by Lane Hart
“Fuck yeah, I was. I hit the long-haired bastard, the president of the Dirty Aces.”
“You better hope they all live; because if any of them die, they will come after you hard.”
He casually stretches both of his arms across the top of the sofa. “And, like I just said, we’ll be ready.”
“This isn’t you, Rian! You’re better than this – acting like some maniac with a gun attacking people. What will it take for you to finally realize that Cormac is just trying to get you killed? He’s never going to give up power to you!”
“Yes, he will,” Rian responds through gritted teeth. “When I’m twenty-one, I’ll take over and he’ll be my second.”
“Oh my god. You are so delusional,” I say with a shake of my head. “He’ll kill you himself before you ever reach twenty-one!”
“I trust Cormac with my life. Dad trusted him too. He would never betray me.”
“Whatever you say, baby brother,” I sigh as I lean my head back. “Just promise me that if you get even an inkling that he’s coming after you, that you’ll tell me, and we’ll leave. Please? Don’t try and fight him on your own.”
“It’ll never come to that,” he says.
But what he doesn’t know is that Cormac and I have our own deal. He made me a promise, and he can’t back out. I refuse to let him. Once the Knights are out of town, he’ll find a way to run Rian out of the Irish chaos once and for all.
If he doesn’t live up to his promise, then I’ll kill him myself if that’s what it takes to save Rian from certain death.
Wirth
It takes a few minutes to get everyone inside and situated in the small house. Most of us are hanging around in the kitchen out of the way. Fiasco is laid out in Joanna’s bedroom and Hunt is stretched out on her sofa. Nash and Preston assist Joanna as she runs back and forth from one room to the other until another woman about the same age comes busting through the door without knocking, nearly giving us all a heart attack before she takes over the duties on Hunt.
Malcolm’s sitting at the small, four-person dining table in the corner of the kitchen with a bandage on his shoulder. Joanna gave me the gauze, tape, and some antiseptic after checking the wound, and let me slap the prez back together.
Hunt’s guy, Preston, comes over, wiping the sweat from his brow a little while later. “She thinks Hunt has a concussion and that the throbbing of his headache made the side of his head bleed more. He’s going to be fine, she said, but he lost the top half of his ear.”
“Jesus,” I mutter.
“Casey!” Joanna yells from the bedroom. “I need you in here if you can leave him!”
“On my way,” the other woman calls back before she disappears.
“That’s not good,” Silas says when he takes a seat in one of the three empty chairs at the table with Malcolm. “Nash is still in there too.”
“I’ll go check on things,” I say since I can’t sit still, and pacing isn’t doing any good.
I head around the corner and down the short hall to the bedroom. Inside, Nash’s sister is sitting on the bed next to Fiasco with a tube going from her arm to his as he sleeps. Her friend Casey slowly and methodically pulls a needle and thread through the skin of his leg. Nash is just standing and watching.
“He needed blood,” Joanna looks up and says when she sees me. “I’m O positive, so I hope he’s positive and not negative. Either way he was screwed.”
“Yeah, let’s hope he’s positive,” I reply.
“Joanna didn’t see any internal damage on his side and got him stitched up there,” Nash explains. “She pulled the bullet from his leg, and Casey is closing him up.”
“Now we just have to find some antibiotics to give him to make sure he doesn’t get an infection.” Joanna places her hand on Fiasco’s forehead. “He already feels warm. Can infection start this soon?”
“Anything is possible,” Casey replies without looking up from her sewing.
With each of her new stabs, Fiasco’s face winces.
Noticing, Joanna says, “We need better pain meds too.”
Casey pauses and looks at the other woman in concern.
“He’s tough. He can take it,” Nash says. “Better to have the pain than bleed to death, right?”
“Right,” Casey agrees before she goes back to work.
“So, um, now that things have calmed down, I think it’s a good time for that long story of yours,” Joanna says to Nash.
“Oh, well, ah, where to start?” he looks to me, eyes wide in question like he expects me to know what to say here.
“Go on,” Joanna encourages him. Nash opens his mouth to say something and then shuts it again, shoulders slumping. He’s obviously not ready to tell her she’s his sister yet. So, I try to jump in and help him out.
“Nash’s girlfriend is a computer genius. We were in the area and needed medical attention for the guys but couldn’t take them to the hospital,” I explain.
Nash nods at me and then picks up the story. “So, Lucy, that’s my girlfriend, she pulled up the state’s nursing board or whatever to find someone close and there you were.”
“Huh,” Joanna mutters. “And why couldn’t you take them to the hospital exactly?”
“There was a shooting,” Nash tells her. “We were attacked at a bar and have no idea who it was yet, but we like to handle that type of thing ourselves, without getting law enforcement involved.”
“Right,” she drawls. “And bullet wounds are reported to law enforcement when they show up in the ER.”
“Yes, exactly!” Nash replies. “But we didn’t hurt anyone. Or at least, I don’t think we did. When the men barged in with masks on, some people fired back to make them retreat. We’re innocent, though.”
“Uh-huh,” Casey mutters as she clips the thread. “You all look…innocent in your little motorcycle vests.”
“Cuts,” I correct her. “They’re cuts. And we’re in a motorcycle club. That’s all they are.”
“Sure. Whatever you say,” Joanna replies as her and her friend exchange a look.
“We owe you both for helping,” Nash tells them. “Name your price and we’ll pay it; just please don’t tell anyone we were here.”
“I don’t know about Casey, but I don’t want to lose my nursing license. My mouth will remain shut.”
“Mine too,” Casey responds. “And I think…a thousand for each of us would be sufficient.”
“A thousand? That would work for me,” Joanna agrees.
“No,” Nash tells them, and I’m about to smack him for refusing their offer when he goes on to add, “Five thousand at least. For each of you. It’s the least we can do.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Joanna says when she smiles at him. It’s a flirty smile. Jesus. She has no fucking idea. Nash really should tell her that they’re biologically related.
“No, ah, what you’re doing is generous,” Nash stammers, rubbing at the back of his neck after he picks up on the same vibe. “I should go check on Malcolm and Hunt,” he tells them before escaping the room. Joanna’s eyes follow him.
Since he doesn’t want to spill the beans yet about their connection, I decide to remind her, “He has a girlfriend he’s crazy about. She’s a tiny little thing that’s vicious when she needs to be.”
“And?” Joanna says as she narrows her eyes at me in question.
“And I’m just putting that out there.”
“Like I would ever be interested in some criminal outlaw biker dude,” Joanna responds. She tries to point her finger to her chest which tugs on the tube connecting her to Fiasco, making her wince when she has to readjust the entry point in her skin. “No, thank you. I have enough problems on my own.”
“Good,” I reply. “Not that I’m glad you have problems but that you wouldn’t waste your time…Whatever. I’m going to check on the other guys,” I say so I can get the hell out of there before I blurt out Nash’s secret. “Just take care of him, okay?” I tell her with a no
d of my chin at Fiasco’s prone form on the bed.
“I’ll do my best,” Joanna says before I walk back into the living room.
Chapter Eight
Maeve
I don’t sleep at all after my brother finally leaves. I just lie in bed angry at myself for being a part of Cormac’s ploy that hurt three men.
It’s been years since I’ve been to church. I haven’t been since my father used to make me attend Mass like a good, little, Catholic girl. Eventually, when I was old enough to call him out on his hypocrisy of being a church-going mob boss, he stopped making me go.
But this morning, when I give up on sleep, I get up, take a quick shower, and then go to the chapel to get on my knees and pray to God that those men live.
I may have only known Hunt for a few weeks, but we’ve been as close as two humans can get many times. At first, I was just playing the part, trying to get on the inside to give Cormac information. But Hunt and some of the other men grew on me. I would consider Hunt a friend, and I know he would protect me and the other club girls from anything.
Then there’s Wirth’s two friends. I can’t imagine what he’s going through, seeing them both injured. The one outside took two bullets and left puddles of blood behind on the concrete in the alley. He’s probably the one who will struggle the most to overcome his injuries.
Once I finish my prayer, I go over to the votive stand and light four candles – three for the injured men and one for my brother’s soul. Rian is so hard-headed and cocky, like my father. He thinks he was born to lead. That path will only end with him in the ground, losing his life before he ever gets to have one.
If my brother can’t be reasoned with, that means I have to go to someone who will.
Cormac.
Since my car is still busted up on the side of the highway, I have to take the bus to get to the Irish pub on the other side of town.
I bust through the front door and start down the hall toward Cormac’s office where a gigantic man with a shaved head that I’ve never seen before is standing guard.
“I need to see Cormac.”
“He’s not to be disturbed,” the man replies with a voice so deep I can barely make out the words.
“Too bad,” I tell him when I slip around him and try the doorknob. Since it’s locked, I bang my fist on the door while yelling, “Cormac! Let me in! We need to talk!”
“He’s not in his office,” the giant informs me. “He’s still asleep.”
“How can he be asleep after what he did last night?” I demand, going down the hallway and banging on each and every door until one finally opens and the asshole steps out…tying the belt on his maroon silk robe that I’m guessing has nothing under it.
“Feeling fancy this morning after a night of attempted murder?” I snap at him.
“Maeve, it’s too fucking early for your dramatics. Come back later,” Cormac says as he rubs his hand over his bearded jaw and then his temple like I’m giving him a headache.
“How could you let my brother do your dirty work last night? He could’ve been killed!”
“He was wearing a bullet-proof vest,” he replies.
“Was there one on his head too? Because if there wasn’t, all it would take is one shot to kill him!”
Groaning and refusing to even look at me, Cormac says, “Jesus. Do you think I’m that reckless with my men? He was also wearing a helmet.”
“Oh. Well, that’s still not good enough,” I tell him. “Are you trying to get him killed? Have you decided that would be the easiest way to get rid of him?”
“I’m not going to get your brother killed,” he says simply. “But he’s not a child anymore. He wants to be a part of this, and you have no right to try and stop him.”
I gasp indignantly. Lowering my voice, I remind him, “Oh no. No, Cormac! We have a deal, remember? You promised me that once the Knights were gone, he was gone!”
“That was before I knew the Knights were getting protection from a bigger MC! Getting rid of the Knights now is going to require more bloodshed.”
“I hate you,” I tell him through my gritted teeth. “You’re going to end up getting Rian killed; and when you do, I’m going to come after you!”
Suddenly, I’m hefted off of my feet and am dangling from the air thanks to an arm banded around my waist.
“Show her out, Cletus,” Cormac says to the giant.
“We weren’t done talking!” I exclaim when I am turned around against my will, and then we’re headed to the door.
“Yes, we were,” Cormac says while I’m carried outside and dropped.
“Don’t come back, Miss Maeve. I don’t want to have to hurt you,” the giant says before he slams the door in my face.
“Assholes!” I shout.
Wirth
“I now call this joint meeting of the original Dirty Aces and the new Wilmington Dirty Aces to order,” Malcolm says without the least bit of enthusiasm. We’re all tired after a long-ass, bloody night. Fiasco and Hunt are still at Joanna’s house, in too much pain to make it to our pool hall. I think Hunt’s issue is more vanity than anything now that he’s missing a huge chunk of his ear. He doesn’t have to say it for us all to know he feels guilty, like he should’ve done more to protect his people and ours.
“Let me go ahead and say what everyone else is thinking,” Nash starts. Looking to the four new Wilmington members at the other end of the table, he says, “You guys may have a rat problem.”
“Are you fucking kidding?” Preston yells. “How do we know you all don’t have a rat?”
Malcolm slams down his gavel so loudly on the wooden table that I feel it echo in my skull. “Shut your fucking mouth now or take off those cuts,” he tells the new guys. “We’re trying to help. One of your men was shot, yeah, but two of us were fucking hit.”
“So, you’re saying we have a rat because we had less injured?” Titus grunts. “Maybe our men are just faster at ducking.”
“Watch it!” Malcolm warns him, narrowing his eyes and pointing the gavel in his direction like he’s considering slamming it against his big head. “I got winged when I was protecting my woman. Fiasco was outside in the open, unprotected. He couldn’t have just ducked to avoid getting shot twice!”
“Sorry,” Titus mutters, his enormous shoulders slumping inward after being chastised.
“Tell us more about these Irish fuckers that you failed to mention before patching over. Preston said you’ve heard rumors the Irish weren’t happy with you taking up residence in Wilmington,” Malcolm explains.
“You know how people talk shit,” Troy says. “That’s all we thought it was – talk. If we had any idea they would come at us like that, we would’ve told you.”
“Even if it is the Irish, how would they have known that we were there too? Doesn’t seem like the attack was a coincidence, does it?” Silas asks.
“You think someone tipped them off,” I say in understanding.
“It wasn’t our guys!” Preston exclaims.
“Yeah, we would know if we had a traitor,” Titus adds. “What about him?” He points his sausage finger in my direction so suddenly that I feel like I’ve got whiplash.
“What about me, motherfucker?” I hit back.
“You weren’t there when the shooting started,” Titus explains. “That doesn’t seem like a coincidence.”
“I will ram this gavel up your ass if you ever insinuate that it was one of my men again,” Malcolm warns him, but I can take up for myself.
“You and Hunt know goddamn well where I was,” I tell Titus. “You’re just pissed because Maeve left with me and didn’t go upstairs with you. Get the hell over it. Just because I was getting fucked and you weren’t doesn’t make me a traitor.”
“Why didn’t she take you upstairs like usual? Picked the perfect time to vanish. Did you ask her to leave?” he remarks.
“No. Maeve wanted to go back to her place. It was right down the street. Not my fault if she’s never invited you to he
r bed. Then again, I wasn’t the one trying to drag her upstairs regardless of what she wanted.”
Titus growls but doesn’t get to say whatever he wanted to say when Nash holds up his hand and then chimes in.
“Hold on. Start from the beginning.” Then to me he says, “You left the bar with one of their girls?”
“Yes. Maeve. I actually gave her a ride to the bar after finding her trying to change her tire on the exit ramp.”
Shit, that reminds me that I need to get a tow truck out to get her car before the Highway Patrol moves it. With everything going on, I had forgotten all about that.
“Is she trustworthy?” Nash asks. It’s the first time I’ve ever wanted to pound in his pretty face.
“She’s fucked all of them, so they know her better than I do,” I grit out.
“Maeve’s a sweetheart,” Preston says, speaking of her fondly. “She’s loyal to the core.”
I can feel Malcolm, Nash, Silas, and Devlin watching me, waiting for my take. They’re all thinking the same thing, can we really trust the woman just because she’s a club slut?
“She showed me a hell of a good time and didn’t seem the least bit nervous or on edge,” I assure them.
“Good. Then we’ll forget about her,” Malcolm says, which is a relief. “Who else is a club girl or hang around?” he asks the guys while in my gut, something unsettling is trying to twist up my insides.
Everything happened so fast last night, especially once we got back to Maeve’s place. But I can’t forget how adamant she was about leaving the bar – first to go to the store and then to take me to her place. Was she trying to leave because she knew shit was going to go down?
I don’t hear the rest of the guys talking during the meeting as I replay every second of the night from the very beginning.
What if there was more to Maeve seducing me, insisting we leave, than I want to believe?
It’s not like I’m going to voice that shit aloud to Malcolm and the others, because there’s no telling what they would do to try and make her talk.