by Joanna Wylde
“Can I ask you one thing?” I said finally.
“Sure.”
“Why are you so sure I can’t be trusted?”
He just looked at me for long seconds, judging me with his eyes.
“Because you lied to your own club.”
“I had no idea Hunter was a Devil’s Jack—” I started to protest, but he held up a hand, stopping me.
“Not that,” he said, his voice cold. “Later, at the house. You called and told him to get out, right in the middle of a meet with your dad. Don’t bother trying to bullshit me. You used my fucking phone to do it.”
My breath caught.
“I smashed your phone.”
He offered a dark, cynical smile.
“Let me guess, your dad pays for your cell?”
I didn’t reply. He did, but I’d be damned if I’d admit it now.
“I have an online record of calls,” Skid said slowly and carefully, like he was talking to an idiot. Apparently he was. “I saw the number and the time stamp, Em. I know what you did. I can prove it.”
Oh, fuck … He could destroy me. And he would, too. I saw it in his eyes. Double fuck.
“So you hate me because I saved his life and yours?” I asked, feeling like a cornered animal. “I protected the peace between our clubs, Skid. That wasn’t a betrayal. That saved all of us.”
“I don’t hate you at all,” he replied. “I’m thankful to you. I love Hunter—he’s my brother, and he’d be dead right now if you hadn’t done it. Why d’you think I’ve kept my mouth shut? But can you look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t do the same for your dad? Say you were Hunter’s old lady. Would you make a call to save your father’s life, if you knew we might kill him? Because this truce may not last long term. You ready to make that choice?”
The thought stabbed through me. Of course I would save my dad. It must’ve been written all over my face. Skid gave a sad smile.
“You’ll always have divided loyalties, Em,” he said almost compassionately. “Our sergeant at arms shouldn’t be with a woman who isn’t a hundred percent behind the Jacks. Not if he’s been stupid enough to fall in love with her.”
“You think he’s in love with me?” I asked, my heart hopeful and breaking all at once.
“I think he’s something,” he replied, shrugging. “I don’t know if ‘love’ is the right word. Not sure he’s capable of love the way you’d think of it. But he cares enough about you to compromise his judgment. I know he went to see you at your house, and I know he told you things you shouldn’t have heard. That’s enough to end it right there. If you care about Hunter—if you want him to have a future—you need to leave this house and never come back.”
I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t think of a damned thing to say.
Skid was right.
“Go on,” I told him, feeling sick to my stomach. “Distract Hunter or something. I’ll grab my clothes, then Kit and I will take off. I don’t want to see him, though. Not sure I can handle that.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “I’ll ask him to help me in the back yard. We need to move the keg and clean up anyway. You’ve got fifteen minutes.”
Eight minutes later, I was practically racing down the street, Kit trailing after me like a sad, spoiled little puppy.
“Why did we have to leave?” she whined. “I like Kelsey. We were having fun. She’s a lot like me—I think we could be friends.”
“I’ll tell you when we get home,” I muttered, keeping my eyes forward. I couldn’t let myself think about Hunter, let alone explain it right now. I didn’t want to start crying.
Sometimes doing the right thing sucks.
HUNTER
I stared down at my empty bed, jaw clenching.
I’d known something was wrong the instant Skid and I walked into the kitchen. Kelsey stood at the stove by herself, flipping pancakes and muttering soft curses.
“You,” she said, turning to glare at us. She pointed her bright red spatula menacingly, waving it back and forth, apparently unable to decide on a target. “You scared them off.”
“Who?” I asked.
Skid sighed.
“It’s my fault,” he said. “I told Em she should get out of here and leave you alone.”
“What?” I asked, stunned. I glanced over at Kelsey, who shrugged. “Fuck.”
I took the stairs two at a time, which was a complete waste of effort. Em wasn’t up there. I found a piece of paper on the bed, though.
Liam—I’m so sorry, but this whole thing was a big mistake. I want you to know there’s no hard feelings and I hope things go great for you and your club.
Take care, Em
I dropped the note and strode over to the window, pushing it open and looking outside.
Nothing.
Fuck. FUCK.
Then I clenched the windowsill until my knuckles turned white, trying to decide the best way to kill Skid. It came to me. I’d beat him to death. Immediately. I found him down in the kitchen, locked in a glaring match with Kelsey. Without a word, I spun him around and punched him in the face.
He staggered and I punched him again, sending him into the fridge with a crash. The top was lined with bottles of hard liquor, and they started falling like dominoes. Some bounced on the painted wooden floorboards and others shattered.
The raw stench of alcohol filled the kitchen.
“What the hell did you do?” I yelled at him. “Who I screw is my business! Not yours. Not the club’s. You stay the fuck out of my life, brother.”
He held up his hands, clearly not wanting a fight. Tough shit. I jerked him to his feet and hit him again. Blood spurted from his nose, and I saw—reflected in his eyes—the instant he decided to start fighting back.
I’m not sure how long it lasted.
What I do know is that we tumbled off the back porch, through the shrubs, and onto the lawn all without losing a beat. By the time it ended, Clutch, Grass, Kelsey, and several random women left over from the party were all standing on the back porch watching.
Pretty sure Clutch and Grass were taking bets.
I decided the winner owed me drinks, because I’d kicked Skid’s ass … But by the time I had him knocked out and helpless in the dirt, my brain had started working again. I glanced up at our audience and frowned, staggering slightly. He’d gotten in some pretty good hits. My head was spinning—I figured there was a decent chance I had a concussion.
“Go away,” I growled. “This is private.”
Grass herded them back in, although Kelsey tried to insist on staying outside. He ended the argument by picking her up and carrying her while she rewarded him with a flurry of head smacks from the spatula.
I collapsed to the ground, staring blankly up at the clouded sky.
“You okay?” I asked Skid. He rolled over, moaning.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I had to do it, bro.”
“You didn’t have to do shit.”
“She’s no good for you,” he said. “She’s not some little puppet you can control. She lied for you to her own club, which is fuckin’ romantic until you consider that same loyalty is attached to the Reapers, too. You’d never be able to trust her, brother. And if you did, we’d never be able to trust you.”
“Still not your decision to make,” I said slowly. “So you figured it out, I guess?”
“Phone records,” he said shortly. “Don’t worry. Won’t show ’em to anyone. Figure I owe her that much, given that she saved your sorry ass. But seriously—elections are coming, and unless you want to pull out, you can’t be with her.”
“That’s my problem,” I told him.
“No, it’s a club problem,” Skid said seriously. “Burke needs a right-hand man he can trust, and we all know it’s you. But I’m your right hand, bro. It’s my job to make sure your head’s in the game. Right now it isn’t.”
I flipped him off, draping my arm over my eyes.
“Nobody knows about that phone call,” I sa
id. “It’s not an issue.”
“I know about the phone call,” Skid replied, his voice quiet without compromise. “And the day it puts our club in danger is the day I’ll stop guarding her secret. It’s not personal, brother. I don’t actually dislike the chick, despite what you might think. But I can’t let her get too close to you.”
I sighed. Fuck.
“This isn’t over,” I told him. “I’m not giving up on her.”
“You giving up the national office?” Skid asked. “Think carefully, bro. You can only have one or the other.”
I didn’t reply—I’d spent the last eight years working to prove myself, to show Burke I was the man he could count on in a fight. I wasn’t ready to give up all I’d earned.
Shit. Skid was right.
I had a problem.
Chapter Eleven
ONE WEEK LATER
EM
I couldn’t breathe.
Something heavy crushed my chest, pressing down on my lungs. Something evil, I realized. A demon hungry for my soul? I hovered in that dark space between sleep and wakefulness, terrified as my worst dreams came to life.
“There’s ghost monkeys in the closet …” a soft, weirdly high-pitched voice whispered in my ear. Adrenaline spiked and I sat up, tumbling a four-year-old devil child off my chest.
“Ouch!” Silvie squawked, looking up at me from the end of the bed with an air of betrayal. “Ghost monkeys are scary! I want you to get them.”
Oh, fuck. Was it morning already? I glanced at the clock. Sure enough, seven a.m. Already. Pisser. Well, at least Silvie was in here pestering me and not Cookie. That woman worked way too hard—she deserved a morning to sleep in.
“Sorry, baby,” I said, opening my arms. Silvie scampered up the covers and crawled into them, snuggling into me tight. “What’s this about ghost monkeys?”
“In my closet,” she said, eyes wide. “Wanna eat me.”
“There are no ghost monkeys,” I told her firmly. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“Cody,” she whispered. I should’ve known. I’d only lived here two weeks, but I already hated Cody Weathers, a five-year-old brat who went to daycare with Silvie. His parents let him watch anything and everything on TV, which meant he was constantly filling Silvie’s little head with bullshit and scary stories.
The worst part? He wasn’t even doing it to be mean. So far as I could tell, little Cody had a serious crush on our Silvie girl.
“Cody doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” I said. “Would I lie to you about ghost monkeys?”
She cocked her head at me, then shook it gravely.
“Let’s go look in the closet together,” I said. “I’ll show you it’s safe, and then I’ll use some of my monster spray just to be sure.”
We crawled out of bed. She held my hand while I grabbed a spray can of vanilla-scented air freshener I’d bought for just this purpose. Then we stepped across the hall. I heard murmuring voices from the kitchen—apparently Cookie had company. We were coming up on the one-year anniversary of the death of her husband, Bagger, in Afghanistan. She was doing pretty well all things considered, which meant she wasn’t doing that great at all, but she hadn’t rolled over and died, either.
Cookie impressed the hell out of me.
“The monkeys were there,” Silvie said, pointing to the closet fearfully. I flipped on the bedroom light and walked over to the door, opening it.
“No ghost monkeys,” I declared, taking a few seconds to examine every inch, knowing it would make a difference to her. I even checked behind the hanging clothes.
Wasn’t the first time I’d had to inspect Silvie’s closet for monsters.
“Spray,” she demanded.
I coated the small space thoroughly with air freshener.
“There we go,” I said. “No way ghost monkeys or any other creatures will get in there now.”
“Thank you,” Silvie whispered, wrapping her arms around my legs.
“Any time,” I muttered, fighting back a yawn. Shit, I needed some coffee. “Let’s go find something to eat.”
“Mommy’s in the kitchen talking to Uncle Deke.”
Interesting.
So much for Cookie sleeping in.
“Uncle Deke” came to visit a lot. He was the president of the Portland Reapers chapter, and he’d been looking out for Cookie since she moved down from Coeur d’Alene. I couldn’t tell whether he was just taking good care of a brother’s widow or there was more going on.
If so, I was pretty sure Cookie hadn’t noticed him.
I walked in to find them sitting at the kitchen table, coffee cups between them. A box of doughnuts sat on the counter.
I didn’t know Deke very well. He was probably around thirty years old, although hard to tell for sure. I knew he’d been in the Marines before joining the club, so I figured he understood what Cookie was going through better than most. He was a big guy, powerfully built, and one of his arms had been burned pretty bad. Now scars roped it, although it’d missed his hand. Some guys would keep that covered up.
I’d never seen Deke in a long-sleeved shirt.
“These doughnuts for anyone?” I asked, drifting toward the counter.
“Help yourself,” Deke answered. He and Cookie had fallen silent, and I wondered what they’d been talking about.
“Silvie, baby, let’s go get you dressed,” Cookie said. She smiled at me, the hint of sadness she always wore these days firmly in place. Even her hair seemed different since Bagger’s death. The wild, red corkscrew curls were somehow flatter.
She took Silvie’s hand and walked her out, leaving me alone with Deke.
“How’s shit with you?” he asked. I shrugged and smiled.
“Is that you asking or my dad?”
“More me bein’ polite than anything,” he said, his face unreadable. “You know we’re here if you need us, but I got better things to do than babysit. Glad someone’s in the house with Cookie, though.”
“Yeah, I’m happy to be here,” I said. “She’s doing me a huge favor. I won’t be able to work much once my program gets started, so keeping costs down is pretty important. Win-win for both of us.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, offering him a quick look of apology.
“Tell Cookie I said good-bye,” he said, standing. I nodded, then looked at my phone.
HUNTER: How you doing?
Shit. I glanced at Deke, but he wasn’t paying attention to me at all. Good, because I was pretty sure my guilty vibes were strong enough for him to sense if he bothered.
ME: Good. I thought we weren’t going to do this anymore.
I’d told Hunter to stop contacting me at least once a day since the party at his house. I suppose it made me a horrible person, but each time he got back in touch anyway, I felt the thrill all the way through my body.
HUNTER: Yeah … about that. I need to see you
ME: Skid was right. I wont be part of ruining you
HUNTER: Skid doesn’t know everything. Its more complicated. Thats my problem to deal with.
ME: No
HUNTER: Tonight
ME: I’m babysitting Silvie tonight
HUNTER: Then call when she’s asleep
ME: I’ll think about it
I thought about it, all right. I thought about it all day as I filled in at Cookie’s coffee shop. I continued to think about it while I made Silvie dinner (Kraft macaroni, because that shit is good) and while we had a bath (because that shit is messy). We checked for ghost monkeys and I monster-proofed the bedroom before tucking her in for the night. Then I went out into the living room and turned on the TV, still wondering if I should call Hunter.
Probably not.
Absolutely not.
I called Kit instead.
She didn’t answer. Not a huge surprise, considering it was a Friday night. Kit wasn’t really a stay-at-home-on-the-weekend kind of girl, and apparently she’d met some new man in one of her classes last Tuesd
ay. Kit also wasn’t a wait-and-see kind of girl, so I’d be willing to bet she was putting him through his paces right now.
At ten thirty I turned off the TV and changed into a tank and some boxer shorts before slipping into bed. I considered my Kindle. Then I grabbed my phone and texted Hunter.
ME: What’s up?
HUNTER: At the house, hanging out. Clutch has a few girls over. Says its important to celebrate life or some such shit. Think he just wants to get laid as many times as possible while the pity fuck thing still works for him
ME: Poor guy
HUNTER: Heh. How about you?
ME: In bed. Silvie is sleeping and Cookie is at a friends house. She doesnt get out much so I told her she needed a night off
HUNTER: Hows she doing?
ME: Good I think. I like it here. Feels good to be treated like an adult
HUNTER: I’ll treat you like an adult … Call me?
HUNTER
I stared down at the phone, wondering if she’d do it. I’d promised myself I’d let her call first. Of course, I’d also promised myself I’d let her text first, and look at how long that’d lasted.
My phone rang.
Fuckin’ beautiful.
“Hunter?”
Her voice was soft and questioning, a whisper in the darkness. Holy shit, she sounded soft and pretty. Just texting with her was enough to get my dick up, but hearing her voice?
Made me so hard it hurt.
“Hey,” I said, falling back down on my bed. Outside my door I heard voices and the faint sound of music. Not too loud—the phone wouldn’t pick any of it up. Last thing I needed was her hearing whatever bullshit might be going on downstairs. “Call me Liam.”
“Hi, Liam,” she said. Damn. What was it about this girl?
“Fuck, Em. I missed talking to you. So you’re in bed?”
“Yeah,” she said, and I felt my balls tighten. I reached down and pushed on my denim-covered cock with the heel of my hand, the pressure sweet and painful all at once. Those pictures of hers did me in every time, but they had nothin’ on her voice. Husky and sweet, just for me.