To Have and to Harley

by Regina Cole

  Bethany’s eyes flew open wide, her reaction too genuine to be faked. “No! Of course not!”

  He took a deep breath, inwardly chastising himself for doubting her. “You’re basically part of that family. A bigger part than I am, for sure, even though the DNA says otherwise. I’m the stranger in the situation, so whatever you say goes. Tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen.”

  He reached across the table and took her hand in his. Her fingers were cold, so he squeezed them slightly, rubbing them to return the warmth.

  Worry was plain in her gaze.

  “First, I need to know. What…what do you think this is? I mean, how would you term our relation…erm, our association?” she asked.

  Well, to be quite honest, he hadn’t thought about it. There was Trey, and there was Bethany, and they were good together. He wanted to be with her at every opportunity, and it seemed like she wanted the same.

  Why did it need a name?

  Because she’d asked for one. That’s why.

  Feeling like an awkward teenager, Trey rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess relationship is a good word. As far as I’m concerned, we’re together. Does that sound right to you?”

  It was like he’d plucked the moon from the sky and handed it to her. He’d never forget the smile that she gave him right then and there. “Wow. That’s… Yeah. I feel that way too.”

  He smiled halfway, unsure what else to do. “Good.”

  For a moment they just held hands and looked at each other. He should have felt weak, mushy, overly emotional. But he didn’t. He felt strong, as if he could run ten miles without losing his breath or lift a car one-handed for her.

  Anything she wanted. He’d do anything. And it felt amazing.

  “So, if we have a big family dinner, can we keep us under wraps? Just until Sarah comes to grips with everything that’s happening, and the wedding is over.”

  His smile faltered.

  When the wedding was over, he’d be fading out of their lives. Only barely connected by the occasional phone call or visit every few years. There was no way he could keep up that facade long-term.

  But he couldn’t ask Bethany to separate from the family she’d chosen, any more than he could leave the Shadows.

  His formerly buoyant heart turned to stone in his chest, but he pinned a smile on his face anyway.

  “Sure. We’ll keep it quiet if that’s what you want.”

  She gave a big sigh. “Thank you, Trey.”

  The food might as well have been made of cardboard, but he ate it anyway.

  Had to keep up his strength to continue being such an asshole.

  Chapter Twenty

  Putting on a burst of speed, Trey leaned toward his handlebars, the wind rushing past him as his adrenaline pumped.

  His target looked over his shoulder, pushing the twenty-odd-year-old Camaro faster.

  A grim smile stretched Trey’s face as he gained on the fleeing vehicle.

  He knew the man’s face now. There wasn’t anywhere in either Wake or Durham counties that the guy could go without Trey being alerted to his presence. For the idiot who’d had the temerity to deal meth in the Shadows’ territory, it was the end of the line.

  The Camaro took a sudden hard right, and Trey was forced to swing wide to avoid eating the pavement. The momentary falter gave Flash and Wolf the chance to pull closer to the car than Trey.

  He glanced in his mirrors. Rocco and Ace were there backing them up, their bikes roaring toward the fleeing vehicle just as determinedly as Trey’s was.

  Trey goosed the engine faster as Flash made a move. His Triumph Daytona swerved into the opposite lane, and he pulled even with the driver’s door.

  The leather over Trey’s knuckles stretched tight as he gripped his handlebars hard.

  Almost there now.

  One—

  Flash reached a hand toward the latch.

  Two—

  Wolf pulled even with the passenger door.

  Three.

  In a feat that was born of perfect timing and consummate skill, the passenger door to the Camaro pulled open. The driver screamed and flapped his free hand at Wolf, the distraction ideal for Flash to open the driver’s door and grab the driver’s arm.

  The Camaro kept rolling as the dealer hit the pavement. Ace’s fist rose in triumph as the Shadows’ bikes circled the downed man.

  Trey watched as the Camaro came to a sudden, crunching stop against a big, old pine.

  One by one, the bike’s engines cut. Trey’s leg swung over the bike saddle, and his men echoed his movements.

  Groaning and cursing, the dealer—who went by the questionable name of Rat—rose to his hands and knees.

  They’d been lucky that Rocco had managed to wrestle Rat’s piece away before the chase started. Trey didn’t want to think about how this might have gone down if they’d had to dodge gunfire too.

  With the toe of his boot, Trey nudged Rat none too gently. “Get up.”

  Weaving and whining, Rat pushed to his feet.

  The road rash on his left arm was dotted with gravel and streaming blood. A good-sized gash above his eyebrow was dripping blood down his cheek. That little skid across the highway hadn’t felt good.

  What came next would feel worse.

  “What do you want?” Rat spat on the blacktop, coming perilously close to hitting Wolf’s boots. Trey’s arm shot out, blocking his second from throttling the beady-eyed loser.

  Wolf would get his chance, but Trey needed information first.

  “I’ve got reason to believe you’re dealing in my territory.”

  Rat’s beady eyes darted around the circle. Even the smallest Shadow, Flash, had a good four inches and sixty-odd pounds on him. No way he could fight his way out of this.

  “So?”

  “So,” Trey said, walking a slow circle around Rat, one that came closer with each revolution, “you must be new around here if you don’t know that we’ve got this area on lockdown.”

  “I just moved here. From Greenville.”

  Ace snorted. “Bullshit. I’ve seen you at Sharky’s, at Bolero’s, at Cherry Ice. Your ugly face has been here at least a year, if not longer.”

  Trey stopped only an inch from Rat’s face, using his height and size to intimidate the dealer. Rat shrank backward but bumped straight into Wolf. Pinned between two bigger, stronger men, Rat began to sing like a nightingale. “Okay, yeah. I’ve been here for a year.”

  “Are you cooking, or just dealing?”

  “Just dealing,” Rat said, eyes darting from Trey to Ace and Flash, who were just behind Trey’s shoulders. “I don’t have the setup to cook.”

  “Where are you getting your stash?”

  Rat bit his lip. Trey’s temper kicked into a higher gear. He wasn’t going to like this answer, and he knew it.

  “From out of state.”

  “Bullshit.” Trey’s hand shot out and gripped Rat by the throat. “Don’t lie to me.”

  “Boss, car’s coming,” Rocco interrupted. “It’s at the stop sign with its signal pointing this way.”

  Trey glared at Rat as if it was the dealer’s fault they were about to be discovered.

  “Wolf, move my bike.” Trey tucked Rat’s head beneath his arm in a neat headlock and dragged the smaller man into the bushes at the side of the road.

  Rat gurgled, hands clawing at Trey’s grip.

  “Shut up.”

  Trey watched as the other men cleared the road just in time enough to see the old, white Buick trundle by. And then the flash of brake lights as the driver noticed the crunched and still-smoking Camaro.

  “We’re about to get lit up with blues,” Wolf grunted to Trey. “That little old man pulled out his cell when he saw the POS.”

  Irritation rode Trey hard as he looked at t
he Camaro and then back to the dealer who’d given up struggling and was hanging from Trey’s grip like a rag doll.

  What to do, what to do?

  “Get Doc on the phone,” Trey said. “He should be nearby. Tell him we need a pickup, and fast. The rest of you get the hell out of here before the cops show.”

  Wolf pulled out his phone and began dialing as the others cranked their engines.

  “I’ve got a warrant,” Rat croaked as well as he could through Trey’s grip. “I can’t go to jail.”

  “You should have thought about that before you started selling shit in my house,” Trey snarled as Wolf began speaking into his phone. “Now shut up so my brother can hear.”

  Wolf cut the call and walked back to Trey’s side. “He’ll be here in five.”

  Trey nodded. “Good. Take your bike and get out of here.”

  Wolf crossed his arms, his tattoos shifting over his muscles as he shook his head. “Not going to leave you.”

  “Did it sound like I was asking you a question?”

  Wolf stepped closer to Trey, toe-to-toe. “No offense, Boss, but I’m staying here, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

  He was right. Trey had his hands full with Rat, who, given half the chance, would be running straight into the next time zone. If Trey wanted to find out where Rat’s supplier was, he’d have to put up with Wolf’s insubordination.

  “I won’t forget this,” Trey said, his stare drilling holes into Wolf.

  “I’d expect nothing less, Boss.”

  A few minutes later, Doc’s tricked-out F350 pulled to a stop on the side of the road. Doc and Wolf got the bikes into the truck bed while Trey wrestled Rat into the backseat.

  “You’re not turning me in to the cops?”

  “You’ll wish I was when you see what I’ve got planned if you don’t give me the information I’m looking for.”

  Trey’s gaze flew to the rearview mirror as sirens sounded in the distance. “Wolf! Doc! Get in here.”

  The doors slammed, the engine rumbled, and then they were rolling down the highway. Three blue-light specials passed them, heading back to the smoldering remnants of the Camaro with its more-than-likely stolen plates.

  “Where to, Boss?” Doc looked at Trey in the rearview.

  They weren’t far from Ruby’s, but Trey didn’t want to bring this kind of scum onto their turf. He ticked off a few nearby places. It wouldn’t take long to get to the abandoned airstrip from here… Wait a second.

  “What time is it?”

  Wolf turned his head slightly as he answered. “It’s almost seven.”

  “Shit.”

  Wolf pivoted to get a better look at Trey, alarm in his dark gaze. “What’s wrong?”

  Trey’s head thumped against the cushioned headrest. “I’m late for the goddamn family dinner.”

  * * *

  There wasn’t much Bethany could say in Trey’s defense. The clock clearly showed it was nearing seven thirty. He’d promised to be there at six thirty. She’d texted him at seven, wondering where he was.

  No response.

  “I’m sure he’s on the way,” Bethany said lamely as Sarah and Mark sipped their drinks. Mama Yelverton was in the kitchen, doing what she could to keep the food warm and edible.

  Sarah just shook her head sadly. “Sorry, Mark. I shouldn’t have insisted you come tonight. Such a long drive for nothing.”

  Bethany had been pouring herself another glass of water, but she spilled a little over her hand. “Oh no, did Mark have plans?”

  Mark shook his head. “It’s no big deal. Some friends of mine put together a last-minute rafting trip. I told them I had a prior obligation.”

  Sarah crossed her arms, having set her wineglass down on the table. “If other people had told us they’d had prior obligations, then you could have gone.”

  Bethany winced inwardly as she dried off her hand.

  Where was he? This was important. This was supposed to be Trey spending time with his family. Had something happened to him? She didn’t want to think about that, but what was she supposed to think? He hadn’t given her any indication of where he was. And he hadn’t texted Mama Yelverton either. Surely he hadn’t forgotten the get-together?

  No, she knew he hadn’t, because they’d texted each other last night about it.

  Blowing a breath upward, she lifted her water glass to her lips.

  “Well, I can’t starve you kids any longer,” Mama Yelverton said as she brought in a big dish of lasagna. “This is starting to get dried out, so go ahead and eat while it’s still edible.”

  “I’m sorry, Mama,” Sarah said. “I shouldn’t have suggested we do this.”

  “No, don’t you dare. I love having meals with my kids,” Mama Yelverton said, pressing a kiss to Sarah’s cheek and looking lovingly at both Bethany and Mark. “I just wish Trey had been able to make it.”

  Mark held out Sarah’s chair for her as she sank down into it. She spread her napkin over her lap as she shot Bethany a look. “I’d heard that he was a pretty good guy. I guess that being on time isn’t one of his good qualities.”

  A defense sprang to Bethany’s lips, but she bit it back when she realized how hollow it would sound.

  Damn it.

  Her stomach was churning, worry having changed her earlier hunger into a swirling nausea that made her push her lasagna around her plate instead of eating it.

  She checked her phone’s screen over and over again. Still no replies from Trey.

  Just then, the distant sound of an engine wrenched her gaze toward the windows that faced the front of the house. A smile spread across her face when she saw a single headlight turning into the drive.

  “He’s here,” she said with a relieved sigh and tossed her napkin onto the table as she shoved her chair back. “Excuse me.”

  Darting from the room, she headed straight to the garage and opened the rolling door with a press of the button. Slowly, Trey’s bike was revealed as he cut the engine and removed his helmet.

  She ran down the stairs, stopping beside him. “Where were you? I texted you over an hour ago.”

  Trey ran a hand through his hair, leaving it mussed. “Got tied up taking care of some stuff. I need to get cleaned up before I see Sarah and Mrs. Yelverton. Can you get me into the house without seeing them?”

  Bethany frowned. “What do you mean?”

  And then she noticed that his leathers were torn over his left thigh. He removed his gloves, and his knuckles were scuffed up and bleeding. A cut on his temple was partially obscured by a lock of his hair, but blood had trickled down his cheek.

  She covered her gasp with her hands. “Oh my God, Trey! Were you in a fight?”

  “Can you get me into the house without them seeing me? I don’t want them to know.”

  She grabbed his arm. “Come with me.”

  Worry gnawed at her spine like a dog with a rawhide bone as she let him into the laundry room. Holding a finger up to him, she glanced into the kitchen. It was clear.

  “Follow me,” she whispered and darted up the back stairs to the second floor. His sure footfalls sounded behind her as he walked with her.

  “In here.”

  She led him into the small bathroom she’d shared with Sarah while they’d lived there in high school. The pale-blue walls and seashell decorations hadn’t changed a bit. But the six-and-a-half-foot tattooed, banged-up biker was definitely an addition she hadn’t foreseen.

  “Here,” she said, unearthing the first aid kit from beneath the sink as he began washing off his hands. “There’s antibiotic ointment and bandages in here.”

  “Thank you,” he said as he dabbed gauze on the worst cut.

  Bethany tried not to think about where the wounds had come from. She really, really did.

  “I’ll grab so
me black tape, and you can cover that cut in your pants,” Bethany said, and left the bathroom.

  In the hallway, she covered her mouth with a trembling hand and stilled for a moment.

  Trey was… He was something dark. Something she’d feared but hadn’t let herself believe was true.

  But he was so kind! So good to her! Surely he couldn’t be a bad guy, right?

  But he doesn’t tell you the truth, her subconscious whispered insidiously. If he doesn’t have anything to hide, why won’t he be honest with you?

  She hurried back down the stairs to the laundry room where Mama Yelverton kept a small toolbox.

  “Bethany!”

  She jumped, nearly dropping the tape she’d unearthed from the bright-yellow plastic box.

  “Is everything okay?” Mama Yelverton was holding the empty salad bowl, her expression concerned.

  “Oh yeah,” Bethany said with a tight, nervous smile. “Trey just had a little rip in his pants. He wanted to get it covered up before Sarah saw him.”

  Mama Yelverton shook her head. “I wish he wouldn’t ride that motorcycle. They’re so dangerous.”

  Not half as dangerous as the rest of the stuff he probably gets up to.

  Bethany thought it, but she didn’t say it.

  “Be back in a couple.”

  She ran back up the stairs. When she got to the bathroom, she knocked twice. “It’s me.”

  Trey swung open the door, and she nearly swallowed her tongue.

  He’d lowered his leathers and was attending to the gash on this thigh. But even though he was injured, the sight of him standing there in his form-fitting boxer briefs made hunger rocket through her body—and then sink like a stone with a nagging worry that was getting more and more common. She looked at his face, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. It was as if he knew that he’d screwed up majorly and couldn’t face her judgment.

  “Here,” she said, thrusting the roll of black tape toward him. “This’ll cover the rip.”

  “Thanks. Mind shutting the door?” He nodded toward the opening. “I don’t figure anyone else wants to get an eyeful of this.”