by SE Jakes
“Yes.”
Gypsy shook his head. “Playing it cool—I get it. But come the fuck on—this guy’s a problem. For you and for Havoc.”
“Nothing to do with your broken nose, right?” he asked and Gypsy glared at him, then softened.
“I don’t want you hurt, Sweet.”
“Yeah well, it happens.” He knew Gypsy wasn’t only thinking about Linc, but about Jimmy-Boy as well. Havoc had accepted Jimmy-Boy in with open arms because Sweet loved him. Sweet had learned that loving something didn’t always mean it was good for you, but he’d let go of his guilt a while ago. “But I hear you. I know exactly what Bram is.”
Bram was most dangerous because he could pass for an easygoing guy. He was tall but not especially broad, but the way the man moved at times . . . it was obvious he was a trained machine. Sleek, silent. Sweet could see him moving in for the kill.
But Bram was also broken, and it had little to do with the scars Sweet had seen on him that first night. Something else had taken place and robbed the man of some of his soul. Sweet had seen that too often, and he’d also lived it.
Why Bram tugged at him when no one had for so damned long was anyone’s guess. He decided to change the subject. “We found Linc’s bank statement,” he started and Gypsy watched him cautiously. “There was a charge at a gas station an hour away—over the border. Nothing else after that. No sign of any credit card statements beyond the one we know was his.”
Gypsy nodded slowly. “So you agreed to help him.”
“Based on what we found? I told him that I’d check things out.”
Gypsy shifted, giving him a hard look. “You really think something happened to him?”
“It’s a hell of a setup if it did.”
“People will do a lot of shit for money.”
“Bram’s got the bond money. He’s got a money order all ready.” Sweet glanced at his phone. “Ozzie’s on his way back from the gas station—says he’s got news. I’m guessing it’s getting to be time to make some serious calls.”
“Rumors about Linc will get out to Heathens soon enough,” Gypsy warned. “Is that what you’re looking for?”
“Yes,” Sweet said decisively.
“Why would they hold a hostage and not ask for anything?” Gypsy wondered.
“I don’t know,” Sweet answered honestly. “You sure you’re ready to find out?”
“Are you?”
Sweet didn’t bother to answer, continued eating as they put aside their Bram differences for the moment. Gypsy filled him in on updates, news on other MCs that Bram might’ve missed, and a report on Ryker and Rush’s current operation that’d kept them away from Havoc for the past several months.
They needed Ryker back here—the big man brought a real sense of balance to Havoc that was sorely needed at the moment.
After an hour of going over books and such, Gypsy nodded as Ozzie opened the clubhouse door. “Hey boss—think you’re going to want to see this.”
Both Sweet and Gypsy rose from the table and went to join Ozzie outside. Once there, Sweet saw Bram was walking along the path toward the clubhouse—Sweet had told him to do so after he showered, but he noted that Bram slowed down a bit when he saw them, like he knew this wasn’t a conversation he needed to be a part of.
“Inside,” Sweet told him, but not before realizing that Ozzie and Tug had unloaded Linc’s bike from their truck. They left it parked out front, and Sweet stood by the window and said, “Talk.”
“Guy saw the van—saw guys like me take another guy off a bike and figured it was MC shit,” Ozzie confirmed. “Then he profited by taking Linc’s bike and making it his.”
“And now?”
“He’s planning on relocating,” Ozzie said. “He got the make and model of the van, no plates and no evidence of what MC took Linc.”
“So he was going to sit on it, thinking it was club business,” Sweet mused. “Was he in on it?”
Tug shook his head. “Don’t think so. Just benefitted from it.”
Sweet watched as Bram approached the bike hesitantly at first before touching it almost reverently.
Gypsy saw it too, gave a low whistle. “Guy is fucked up.”
Sweet couldn’t disagree, anymore than he could cut Bram loose. “Time to make some calls.”
“Anyone specific?” Tug asked.
“Virgil.” Because if Virgil knew, then Sweet could be assured it was true.
Sweet approached Bram, who was still holding on to the bike as if it were a lifeline, and told him what his men learned. It wasn’t all that hard convincing Bram to stay behind, especially when he gave Bram permission to ride around Havoc grounds. And a mere half an hour later, Sweet, Tug, and Ozzie were back out on the road, headed to meet Virgil in one of their safe houses. Heavily guarded, with a Laundromat as a front, very few outside Havoc’s inner circle knew about the meeting room in the back.
Virgil was one of the few. He was from the Sons of Bastards MC, a rogue member who could always be counted on to keep the SOBs, Havoc, and Hangmen from getting caught up in Heathen and Pagan shit. Former Special Forces, the guy was like a goddamned shadow, which was the only reason he was still alive.
Plus he was a slick goddamned bastard. If he didn’t trust you, he’d kill you without a second glance.
The alley behind the Laundromat led to a private, locked lot that was always guarded. Sweet and the others were ushered in with their bikes, and Virgil was let in moments later, on foot.
“We going in?” Tug asked.
“No. Better out here.” Sweet never liked being cornered. He trusted Virgil but this wasn’t his first rodeo. His safety—and that of his men—came first. The Laundromat held civilians. With the tension between Havoc and Pagans, it was best if Sweet wasn’t seen or heard anywhere near here.
Virgil wore dark glasses that he propped on his green bandanna–wrapped head. His eyes were ice-blue, days’ worth of scruff stubbled his chin and cheeks, and he was head-to-toe road leather. He held out his hand to Sweet, then Ozzie and Tug respectively.
The latter two remained for the conversation, but only to listen. “Thanks for coming so quickly, Virgil.”
“You caught me right before I left town. Lucky you.” He gave a half smile full of irony and jumped right in. “I’ve got it on excellent knowledge that Heathens tried to kill a probie who turned traitor and tried to escape the night of his patch initiation. They want him back alive and they’re willing to pay.”
Sweet processed the information without changing his expression, a trick he’d perfected early on when he’d learned that emotion didn’t equal weakness, but showing it was always interpreted as so. “And?”
“Same good authority pinpointed his locale. To Shades.” Virgil shrugged and pulled his glasses down to stare at Sweet. “Know anything about that?”
“Not a thing. But I’ll keep my eyes peeled.” Both men knew damned well that Havoc wouldn’t do shit for the Heathens, no matter how much they were paying. “But the guy I’m looking for wasn’t a Heathen probie. It was Linc.”
“Yeah. Met him a coupla times. Good guy.” Virgil shrugged. “Heard he skipped bail. Heard something about fucking with credit cards too.”
Sweet’s gut tightened. He and Gypsy had kept that information on the down-low—at least on Havoc’s end. Would Linc have been stupid enough to fuck with other MCs? “I’ll keep an ear to the ground on that, but for now, any sign of Linc, you’ll call, yeah?”
“You know I will.” Virgil held out his hand and Sweet shook it. “Always a goddamned pleasure, Sweet.”
Tug and Ozzie didn’t say a word. Not until Virgil left the premises and Sweet said, “Speak freely.”
“It’s pretty damned obvious the Heathen probie is Bram,” Tug said bluntly.
“But he fought for us,” Ozzie pointed out. “Maybe he’s looking for refuge.”
“And putting us in danger,” Tug shot back.
They were both right. He thought about how Bram’s superviso
r was the one to sell him out, and wondered how the hell that tied into Bram’s possible Heathen status. “Bram’s Linc’s brother,” Sweet said carefully. “For Gypsy’s sake, we need to hold Bram safe until we find Linc.”
“No matter the danger to Havoc?” Tug asked seriously.
“We’ve faced greater,” Sweet reminded him. “Let’s go. Business as usual in front of Bram and the others. It’s Garth’s birthday—we party as planned tonight—with extra security. I’m sure other members are hearing the rumors about the Heathen probie with the bounty on his head, so the more they see me with Bram, the less they’ll focus their suspicions on him. No one’s turning him in without coming to me first.”
Tug nodded in acknowledgment, because they all knew that if Bram was a Heathen, they’d suss it out sooner than later. But if they played their cards right, it wouldn’t be until they found Linc . . . and their missing money.
Before Sweet left, Bram had asked if he could take a ride around the compound on Linc’s bike. Sweet had given him two roads he could take, both of them pretty well deserted and no doubt serving this purpose, as Bram noted a few young men learning to ride their first bikes along the way. Most who encountered him just stared at him like the fucking outsider he was.
But just being on the bike—Linc’s bike—stopped his panic. He hadn’t been sure if riding would make it worse, but now that he was a step closer to finding his brother, this was his way of getting in touch with the universe about Linc.
Because that’s the kind of shit Linc would say, how he would think about things. But when Bram’s phone started to ring, he pulled over immediately.
The hairs on his arms stood on end as he yanked the phone from his pocket, because there was too much information flying around, fast and furious . . . and so far, none of it good.
He couldn’t see Dozer’s call being the exception.
“How’s it going?” Dozer started off.
“All cool,” he answered, the code they used to let the other know they were in the clear.
“Heathens know you’re in Shades. From there, it’s not going to be hard to put two and two together,” Dozer informed him. “The MC’s putting out major feelers for you—and they’ve put a major bounty on your head. They want you alive.”
“How the fuck?”
“Someone ran a credit check on you and Linc in the past twenty-four hours—the IP address is from a business in Shades. Guy on the deed is named Jaxon George.”
“I don’t know that name.”
“Bail bonds shop,” Dozer said quietly.
“Gypsy. That motherfucker.” Bram ran a hand through his hair.
“Parisi caught the search easily and turned the Heathens onto you. But I did a little more digging and found something else. I ran Gypsy’s credit—there were credit cards taken out in his name about a month ago . . . maybe a week before Linc disappeared.”
“Does he know?”
“He was contacted. Whoever did it? A sloppy-as-fuck job—like they wanted to get caught.”
“That’s not Linc’s MO.” He’d known Gypsy was suspicious and not without good reason. If Bram went to him about any of it now, he’d give away his hand . . . and that was about to be revealed anyway. “Sweet confirmed that Linc was taken. Kidnapped. Shoved into a van. They got his bike back from a witness who saw it all, but that’s it.”
“Heathens?”
“They didn’t commit to anything. But fuck—I’ve got to get out of here.”
“Agreed. But how?”
“I’ll figure it out,” Bram assured him.
“Get the fuck out of there tonight. I’ll get coordinates to a safe house. You’re going to have to lay low for a while.”
“How can I do that, with Linc missing?” Bram demanded.
“You’ve got to be alive to find him.”
Sweet got back to Havoc in time to see Bram taking another ride on Linc’s bike, racing up the road like a fucking pro.
“He rides well,” Tug noted after a long moment of silence among the three men in the car. “Like, better-than-a-bike-enthusiast well.”
Ozzie shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything.”
“Or it could mean everything,” Sweet said darkly.
Sweet wished Ryker and Rush were here—if nothing else, Rush could verify things about Linc’s brother. But they were incommunicado and for very good, lifesaving reasons. Sweet wouldn’t risk that on something he could take care of by himself.
Were his instincts about Bram that off? Was Bram playing him?
It was more than time to find out.
“Good ride?” Sweet asked as Bram pulled Linc’s bike in front of Sweet’s place.
Bram felt Sweet’s energy strumming through him—and his gut told him something was off. It wasn’t the time to push for intel—not too hard, anyway. So he got off the rebuilt Harley and answered carefully, “Very. Linc and I grew up riding my dad’s bikes. It’s been a while, but I guess you never forget. Speaking of . . .?”
“I put the word out about Linc but my source didn’t hear anything,” Sweet told him, and Bram pretended to accept what he suspected was a partial lie. Still, he didn’t think that Sweet would have information about where Linc was and not tell Bram, so this was something more, and likely what he and Doz had discussed.
“Okay. I’m going to ride for a while longer—”
Sweet started walking into the house and motioned for him to follow. “Come on and shower up. We’re celebrating Garth’s birthday in a few.”
“I’m not in the party mood,” Bram told him, but he walked into the house behind Sweet, followed him up the stairs.
“Doesn’t matter. Club rules,” Sweet countered.
“Club rules,” Bram echoed hollowly. “Right. But I’m not a part of your club.”
Sweet’s hand was on his chest, stopping him. “You’re with me. I am the club. A problem with the club means a problem with me.”
“I guess we’ve got a problem then,” Bram said gruffly.
“You can’t sit in here—you’ll go crazy.”
Didn’t Sweet know he was already more than halfway there? “I can go looking for him.”
“Right. Like that’s going to get you anywhere.” Sweet shook his head. “Like I said, we’ve got feelers out. It’s better to go through the MC channels—safer, for us and for Linc.”
Bram knew that he couldn’t do it alone, not without a major disguise and any kind of lead. He really wanted to check out the gas station guy’s story himself.
He also knew that tonight’s party represented an opportunity for him to escape, and it might be his only chance.
He’d get the hell out of here, mail Havoc the money order on his way out of town, and then spend the next weeks avoiding the Heathens and looking for Linc.
And then . . .
He shook his head. Don’t think that far in advance.
Sweet broke into his thoughts. “You’ve got that look in your eyes again.”
“What look?”
“Like you’re about to hyperventilate.”
He glanced up at Sweet and saw the genuine concern there. “I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want you to be fine. I want so much more for you than that.”
“Why?”
Sweet cupped the back of his neck. “I’m trying to figure that out myself, but I’ve learned that when the feeling hits, questioning it doesn’t help.”
“What does?”
Sweet smiled. “Letting me make you feel better than fine.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Why not?”
“You make me feel,” was the best answer Bram could give. Because the feeling was way beyond anger, pain, fear, or rage. Finally, he could let someone tunnel through that to find raw, unadulterated pleasure, and that someone was Sweet.
The same Sweet who put two fingers under his chin and forced him to lock with Sweet’s gaze. “That’s a good thing, babe. But I get a feeling you don’t think so.”
> Sweet was right. As much as Bram liked it, liked being controlled when he was coming, the fact that he’d given Sweet that much power over him . . .
That made him far too vulnerable. Reminded him of exactly how vulnerable he truly was. “I’m doing the best I can.”
Sweet seemed to understand that. But really, with the number of secrets and lies between them, how far could this really go? It was as if the wall between them kept rising and at one point, it would become insurmountable.
Or else, he could bash through it, but he was damned tired of beating his head against proverbial walls.
Finally, he hung his head, worn out from his internal battle. His body was heavy with exhaustion, his muscles ached, his brain muddled like he could sleep forever.
“Stay with me,” Sweet urged. “Don’t make any decisions tonight.”
Even though Bram already had, he looked at Sweet and hated feeling like he’d be willing to let his resistance melt. He wanted to let Sweet win.
But that would mean that Bram had lost.
Even so, all he did was step toward Sweet and let Sweet’s mouth come down on his, a punishing kiss that took Bram’s breath away, that made him alternately more nervous and horny as fuck.
Anticipation of what was to come both before and after what happened in this bedroom.
The danger balance here was a huge turn-on. Sweet might know everything. Bram needed to run. But right now, there was nothing he could do but follow what Sweet—and his own body—ordered him to do.
“Get on your hands and knees,” Sweet murmured, then backed up to allow him to do so.
“No,” Bram said.
Sweet didn’t move. “I won’t ask again. If you want it . . .”
Fuck, he did, wanted, needed to be forced into it. Sweet knew that but wouldn’t do it. Ironic. Sweet would kill him for hurting Havoc but wouldn’t beat him without consent.
A hoarse laugh escaped his lips, and on unsteady legs, he sank to the floor . . . on all fours.
Sweet walked around him, obviously pleased.
“Hurry the fuck up,” Bram ordered.
Sweet’s hand stroked his lower back, and fear and anger and the fiercest need piled up inside of Bram. A balloon that needed to burst.