Haunt (Bayonet Scars #6)

by Jc Emery

  It’s not Wyatt’s size that unnerves me—it’s just him. He’s never been anything but decent toward me, but underneath all the decency lies something disturbing that makes me wary.

  “Your mom, my dad,” she says. He opens his mouth and starts telling her he’s not going to risk the mother of his children while she yells back with every bit as much anger and intensity in her voice. It starts out as one general insult after another before sliding into something deeper than I think any of us are prepared for.

  “I made a promise to our son that I would bring him to his dad. The only thing that boy wanted after Rig had a gun to his head was to see you. The only thing that let him sleep at night after he had to watch his mom kill a man not two feet from him was knowing he was finally going to get to know you. And now you want to run off and risk your life, risk hurting our boy more? No. If you think I’m doing anything to take you away from him, you are dead fucking wrong.”

  I knew about this. Ryan told me one night while we were lying in bed. Hearing it in bed, being told by someone else is one thing. Standing here, hearing it from the person who experienced, it is quite another.

  “Either you take us with you and use us the way you’re supposed to, or you’re signing your own death warrants. This plan you have is half-assed. Now, are you boys going to listen to what we have to say, or do we need to wait until you leave so we can follow?”

  The silence drones on, so long that I practically break out in hives while I wait for somebody to break. Ryan’s eyes lock on mine from across the room. With a small nod, I welcome him over, and he envelopes me in his arms. I don’t realize how much I need his comfort until he’s wrapped around me.

  Ryan bends and whispers in my ear, “I don’t like this.”

  “You promised,” I say. “We don’t want to be going back on our promises, now do we?”

  “Sometimes I want to go back to when the only thing that mattered was my bike and strange pussy,” he says grouchily. “Fuck lot less complicated.”

  “Fuck lot less meaningful,” I respond. He holds me tighter, and it’s in this moment that I know I’ve won. I want to protect my man, and he wants to protect me, but he also wants to marry me. He wants babies with me. And I want all those things, too, even if not right this minute. I want us more than anything, but I need him to let me make my own choices. He doesn’t like it, and he doesn’t have to, but if he wants this legal and he wants our children, he’s going to deal with it. And he knows it. For the first time in my life, I feel on even keel with a man. He wants me as much as I want him, and that means something.

  More than something.

  Eventually Grady concedes. He stares right at me, waiting for me to speak. Still not happy with me. And I wonder if ever there will be a day that he looks at me with something other than disgust.

  “From the beginning, all my father has wanted is to have me and Michael back. So we set up an exchange. Let him think we’re going in, giving him what he wants. This war has taken too many lives, fractured too many relationships. Let him think he’s won. Even if he doesn’t believe it, he wants his protégé back. He’ll risk it for Michael.”

  “She’s right,” Michael says. “If he thinks Leo and I are still loyal, he’ll want us back. He’ll want Al back just to prove he can take her.”

  “This plan is a lot more controlled, fewer surprise factors, and less likely to get you all killed than what you were planning to do on your own.”

  “I don’t like it,” Jim says from the corner. “As a father, I hate it, and I sure as hell don’t want my wife there. But it’s smart.” Jim meets my eyes from where he stands, now with Mom by his side. He smiles softly, almost sadly, and nods his head as if to tell me I did good.

  From behind me, heavy footsteps fall against the concrete floor, but I don’t turn around. It’s only when Jeremy pushes his way through the men—his brothers—until he’s standing, open-mouthed, staring past us that the footsteps come to a halt. I turn around to see what Jeremy’s looking at and gasp. Standing in the hall, behind us women—women who have now turned around to stare in collective astonishment—is Butch Whelan. His long grayish-black hair is tied back in a man bun, the wrinkles that line his face a testament to the life he’s lived. The glow in his eyes is unmistakable.

  To my right, Nic is frozen in place. Her eyes are wide and filled with tears as she stares up at her father. Behind her is Duke, his hands on her shoulders.

  “Still want to go with us, or would you rather stay home with this old bastard?” Duke’s love for my friend warms my heart. It takes me longer than it should to realize that he planned this. I don’t know how he could since Butch has been in prison the last several years, but somehow he did. And Butch is here. It’s smart—giving his old lady the one thing she wants in order to keep her home. It wouldn’t keep me home, but my father’s never looked at me the way Butch is looking at Nic.

  “You gonna stand there and cry, baby girl, or you gonna give your old man a hug?” Half a second later, Nic throws herself into his arms. Butch raises his head and smiles at Jeremy, who still hasn’t moved.

  “Cut looks good on you, son,” Butch says. Jeremy juts his chin out and nods, doing his best not to embarrass himself in front of his brothers. As the newest patched member of Forsaken, he’s got a lot to prove still. Only when Grady moves behind Jeremy and whispers in his ear saying, “You’re never too much of a man to love your father,” does Jeremy actually move. He runs full speed ahead at his dad and slams into the older man with a force that nearly knocks them all over. But the once-broken, now-whole family hangs tight.

  “Where’s my grandbaby?” Butch asks, leveling a gaze at Duke. He then turns his attention to Jeremy. “And where’s Miss Priss? You asked her yet?”

  Jeremy clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck as the hug breaks up. He avoids Grady’s glare. Finally, Mom breaks up the tension with her laughter, saying, “You always did have a big mouth, Butch. Welcome home, honey.”

  CHAPTER 23

  “You look like shit,” Mary says. Mary Wallace, affectionately known as Bloody Mary, peers up at me from her small, hunched over frame. She’s got wrinkles on top of wrinkles, and she’s unsteady on her feet. Amber says she has a cane she’s supposed to use, but the moment I asked if she needed it, she informed me the only thing she’d need it for was to shove it up my ass. The family resemblance between the Wallace women does not go unnoticed.

  “I feel like shit,” I admit. Not only am I tired, but my heart is sore. Leaving the kids this morning was hard as fuck. Zander understood why we were leaving, what we’re doing. But Amber’s speech about what went down with Rig still bothers me. I don’t know if it’ll ever not bother me.

  I tried to focus on the road and the shit we’ve got going on with Mancuso the best I could. After we got the call that the fucking prick had been released two days ago, we made the call to Emilio, his underboss, about setting up the exchange. I played it as even as I could, telling Emilio that “the little bitch isn’t worth it” regarding Alex. She winced when I said the words but took it in stride. Then we all scattered, took care of our shit, and met back up on the edge of town to ride out together. Just like last time, we have some men on bikes and some in the van. Only this time, I have my crazy-ass woman on the back.

  We rode for ten hours with only the necessary stops to get here—to the middle of bumfuck Nevada. To the random passerby, we’re at the West Wendover Rustic Motel. Not that anyone just passing through would see the sign or the dilapidated buildings that make up the former motel. We’re miles off the road, stretched out in the middle of a nothing desert without so much as a grocery store for miles. I’ve always considered this place a weird juxtaposition. This is our Mother Charter—it’s a holy land of sorts for Forsaken.

  The club’s founding members are all from Detroit, and they spent the majority of their lives in the Motor City while their kids were growing up and they were working. This place was always special for Clutch, Amber’
s granddad, though. After coming back from war, he holed up here, at this motel, for a few months before Mary hunted him down and brought him home. It was out here in the desert, with nothing for miles around, that Clutch found a way to live in a world he no longer understood. Some of the younger guys don’t know the history—they never bothered to check it out. One of the first things Amber’s dad, Thumper, ever said to me—after he said, “Touch my daughter and I’ll fucking kill you”—was to impart Forsaken’s history on me. It was important to him—still is—that people understand why we exist. We were founded on the philosophy that no man should have to adhere to a government they don’t believe in. No man should be forced to kill for any cause but his own. Forsaken makes our own laws. We don’t force others to live our way, and won’t be forced into living theirs. We exist outside the social structure that makes others feel safe. Because only outside of that safety net are we free.

  “You didn’t bring my babies,” Mary chides. I reach down and brush my thumb against her cheek. She narrows her worn eyes and bites back a smile.

  “Next time,” I promise.

  “You flirting with my man?” Amber says teasingly, over my shoulder. She walks up and kisses Mary on her head. They had their reunion earlier, but they’ve always been close. I like seeing them together. Being around all these old farts gives me hope that we might live long enough to be that old and wrinkly.

  “You can call him yours when you have his ring on your finger.”

  I give Mary a look that tells the old broad to shut the hell up, but it does no good. One of the few people Chel keeps in contact with regularly is her grandma. Mary always said that all women take dick for protection. It’s just a question of whether or not she’s treated like a whore just in the bedroom or on the street as well. So when Mary gets going on this ring business, I know damn well why.

  “I have his tattoo on my back and his two babies,” Amber says snidely. “That’s enough.”

  I pull her against me.

  “I’m tired, Mary. Gonna hit the sack.”

  Mary waves us off. As we move away from the cabin, I catch sight of Alex and Ryan standing by Rage’s cabin, talking to him. Rage, Ryan’s grandfather and Jim’s father, reaches out and pulls Alex toward him. He places a kiss on her cheek. Well, shit. The crazy little bitch won over Rage.

  “Where are you at with that?” Amber says, nodding toward Alex. She’s not asking if I approve of her or her relationship with Ryan. She wants to know if we plan on voting her in.

  “Giving it time. Once shit settles, gonna talk to Trigger about it.” Ryan came to me right after I took the gavel to see if getting Alex voted in was ever going to happen. I told him basically the same thing—that once we get past this war with Mancuso, we can revisit the idea. The last thing we need is tension among the brothers, though I’m not sure there would be any anymore. Still, it’s not worth it.

  “Good. She’s young and a little soft around the edges, but Ryan could use soft. I like her.”

  “Of course you do,” I say and pull her into the cabin Clutch told us we could have for the night. Our cabin is toward the back of the property, one of the better-shielded buildings. Our cabin is also in better condition than most of them. The water runs fairly evenly, and the small window unit actually heats the place up reasonably well. I’d have given it to another couple, but I won’t question my elders. I’m a charter president, and that demands respect, so I let it go. Besides, I want my woman as warm and comfortable as can be. Even if I am still annoyed with her over that shit she and the other women pulled at the clubhouse.

  “It’s been years since I’ve spent that long on a bike,” she says as she yawns and plops down on the bed.

  “You too tired to fuck?”

  “Nah, but don’t expect any special moves.”

  I move toward her, shoving my hand in my jeans pocket. This little bastard has been burning a hole in my pocket the entire ride. I’ve had it for months but wanted to wait until Mancuso was taken out. Now, though, this feels like the right time. Regardless of what happens in the next few days, I want my woman knowing where I stand. We might not be in that crazed, early stages of falling in love anymore, but what we have is way better than that. I’m completely myself around this maddening woman. She doesn’t try to show me what she thinks I want, not that I think she ever did. Amber is the same in many ways as she always has been with one exception—she’s more now. Fiercer, brighter, more beautiful. Stronger, louder, more vulnerable. She’s everything I ever wanted in a woman, even when she pisses me off. And if I weren’t so goddamn tired and sore and worried about the coming days, I might tell her this shit.

  But I don’t.

  Instead, I just climb into the bed next to her, shrugging off my cut and boots, dropping my jeans, and taking off my shirt. The only things I don’t rid myself of are my boxers and the diamond ring in my hand.

  My eyes are glued to her as I watch her strip down to her underwear. She lies back down beside me and smiles teasingly.

  “I’m not going to do everything for you.”

  “You do enough,” I say. “I can handle your panties, but don’t blame me if I destroy them in the process.”

  Amber pulls my face to hers, peppering me with gentle kisses. On the corner of my mouth and on my nose. Another to my brow and one to the corner of my eye. We’re both exhausted, but neither of us are in a hurry. I run my hands up and down her curves, loving every bit of flesh I’m fucking lucky enough to touch.

  “Thank you for this, bringing us. I know you didn’t want to, but we deserve to be here.” Amber’s voice is soft, a far cry from the harsh tone she took me with earlier in the chapel. Or was it yesterday? Every bit of me is so fucking exhausted that I can’t tell anymore. I press my lips to her cheek and trail kisses down her neck to her tits. She’s always had great tits. They’re larger now, hang a little lower than before, but they’re still perfect. I missed out on her body after having a baby—both times—and that’s never not going to eat me alive.

  “Mishy and I talked. You can’t trust Davey, just like you couldn’t trust Rig. They’re not good men,” she says slowly. I stare up at her and pin her to me.

  “You say what you gotta say, baby. I’m here.” She’s trying to tell me something, but I don’t know what just yet.

  “They used my sister. They broke her. What Rig did to her is worse than what he did to me.” Her voice is shaky now. The sorrow in her eyes breaks me as I try to wrap my mind around what she’s telling me. She places a finger over my lips and shakes her head. “We can deal with that history later. What I’m saying right now is that you need us. You can’t trust anybody is going to fight as hard for your life as I will. Me and your brothers . . . we’re it, baby. And I know you don’t want me here. I know you want me at home, nice and safe with our babies, but that’s not the woman you picked. You picked me because I can set your shit straight even when you can’t.”

  “You shouldn’t have to live like this. All the violence and death. I’m sorry, baby. I want better for you, but I’m too selfish to let you go.”

  “I was born into this. I chose this. Taking Rig out wasn’t even hard. It was easy. He threatened our son. I didn’t think twice. I just filled him with enough bullets to make sure he’d never take another breath. And for a brief moment, I liked the rush of it. I liked the power I had, being able to stop him. So you tell me, what am I supposed to do with that? How do I live inside the law, knowing I can end a man’s life if I want to? Knowing how it feels to watch a man die? How do I live normal when I have that coursing through me?”

  Giving her a sad smile, I run my hands up and down her side before slowly peeling her panties off of her. I shrug out of my boxers and hover over her. A soft kiss to her lips and then one to her chest. I lick and suck at her nipples before moving lower. I keep my movements as slow as possible, almost painfully so, as I part her thighs and waste no time in dragging my tongue over her pussy. She grows wet with my attention. Lick. Kiss. Nibble.
When she’s good and ready, I focus my attention on her clit. First with my tongue and, when she bucks against me and moans loudly, I wrap my lips around it and suck. She’s so wet and ready, her pussy throbbing for me. My dick is so fucking hard that I can barely think. Just before my woman explodes into my mouth, I withdraw and crawl back up her body. In one fluid motion, I’m inside her. The ring is still in my hand, hidden in my closed fist. We move together, restless and needy, but patient. I don’t know what’s going to happen in the coming days or weeks. I don’t know what life after Mancuso looks like. All we really have is right now, so I do my best to make it last.

  I lather her with attention but not enough to push her over the edge. I impale her once and then slide out slowly and back in at the same leisurely pace. Sweet, sweet torture heats my body as we move. I want to tell her that I didn’t want her to come because I’m afraid of what’s going to happen. I’m afraid I won’t make it home. I’m afraid we’ll succeed and I’ll have to watch a young woman witness her father’s execution. I’m afraid of sending a young man into a war that ends with him taking over his family’s business. A move that places him in his father’s shadow and encourages the monster within. I’m afraid that when it’s all settled, even when our days are normal and our nights are full of peace, that we won’t recover. We’ll jump at every sound. We’ll destroy our enemies before we know the threat level. We’ll tear ourselves apart because we no longer know how to just be—we only know how to wade through blood.

  “Nothing you tell me is going to get you out of marrying me,” I say. Her eyes go wide, her mouth assumes an O shape, and she grunts. She needs more. I pull a pillow over and pause my ministration to shove it under her ass. At this new angle, I can hit her deeper, giving her what she needs. My balled fist spares my thumb to rub fast, insistent circles over her swollen nub. She clamps down around my cock. A shudder runs through me. We’re nearly there, close to coming. I’m pacing myself, timing her body’s responses. We’ve done this dance enough times for me to know how it ends. When her body shakes and mine heats, my limbs tightening to the point of no return, it’s time.