Ride or Die 2

by Claire C. Riley

  “What do you care?” She tried to tug her arm back from me, but I held my grip firmer.

  “I care,” I snapped, and she rolled her eyes in response, irritating the fuck out of me. So much so that I wanted to slap the silly out of her. “Who the fuck said I didn’t care?”

  The music from my phone was still playing loudly from my pocket, and I reached into my pocket to shut it off, but once I let go of her arm she started to storm away from me again.

  Harlow pushed on the door and stepped out into the hallway and I followed her, getting really fucking annoyed at having to chase her down all the time. This was not how shit with me went down. I didn’t chase bitches. Bitches chased me, hence Margot dancing like a wannabe stripper on the stage right then and my cock still wet from whatever that other girls name was. Harlow needed to be put in her place and shown how shit worked around here.

  I grabbed her and slammed her against the wall, and when I looked up into her face expecting to see fear or horniness—since those were the two looks women normally gave me—I almost did a double take when all I saw was anger coming from her. I laughed and pressed my hips into her, grinding my raging hard-on against her, which only seemed to fire her up more.

  “You don’t scare me,” she said through gritted teeth, making me laugh some more. She slapped at my face but I dodged every one of her hits until she growled out her annoyance at me. Fucking liked it when she was angry. Made me want to bend her over my lap and spank that pretty peach of an ass of hers.

  “I should, H,” I grinned. “I’m a very dangerous fucking man.”

  “Fuck off!” she hissed in my face.

  I chuckled and ground against her too, and she must have thought I was fucking blind if she thought I missed how her eyes dilated and her cheeks flushed harder.

  “I hate you,” she panted.

  I reached between us, letting my hand go to the crotch of her shorts which, with a smug fucking grin on my face, I found to be hot and damp for me. She fucking squeaked as I pressed my hand against her harder.

  “You sure about that, H?” I ground the palm of my hand against her and she sucked in a breath. “Your body sure ain’t saying it hates me right now.”

  Our eyes locked, my hand still grinding against her pussy through the denim material of her shorts. She still had that fire in her eyes that made me hard, but now there was also a look of pure need, and it was taking everything I had not to drag her into one of the private booths and fuck her brains out, because she clearly wanted it as much as I did.

  The club door swung open and Margot came out with her hands on her hips. I tore my gaze from Harlow to look at Margot, whose own stare screamed murder when she saw Harlow hot and needy and pinned to the wall by my body.

  Should have felt guilty that I’d left poor Margot dancing around the pole while I chased after Harlow like a horny puppy, but I didn’t. Not even a little bit.

  “I won’t be needing your services anymore, Miss McQueen,” Margot said, her words clipped and tight. “I think your skills would be better off being utilized somewhere else…like maybe a brothel,” Margot gritted out before storming past us both and back outside.

  I looked back at Harlow, more than ready to claim my prize now that Margot was out of the picture. But instead of fire in her eyes, now they were glassy. She bit on the inside of her cheek and pushed at my chest, and I let her step away from me.

  “Don’t be like that,” I chuckled as she glared at me. But I felt a twinge of something inside of me seeing her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

  “You just made me lose the only real job I’ve ever had.” She started to walk away from me and I scowled at her back.

  “You can get another one,” I snapped, and she shook her head and kept on walking. “It’s just a fucking job, H!”

  “And I’m just another woman.” She glanced back at me. “So why do you care?”

  She pushed through the doors and I stared at after her, feeling a mix of confusing things: horny, for fucking sure; angry, with good reason; and guilty. Had no clue what the guilt shit was all about, though.

  But she was right on one thing.

  Why the fuck did I care?

  She was just another woman. I had women coming at me every day and night, so what the fuck was so special about this one?

  I dragged my hat off my head and stormed back into the club with an angry growl. This girl was going to drive me insane.

  Chapter eighteen:

  Dom

  This was never going to work.

  Never.

  Yet I couldn’t not try. Because like I’d said to Rose, I owed both women this much, at least.

  I sat on my bike in the parking lot of The Pit and waited for the cleaners to come out. I knew they were there because the van was still parked up front, it was only a matter of time before they came out. Because there was no fucking way I was going inside. If I saw Casa right then, I’d blow his brains out. Despite that I knew this was all my fault, he’d still gone against the code and tried to fuck her. That much was clear. I hadn’t imagined the way he had held onto her, or the way he had been looking at her. No fucking way.

  The door to The Pit swung open and Margot stormed out, making her way to the van. Woman was a beast—pretty sure Casa had said he’d fucked her once though. That man was a walking hornball. All he cared about was screwing and drinking. Didn’t matter who the woman was. I think that was what pissed me off so much about him going after Harlow.

  To me, she was everything—my best friend and the first person I had ever loved. To him she was nothing but a hole he wanted to fill. She could do so much better than him.

  I climbed off my bike and headed over to the van, and Margot looked up as I got close. She scowled, and it was obvious that she wanted to cry.

  “Casa?” I asked. Because it was always fucking Casa that made women cry. My thoughts went back to earlier with Rose, but I pushed them away quickly.

  “Isn’t it always. He needs to be put on a leash!” she stammered over her words.

  I shrugged. “He is who he is. If women are going to fall for it, that’s their mistake.”

  She scowled at me and pulled open the door to the van before starting to climb in. “The Pit needs a new cleaning company,” she bit out. “Casa won’t be my problem anymore.”

  “You sure you’re ready to lose the contract?” I asked, but it was obvious her mind was made up. Fucking Casa! “Right, I’ll let Shooter know. Look, the new girl you got working for you,” I started, but stopped when Margot started to laugh bitterly.

  “Little redheaded slut? Yeah, she needs a new job too!” She pulled the door shut and turned away from me, and I stared up at her, ready to rip open the door and give her an earful. Because no matter how angry you are, you do not shut the fucking door in a Highwayman’s face! But the door to The Pit opened again, and when I looked over Harlow was storming out, her arms crossed and her face red and angry. Shit, I remembered that look well.

  I walked toward her, but she didn’t notice me until the last second, jumping and giving a little squeak when she finally did.

  “Dom?” she said my name in confusion, hurt and anger flashing across her face again. “Everything okay?” she asked, pushing her own feelings to one side. Because when Harlow was concerned, she always came second. Especially to me. Didn’t matter how any times I hurt her, she always accepted me back. And I knew now would be no different.

  “Came to apologize, Red,” I said. “About last night. Nothing I can say can make it up to you, I know that, but I’d like to try.”

  She stared at me, her confusion and sympathy giving way to her anger. “Go on then.”

  I frowned, because I honestly thought I already head. “Ummm.”

  She scowled angrily, and I have to say I liked this Red. She had more of a backbone than I’d ever known her to have before. “Apologize then…if you’re really so sorry.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” I said quickly holding my ha
nds up in surrender because she had a crazy look in her eyes.”

  “You didn’t mean any of it?” she asked. “Because you sure fucking looked like you meant it, Dom!”

  “I didn’t. I was just angry and…look, you know how I can get,” I started to say, but she cut me off.

  “Yeah, I know how you can get, I’ve been putting up with it for a long time, Dom. But not anymore. I won’t be used by you or anyone ever again.” She lifted her chin, that fire that I loved about her finally rising to the surface.

  I grabbed her and pulled her into my arms. “Good. I don’t want you to.”

  “What?” she stammered, her body rigid.

  “You deserve more. I know that, and I’m sorry.” I held her tighter, watching Casa’s expression harden as he came out of the club and looked at us. “Come home with me. Let’s sort all this shit out, okay? It’s your home too, and I had no right to make you leave it.” I kissed the top of her head and her body started to respond, softening in my hold until she finally wrapped her arms around me and held me tight.

  “Okay,” she said quietly.

  Casa turned and walked back inside the club, and I smiled and pulled out of the hug before guiding Harlow over to my bike. I handed her a helmet and climbed on, and she stared at me for a moment, glancing back toward the club and sighing.

  “Come on, Red, let’s go home,” I pleaded.

  She nodded and climbed on behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist as I pulled out of the parking lot and away from Casa. Motherfucker might have been able to give Harlow what she deserved, but that didn’t mean he would. Casa would never settle down. But me, I was ready now to choose one life or the next. And I chose Harlow.

  After speaking to Shooter and Rider and coming clean about mine and Butch’s relationship, it had become obvious to me that I wasn’t ready to move on from him. Maybe I never would be. Maybe I’d end up just like Pops and keep someone around just to fuck and keep me company. Someone that would love me unquestioningly, no matter what.

  Harlow could be that girl because we were already halfway there anyway—she was my best friend, and I did love her. And we’d had sex before, so I could do it again. This time, though, I’d make it official. I’d claim her, patch her in, and I’d forget all about the man I thought I might be. Who Butch had helped me become. Because without him there, there seemed no point.

  I’d live the lie because it was easier than living the truth.

  And Harlow would be my unwilling accomplice.

  *

  I pulled up to the house and shut off the engine, and Harlow climbed off. My cell was ringing in my pocket and I had half a mind to ignore it and go inside with Harlow, make this shit between us official. If I didn’t do it now, I worried I might chicken out. Because without a doubt, what I was doing was wrong. For both of us. She deserved more than this. But right now I cared about my needs more than hers.

  I pulled out the cell and saw it was one of my little brothers, Louie. He never called unless it was urgent, so I decided to take the call.

  “What is it?” I held up a finger to Harlow to tell her to wait and she nodded okay.

  “It’s Marcel. Mom found drugs in his room and she’s losing her shit with him. Talking about calling the cops and shit. You need to get here, now.” Louie was twenty, whereas Marcel was the baby of the family at almost eighteen. We’d had a good upbringing with two loving parents and a big family, but somewhere along the line Marcel had gotten it into his head to be the black sheep of the family.

  “Fuck. Hard drugs?” I asked, watching as Harlow quirked an eyebrow at me.

  “Ice,” Louis replied darkly. “Can’t get ahold of Danton, but I think he should come home and help deal with this too.”

  I shook my head. “Nah, leave him be. We can deal with it ourselves. I’ll be there in an hour.” I hung up and slipped the cell back into my pocket. When I looked back up at Harlow her face was blank. “I need to go deal with family stuff,” I said.

  She nodded. “Sounds serious. That little brother of yours still causing trouble?” She said it playfully, but we both knew that there was some truth to it.

  Marcel had always been the one to cause trouble, no matter how young or how old he was. I had five siblings, and out of us all, he was by far the most fucked up. Not really sure why. Angevin, one of my sisters, always said his DNA was just messed up, and that after having so many perfect kids, Mom had to create at least one fuckup. But then Angevin is a mega-bitch, so we don’t listen to her.

  “Will you be here when I get back?” I ask.

  She nodded. “Sure. But we need to talk, Dom. Like, really really talk.”

  “I agree.” And I did. I had to tell her that I was committed to us now, that I’d push all the other shit to the back of my mind and move on with her. Because we were good together, and if I could just forget Butch and all that shit, then we could be really good together.

  She nodded again. “You better get going. Give my love to them all.”

  I smirked. “Probably not a good idea,” I said. “Mom blames you for me joining the MC.”

  “Me?” Harlow asked with a laugh. “Why me?”

  I smirked and started the bike back up. “Couldn’t exactly say it was because of Butch, now, could I?”

  Her face fell, but I didn’t have time to think about it. Instead I backed out of the driveway and headed home to my mom and dad, and to whatever fucked up shit Marcel had gotten himself involved in.

  Chapter nineteen:

  Dom

  The drive back from my parents seemed much longer than when I’d set off—perhaps because the fire with Marcel had been put out for now. Or perhaps because I knew Harlow was waiting for me at home and every mile between us felt too far.

  Marcel was in a fucked-up place at best. Mom and Dad were ready to kick him out, and Marcel was ready to let them. But without his family around him, it would only be so long before he fell down the rabbit hole and didn’t climb back out.

  No, home was where he needed to be. At least until we found him a clinic to clean up in. He wasn’t happy about it, but it wasn’t like he had choices hitting him on all angles. It was a clinic and his family or a hole with his drugs. Luckily, at least this time, he chose his family. Still hadn’t heard back from Danton, though he was hard to get ahold of since he’d joined the army. I’d told them not to call him, but it was too late by the time I got there. He’d always wanted to get away from our crazy family, but he was the oldest so he’d had to stick around until he thought we were all settled. Guess he thought wrong.

  I sped down the road and then turned my Harley into my driveway before shutting off the engine. I stood up and ran my hand across the warm leather of my seat before cracking my back and heading into the house. Fucking loved my bike. A beautiful black 47FL knucklehead with a 2:1 exhaust that followed the line on the bottom tail. Casa had hand-painted the emblem onto the seat frame to match the seat color, and though I hated him at the moment I couldn’t deny that he was a master at his craft.

  The house was silent when I approached it, the windows dark and oppressive, and I wondered for a minute if when I opened that door it would be as empty and lonely as it had been these past months. That perhaps I’d imagined Harlow, that maybe bumping into her—my blast from my fucked-up past—and bringing her to my home in a sad attempt to save her from herself and perhaps redeem myself for fucking her up in the first place was all just in my messed-up head.

  But when I unlocked the door I couldn’t stop the fleeting smile from my face as the tiny telltale signs of Harlow welcomed me and showed me that I wasn’t crazy at all.

  Her shoes sat at the bottom of the stairs, one on its side and the other sitting to attention like it was keeping guard. Her denim jacket hung on the banister, waiting to be grabbed on her way out. I moved through my house, taking in all the signs that someone lived in this house now and I wasn’t entirely alone anymore. A used glass in the kitchen sink. Food in the refrigerator. A half-empty bott
le of wine on the counter.

  But mostly it was in the air. The house smelled different. It smelled lived in. It smelled like life, not death. It smelled, not just like someone had cleaned up, but like someone gave a shit about it. It smelled of all the things a home should smell of when a man came home from work: food, beer, candles, laundry, and last but not least…Harlow.

  My house smelled of Harlow. Of her sweet vanilla scent, and citrus shampoo, and just everything that made her her.

  I kicked off my boots and slowly climbed the stairs, feeling weary. They creaked under my weight and I sighed with each step like I was climbing a mountain, not twelve steps to my bedroom. At the top I turned to go to my room, but stopped outside my door. I looked across at Harlow’s closed bedroom door and pictured what she looked like at that moment. I wondered whether she was sleeping or if she’d heard me come in, and if so, was she waiting for me to knock on her door?

  Did she still want me the way she had, all those years ago?

  Part of me—the really fucked-up selfish part of me—hoped so.

  I wondered if being with Harlow would make my life less complicated. She made me feel alive again. She gave me hope and brought me happiness. So what if I didn’t feel all the things for her that a man normally would. Surely I could make it work. I’d fucked up once—fucked her up once. I couldn’t do that to her again; she deserved so much better.

  I took a step toward her door, the floorboards creaking just like the stairs had, but instead of knocking I gently pushed it open.

  There was a small shape in the middle of the bed, which I knew was Harlow, the covers pulled right up to her ears like she was trying to keep out the monsters in the dark. I stepped closer, feeling a sense of peace washing over me the nearer I got to her. Like all the anger and grief and soul-crushing guilt I felt was suddenly dropping away.

  Being with Harlow could be easy. Shit, it should be easy! At least, that’s what I wanted to believe. I loved her, there was never any doubt about that. And she was beautiful, and caring, and funny as hell. So why couldn’t it work between us? Maybe I could learn to love her like she needed.