BRICK (Lords of Carnage MC)

by Daphne Loveling

So, I forced myself to think about anything — absolutely anything — but fucking Sydney in the back room of her coffee shop. I promised myself I wouldn’t ever make a fucked-up mistake like that again. And that I would make goddamn sure she was as safe as humanly possible, to make up for the shitty thing I’d done. In my own mind, at least.

  I don’t know what finally makes Sydney stop arguing with me about her needing more security at the shop, but I’m not about to waste any time when she does.

  “I’ll come back tomorrow night to set up a camera and show you how to work it,” I tell her. “You’ll be here?”

  “Yes. Just me.” She looks at me and narrows her eyes, like she’s expecting me to bitch about her being alone in the shop at night again, but I decide not to push it for now. She’s agreed to let me help her. That’s the most important part for now.

  “Okay. Same time, roughly?” I glance around the room for a clock, but I don’t see one.

  “We close at eight,” she tells me.

  “I’ll be here at five to.”

  She moves to let me out, but I’m not leaving until she leaves with me. With a huff of indignation, Sydney finishes up the last of her closing chores as I wait. She puts the cash drawer in the safe, and the two of us go out the back, her locking the door behind us.

  “See you tomorrow,” I say when we get to her car. It’s the only one parked in the tiny darkened back lot.

  “M-hm,” she grumbles, and slides into the driver’s side. I wait until she’s started the engine — noting with satisfaction that she automatically locks the car from the inside when she gets in — and drives off into the night.

  I walk around the block to the front to my bike, my head full of Sydney, my nostrils full of the scent of her shampoo. My cock is still at half-staff in my pants, and I’m too keyed up to head home to the lake house. So, instead, I head toward the clubhouse. I’ll work off some steam and spend the night in my apartment there.

  Half an hour later, I’ve stripped down to a loose, faded T-shirt and I’m in the club’s weight room. Everyone else is out in the bar drinking, playing pool, and raising hell, so I’ve got the place to myself. The steady boom of bass guitar drifts toward me from the sound system in the main room. I’m benching as much weight as I can tolerate, veins bulging out of my neck as I grit my teeth and swear to myself.

  After a little while, someone comes in, as the music swells louder through the open doorway.

  “Hey, brother,” Angel’s voice says. “You’re missing the party.”

  I grunt loudly, giving the barbell a final push and setting it above me on the rack. “Yeah,” I mutter, and sit up. “Needed a little stress relief. The non-alcoholic kind.”

  Angel takes a seat on the bench beside me. “Hey, I wanted to give you a heads up. Apparently, Rock is gonna go talk to Oz tomorrow. To see if the Death Devils have been dealing with similar shit as we have.”

  “Alone?” It’s not exactly unheard of for Rock to go to a meet without at least some of his officers, but it is pretty unusual.

  “Yeah.” Angel is silent for a moment. “I asked him who he was taking, but he cut me off. Told me to leave it alone.”

  Whoa. That is unusual. When a president is gone, the VP is in absolute charge of the club. For Rock to not be forthcoming with his own vice-president… well, it’s pretty damn troubling. Even if nothing’s going on.

  We sit like that, without talking, for maybe a minute. There’s a feeling of foreboding between us, but it’s not something that’s very easy to talk about. Loyalty to and respect for the club president is fundamental to our code as brothers and officers of the Lords of Carnage. It’s one thing to challenge an idea the president has during church, or to offer an opinion on a decision that has to be made. But it’s another thing to be questioning Rock’s actions behind his back.

  And even more than that: I get the feeling that we’ve both been privately questioning more than just one or two of Rock’s actions. Even though Angel hasn’t said a word to me, the look on is face tells me he’s been thinking some of the same things I have.

  Angel is starting to question his judgment.

  For Angel to say anything to me about this — even if he hasn’t actually said anything — is a testament to how concerned he is. Because although Rock seems to have his own doubts about whether Angel’s got his back lately, the truth is that Angel is as good a VP as Rock could ever ask for. I admit, I’ve questioned Angel in the past. Back when his dad was still the mayor, I wasn’t always sure Angel’s loyalty to the club would stand up to his sense of duty to his family. But I’m man enough to admit I was wrong about that. Angel’s as solid as they come, and his determination to do the right thing by all of us is something I never should have questioned.

  The silence is still hanging in the air between us. Once one of us says anything, we’ve started a real conversation about Rock that goes beyond what we’ve said to ourselves in our heads. And we both know it.

  “I don’t like this,” I tell him finally.

  He nods once and stands. “Neither do I.”

  Then he’s gone.

  I pump iron for a few more minutes, but now my thoughts are swirling with all the things Angel and I didn’t say to each other just now. With an angry grunt, I finally throw down the dumbbell I’ve been using for curls and stand up from the bench. This isn’t working.

  Pushing open the door to the weight room, I step out into the hall and walk through the bar, past the brothers who raise their bottles at me and offer me a drink, and the club girls who tilt their heads coyly at me in silent invitation. I ignore them all and head upstairs to my apartment, where I pour myself a couple shots of whiskey and down them one after the other. Then I turn off the lights, strip down, and climb into bed. I close my eyes and give in to the thoughts of Sydney that have been with me all night. Within seconds, I’m hard, and I wrap my hand around my throbbing cock and stroke myself to a shuddering release. It’s not nearly enough, but at least it helps me fall into a restless, troubled sleep.

  14

  Sydney

  Gavin insists on installing two cameras at the shop, even though I tell him it’s overkill. There’s one trained on the entrance, so anyone who approaches the place will be recorded, whether they come in or not. Then he puts a second one above the entrance on the inside, angled so it records everything that happens in the main room of the shop and the hallway.

  We’re standing in the back alley now, where my car is parked, and he’s muttering to himself.

  “I should have brought a motion sensor light for back here,” he’s muttering to himself. “And another camera. I’ll come back tomorrow and get that set up for you.”

  “Gavin,” I sigh, “Don’t you think this is all a bit much? I mean, for God’s sake. You’re acting like this place is Fort Knox or something.”

  “Can’t be too careful,” he replies as he stands at the edge of the tiny parking area, clearly calculating where to install the light.

  “I don’t know about that,” I snark to myself and shake my head. But it’s no use arguing. Gavin told me last night he was stubborn, and holy crap, he wasn’t kidding. Part of me is sorry I ever agreed to let him do any of this in the first place. Still, I can’t help but admit to myself that I do feel just a little bit safer.

  When everything is set up and he’s tested the cameras to make sure they’re working, he pulls out a couple of signs for the front and back doors that warn any potential criminals the shop is under twenty-four hour video surveillance. “The signs actually do the lion’s share of the work as a deterrent,” he tells me. “So having them someplace prominent is important.”

  “Yeah. So prominent that my customers are going to see them and wonder why I’m so freaking paranoid,” I joke.

  He ignores me, of course. While he’s placing the signs, I wander over behind the counter and mentally go over my closing checklist to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. Then I absently pick up a small stack of recipes I’ve printe
d out and start leafing through them.

  “What’cha looking at?” he says, startling me enough that I jump and let out a little squeak. He’s somehow come up behind me without making a sound.

  “Dammit, don’t scare me like that!” I wheeze, putting a hand to my chest. “I’m looking at kolache recipes.”

  “Really?” Gavin’s mouth turns up at the corners. “What for?”

  “That damn grumpy guy came in again with his friends this morning,” I fume. “It’s the third time he’s been here, and he’s still acting like he’s practically being forced to come here at gunpoint.” I jut out my chin. “But I’ve decided I’m going to wear him down if it kills me. I’m going to make him some kolaches and surprise him.”

  Gavin smirks. “You know he’s just gonna tell you they aren’t any good.”

  “I don’t care,” I declare. “If he does, then I’ll know he’s just an ungrateful jerk, and I won’t care any more what he thinks. But at least I’ll know I tried.”

  “You’re a determined one,” he says mildly. “Good luck with that.”

  “Thanks.” I select the recipe that looks the most promising and move it to the top of the pile.

  “So,” he continues, glancing around. “I’m all done here. You?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got a couple more things I could do, but I think I’ll leave them for tomorrow morning.” I take a deep breath and give him a smile. “So, thanks for doing this. I mean, quite honestly, you were a complete pain in the ass about it, but now that it’s done…” I shrug. “I guess it can’t hurt anything to take a little extra precaution.”

  “Jesus, finally,” he chuckles, the sound deep and sexy in his throat. “I thought you’d never admit it.”

  “Don’t make me regret it,” I warn him.

  His chuckle turns into a deep-throated laugh. It reminds me of the first time I ever actually saw him actually smile, and my stomach does this little flip-flop thing that makes me feel a little sick and a little giddy at the same time.

  “So. Look,” he says when he’s done laughing. “If you’re done here, and I’m done here, come get a drink with me at the Lion’s Tap.”

  The flip-flop thing my stomach’s doing turns into a full-on cannonball off the high dive.

  “Um, I don’t know…” I say vaguely.

  Yes, I fully admit — if only to myself — that I find Gavin insanely hot. To the point where it’s a near-constant struggle to maintain my composure around him . But the idea of sitting with him in a crowded bar, on an almost-date even if it isn’t really one, seems like an even stupider idea than being completely one-hundred percent alone with him in a locked coffee shop. Add in a little liquid courage, and this is definitely not a path I should not be going down.

  “One drink,” he says, and winks at me. “It’s the least you can do to thank me, you know.”

  “You mean you’re gonna let me pay?” I say in astonishment.

  “Hell no!” he laughs. “Come on. You know I’m not gonna take no for an answer.”

  In the end, I give in, but only on the condition that one’s my limit. A few minutes later, we’re sitting at the bar at the Lion’s Tap, a beer in front of him and a gin and tonic for me. I’ve never been here before, though I’ve walked by a number of times. It’s kind of dark, and there are a few rowdy groups over on the other side of the room playing darts and yelling at each other. But over here it’s quieter, almost intimate.

  “So. You said you’re from New Jersey. What brought you to Tanner Springs?” Gavin asks me.

  I’m impressed he remembers that detail, but I’m not particularly interested in telling him my life story. “Oh, I heard about the town from a relative,” I say, waving a vague hand. “My great-aunt. She didn’t live here, but she knew someone who did and came here to visit sometimes. She said it was a really nice place. So, when I was looking to get out of Atlantic City and go someplace a little quieter, this seemed as good a place as any to start.”

  “Atlantic City, huh? You grow up there?”

  “Sort of,” I murmur softly.

  “What’s that?” he cocks his head at me.

  “Sort of,” I say louder. “My dad was… in the resort and casino business.” Ha. That’s putting it kindly.

  “That so?” He frowns. “Must have been kind of a weird place to live as a kid.”

  You don’t know the half of it. “Yeah. It’s a weird place all around. One day I decided I had enough of The Big Hustle. A new beginning, you know? A new life.” I lift a shoulder.

  Gavin gives me a strange look. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

  “That’s right,” I remember. “You said you came here after the military. Marines, right?”

  “Yeah.” He leans back. “By the time I got out, there wasn’t much for me back home. So I decided to take my buddy Gunner up on his offer to come down here. Get to know the club. See if I was interested in patching in.”

  “‘Patching in’?” I ask, wrinkling my brow.

  “Joining up. Becoming a member.”

  I consider this. “What’s it like, being in a motorcycle club?”

  “It’s a full-time job,” he replies. “More than that. It’s a brotherhood. A family.”

  I chew over his words. “What do you do, other than that?” I ask. “Like, for work?”

  “The club owns a custom bike and auto design shop. I work there with a bunch of the other brothers. And, a few other things here and there.”

  “‘A few other things,’” I repeat with a smirk. “Like, a few other not quite legal things?”

  “Not so much at the moment.” He winks at me.

  “So, basically, the club’s your life.” I’m half-joking, but he doesn’t smile.

  “It is,” he agrees. “Getting patched into a club, you take an oath of loyalty. It’s a lifelong commitment, in most cases. A choice you don’t take on lightly.”

  It’s funny, hearing him talk about life in the club. He probably wouldn’t believe it, but I’m a lot more familiar with that kind of existence than he thinks.

  It sounds a little bit like the life I left behind in Atlantic City, in a way. It’s worlds apart from what most people think of as normal. In a way, it was sort of a secret society. A closed community, where even if you didn’t personally know another ‘member,’ you almost certainly knew of them.

  Except in the world I left behind, there was no such thing as loyalty to anybody but yourself.

  “Hey,” he murmurs, jolting me out of my thoughts. “You went somewhere else for a second.”

  “Sorry.” I look down, feeling my cheeks flush. “Just remembering something.”

  “Your drink’s empty,” he points out. “Want another one?”

  I shake my head, though I’m tempted to say yes. I kind of like talking to him like this, actually. On neutral territory, he’s less… intimidating. Almost charming, actually.

  “No, I better get going. I have to be to the shop tomorrow morning by six.”

  “Gotcha.” He tosses a bill on the counter and stands up. “I’ll walk you to your car.” I start to protest, but he stops me. “I’m walking you to your car, and that’s final.”

  We leave the bar and walk outside into the slightly humid night air. The moon is hanging low and red in the sky, just over the rooftops beyond downtown. The two of us walk in near silence toward my car, which is still parked in back of the Golden Cup.

  “You know, Gavin, you can’t just follow me around constantly, protecting me,” I finally joke, because the relative quiet feels too weird after the noisiness of the bar.

  “So about that,” he rumbles. “What’s with calling me Gavin? I told you, my name’s Brick.”

  “No, you told me your club nickname is Brick,” I correct him. “I’m not in your club. Besides, I like the name Gavin. It suits you.”

  He grunts, but doesn’t say anything more.

  “Have you gotten that fire extinguisher fixed yet?” he eventually growls.

  “I haven’t
had time.” I don’t want to admit the thought hadn’t occurred to me. It would just give him more fuel for the fire. Ha — fuel for the fire! I snort to myself at my own private joke.

  “What are you laughing about?” Gavin cocks a brow at me.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? You’re not going to let me in on the joke?”

  We’re at the parking lot now. When we get to my car, Brick leans against my driver’s side door, to stop me from opening it.

  “It’s not important. Just a dumb thing that occurred to me.” He still doesn’t move. “Are you going to let me get into my car?”

  “Are you going to look around and check the area to make sure no one’s hiding in the shadows, waiting for you?” His eyes are reproachful.

  “Of course I would have, if you weren’t here,” I huff.

  “Sure. That’s what you say.”

  I can’t tell if he’s teasing me, or if he doesn’t believe me. And suddenly, it almost doesn’t matter, because I’m furious. And weirdly sad, or something. We were just having this kind of nice, almost normal time back there, and now he’s back to being Mister Judgmental. I don’t know why I care, but I actually sort of liked talking to him back in the bar, and on the way back here. It felt… nice. And now, I just feel like a stupid child he’s reprimanding again. It’s so demeaning. Like I’m not someone anyone could take seriously.

  Fuck it, I think. I’m not going to put up with this bullshit anymore.

  “Gavin, god damn it, I’m seriously fucking sick of you treating me like an idiot child!” I half-shout. Anyone in earshot could hear us right now, but I just don’t care. “Literally ever since the first actual conversation we had, you’ve been telling me how stupid and thoughtless and inattentive I am — coming into my business and telling me what to do with it. I’m twenty-five years old and I’m still standing, so I must have figured out a few things on my own. I may not do things exactly the way you want me to, but it’s not your choice how I do anything.”

  “Is that so?” he teases me.