, huh? ‘Cause that’s all it is, man – bullshit. You gotta believe me.”
“See, that ain’t what a little bird told me ...”
Sitting on a corner of the desk, the biker kept his gun levelled on his one-time friend even as he looked around the confines of the small office. He’d already checked it out while he waited for Dixie to make an appearance, knew all about the panic button under the desk and the piece in the top drawer. Had even realised the computer could be used to watch feeds from the security cameras dotted in and around the club. Someone really should teach the guy about password protection ...
“I know about the deal with the Norteños,” Will said simply, seeing no point in sugar-coating the facts. “I know you needed Kane out of the picture and, being the back-stabbing weasel you are, you had me get my men to sort it!”
Dixie quaked at the cold fury barely contained in his aggressor’s voice, already white as a sheet. “You got
ta know that ain’t right, man – you can trust me,” he tried. “You know that!”
“I know there’s only two people I trust completely and you damn sure ain’t either of ‘em,” came the reply.
“Look, Will, I get it. Trust issues after Taylor, it’s only natural ...”
The last desperate attempt to save his skin may have been a poor call, judging by the thunderous look on Will’s face, and Dixie was already regretting it when the Glock cracked him round the head. The barrel was immediately shoved hard against his temple. “You don’t say her name!” the biker hissed in fury.
***
Although he could force himself to take things slowly, lay back and watch through eyes darkened with lust, Colton couldn’t quite manage to keep his hands to himself – his strong fingers stroking her bare thighs and taut stomach, sliding up every so often to cup her perfect little tits. He was letting her set the pace, but gripping her hips as her slow sensual movements became almost too much to bear. Almost.
But instead of stopping her or pushing her onto her back to wrest control, he settled for lifting the little blonde easily - just enough to sit up and take her in his inked arms. Getting a soft, breathless moan in response as he shifted deep inside her.
Their eyes locked on each other, their mouths close enough but not quite kissing. Too caught up in the feel of each other for even that distraction. One of her hands rested on his shoulder, the other on his bare chest as she moved on him.
“Oh god, Colton ...” she sighed, biting her lip as her eyes drifted closed in pleasure.
The heat of his gaze flicked down their joined bodies and back up. His touch traced the ink on Callie’s shoulder, before his hands tangled in the loose waves that tipped down her back to finally pull her into a rough kiss. His hips rocking firmly upwards to meet hers, pushing her over the edge as the feel of her tight heat around him dragged a groan from his lips …
Ink (The Haven Series) Page 18