Mayhem Madness: Reckless Bastards MC Series Books 1-7

by KB Winters

  Chapter Eight

  Vivi

  I thought spending the day in bed with Jag’s body as my playground would have made me relaxed and calm. I was wrong. After a few hours of deep, dreamless sleep I woke up around six in the morning with sore limbs and one little thought niggling over and over in my brain.

  My contact. Bob. Bob had contacted me again about six months ago to decrypt the external hard drive but hadn’t been in touch since. None of my calls were returned, not even the threatening ones. But this morning, for some fucking reason, I got it in my head to find out what the fuck was going on. So I called Bob again. Three times.

  Bob didn’t answer. Instead of leaving more irate messages, I grabbed my keys and my I.D. because I needed some fresh air. Some distance from Jag and all the thoughts racing through my mind. I needed my bike, dammit.

  It took nearly an hour to get to the storage facility by bus where I hid my bike because apparently Las Vegas traffic was as bad as New York. The moment my two wheels hit the pavement though, everything else disappeared. No one was chasing me with plans to do who the fuck knew what with me. There were no distractions from my work and my adventures, and especially no tall, dark and deadly hot hacker with a military background. None of it mattered as I wove through traffic in an attempt to get on the freeway in this sea of streets that all led back to the cluster of casinos. The city’s bread and butter was not what I wanted or needed right now.

  Nope, I needed a long stretch of road where I could rev the engine and focus on nothing but the blur of the passing road. Riding was my favorite thing to do when I wasn’t locked in my house working. And I rode for hours with the sun steadily rising at my back, I rode until all the thoughts and worries…all the fucking noise disappeared and left nothing but the facts.

  Suddenly my mind went back about seven years ago when I’d taken a few college classes for shits and giggles. And to prove I could, of course.

  I took a journalism class and the professor, whose name I couldn’t remember, said something that came back to me when my mind was decluttered. Figuring out every story means figuring out the six major questions: Who, what, where, when, how and why. I already knew who—or I thought I did—and I knew what. Basically. But I needed to know why it was such a problem that I’d seen what I saw. If I could figure that out, I could beat this fucker at his own game.

  Assuming said fucker was Governor Blaise and not the gangster who looked like he’d smack his own mother if there was some benefit to it. Otherwise, I was totally fucked.

  My back started to ache from riding too long, so I stopped at a greasy spoon diner for a bowl of chili and got back on the road, energized to figure this shit out. Optimism was totally out of character for me and that should have been a clue that something was about to spoil my almost good mood.

  I’d spotted a shiny red pickup truck on my ass ever since I’d left the diner and he was following too damn close. Not that anyone with a ride that flashy could ever be accused of being subtle, but he was doing a piss poor job of remaining unseen, which meant I needed to put some distance between us. I gunned the engine and split between a big rig and a minivan, speeding ten cars ahead. But this time of day, the traffic was light, and the big red asshole was gaining on me.

  I slowed down, staying between the right and middle lanes and switching it up whenever he got too close. And when he was right on my ass, I sped up and flew around a curve hoping that I would lose him but once again the universe conspired against me and he was right there. My speedometer needle jerked past ninety miles and it continued to climb but there was a curve up ahead and I needed to slow down.

  But I couldn’t. He was gaining on me but speeding up was certain death where this asshole was…uncertain. “Shit!” The impact was brief and jarring, and just enough to make my bike tire stop and then spin until the whole bike was out of control and careening down a ravine. It was no more than twenty or thirty feet but even with my leathers on it hurt like a motherfucker. Especially when my helmet was kindly stopped by a giant rock.

  The only thing I could think of as I lay there trying to catch my breath was that I fucking hurt and I wasn’t going to die out here.

  I held my breath for ninety seconds when a car came to a stop above. I assumed it was the red truck douchebag making sure he scared or killed me. I stayed as still as I could, waiting for the sound of footsteps on the dry grass and graveled path I just skidded down. But they never came. At the seventieth second the door slammed shut and the engine gunned but still, I waited until the ninety second mark. “Fuck.”

  My chest heaved, and I focused on my legs first, to see if I felt any broken bones. My toes wiggled, and I exhaled. Thank the Man above. Both of my arms were intact, so I slowly slid off my helmet and got up on my knees and looked around. “Fuck!”

  I searched for my phone that had flown from my pocket and saw it about ten feet away. I rolled over to my phone, afraid to get up. My body could go into shock any minute and I had to get a hold of Jag before that happened.

  My hands shook so bad it took nearly a minute just to get the fingerprint unlock on my phone to work. When it opened I took a deep breath and squeezed my eyes shut until I saw stars. I needed to concentrate. To focus. There were no details to recall other than the flashy red pickup with the extended cab. I spoke the details into the notepad app when a thought occurred to me and I slid back over to my bike. There was no way in hell those guys had found me by accident.

  I searched behind the tail light, the fender and even the goddamn safety bar before I found what I was looking for. A tracker. It was no bigger than a SIM card and wasn’t even pro or military grade. Cheap fuckers. I shoved it in my pocket and called Jag.

  “Since your camper is still here I assume you didn’t run?”

  He was such a ballbuster. “You know what happens when you assume, Jeremiah.” A groan came out when I tried to stand and I was starting to think maybe I was more banged up than I realized. “Do you know the name of a tow company?”

  He was quiet for a second, probably trying to figure me out. Good luck. I’d been trying to figure that shit out all my life. “Gunnar has a towing company in town. He can take care of you.”

  “No. I don’t want a company associated with your club.” I realized how that sounded after I said it. “I didn’t mean it like that, just give me the name of another? Please?”

  “Fine. Where are you?”

  “I don’t even know. I’ll text you from my GPS app.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right there.”

  He hung up and I texted my GPS location to him. I fell back on the ground and rolled my eyes, laughing on the inside at the absurdity of my life now. Chasing down a man I’d never met but crushed on and dodging a possible government conspiracy out to kill me for a few photos. It sounded batshit crazy to me and I was living it. Or I was in the matrix, which could be kind of cool since it would mean none of this was real, but that would mean last night with Jeremiah wasn’t real either.

  Damn. My head hurt. Was I dreaming?

  The sound of a motorcycle engine grew closer and stopped and I knew it was Jag. Then he spoke and confirmed my suspicions. “What in the hell happened? I’ll call the ambulance.”

  “No! You can’t!” I looked up at a very worried and very ruggedly handsome face. “How’d you get here so fast?”

  “Shit,” he grumbled and with impressive speed jogged down the ravine and knelt down beside me. “Are you okay? Fuck, Vivi. Talk to me. Did you hit your head?” His hands felt nice even though his touch was medical not intimate.

  “I’m talking. I had my helmet on. I’m okay, just banged up.” His big strong hands were warm against my skin, roaming to check my head, my neck, my ribs. “Quit trying to cop a feel.”

  His lips smirked at me, but his eyes glared. “I’m just making sure you don’t have any broken bones.”

  “I don’t.” I smacked his hands away because they felt too good and because when Jag was being all sweet and concerned
and shit, he reminded me of the boy I loved until he left me. “Did you call the tow truck?”

  “I did but your bike is thrashed.”

  Typical guy. “Yeah, I know.” He gave me an odd look, probably expecting an explanation but I just stared at him. To be stubborn sure, but he was nice to look at. Very nice.

  “Let me help you,” he said. But instead of waiting for me to agree, he scooped me in his arms like I weighed nothing, and I weighed a lot more than nothing. I was five-seven with more ass and tits than I needed, so again, I weighed a lot more than nothing. But the way he carried me up the ravine without breaking a sweat or heaving for air turned me on. Or maybe it was just him. Jag. He smelled like a man. A real man who got his hands dirty and had dirt streaked on his face.

  “You smell good.”

  He smirked. “You definitely hit your head if you’re giving me a compliment.”

  I frowned. “I said you were beautiful.”

  Jag let out a snort. “Only because you wanted my dick.”

  That made me grin. “It worked. But you are. Beautiful, I mean.” Shit, I did hit my head. And it hurt like a mother fucker.

  By the time we got to the road the tow truck had arrived.

  “You can ride with me,” he said. He led me to his bike and set me down on a nearby boulder before going to talk to the tow truck guy like I was some little lady who needed to be handled.

  “Don’t try to manage me, Jeremiah!” He didn’t respond, and I sat there for what felt like forever and then finally, we were moving. “I could have taken care of that myself.”

  “You’re welcome, Vivi,” he called over his shoulder. “Stubborn ass woman.”

  Stubborn was a word I’d heard a lot, but most people weren’t as polite as Jag and preferred the word bitch. “I’ll be right back,” I told him when we got to the towing company.

  “I don’t think so.” He grabbed my arm. “You may be capable and stubborn and probably deadly, but right now you may be in shock and also have a concussion. I’ll stay close.”

  “But I’ll—”

  “Handle it,” he finished with a patient smile. “Got it.”

  Ugh, why did he have to be devilishly hot but sweet as pie? I couldn’t let those girlhood dreams bubble up just because he was being nice. I still didn’t know the new Jag. “Good.”

  At the counter, the guy who’d towed my bike leaned close trying to get a good look at my tits. I didn’t care, as long as he didn’t touch. “Not much I can do tonight but write up a ticket for the tow.”

  I nodded and stuck my chest out a little more. “That’s fine, it’s just … do you have any loaner cars here?” His gaze slid down and then with some effort, back up to my face.

  “We do but we only issue ’em between eight and seven.” The guy, Dennis his coveralls said, seemed genuinely beat up about it. Probably hoping I’d blow him to get an eighties Corvette or something. “But you can look around a minute and if you find one you like I’ll make sure they hold it for ya.”

  “Really?” I leaned forward with a grateful smile as he nodded, his gaze no longer even pretending my face held any interest. “Thank you so much, Dennis. I’ll be right back okay?” He nodded, licking his lips and probably doing God only knows what to me in his mind.

  “Yeah, sure thing sweetheart.”

  I rolled my eyes because old guys like that just couldn’t help themselves. He could jerk off in the shower to my tits while his wife read the latest tie-me-up-and-fuck-me-hard romance novels in the bedroom. It was the least I could do for the institution of marriage.

  The loaner lot wasn’t all that big with maybe twenty cars. Most were mid to high range sedans that probably belonged to people with families. And then I saw it, there in the back, the perfect car. An older model Crown Vic, desperately in need of service but still active. It would throw them off my scent and maybe land them in a fuck ton of trouble.

  “You could have just told me what you were up to.” Jag’s voice was right behind me and when I stood my ass brushed against him.

  “Don’t sneak up on me!” I turned to face him and knelt down, never taking my eyes off Jag as I placed the tracker just above the rear tire.

  “I didn’t sneak, I walked.” He stood closer, his denim covered cock just inches from my mouth. My watering mouth. “Come on, spy girl.” He held his hand out and I took it, ignoring the sizzle snaking from my palm to his.

  “That’s spy woman to you.”

  He smiled but there was something else on his mind. “You could have just told me your plan.”

  “And have you try to talk me out of it? It was easier this way.”

  “For you, maybe.”

  “Yeah well, I’m the one who was run off the road by a big red monster truck.”

  His expression changed, and he stayed quiet as I said an enthusiastic goodbye to Dennis and left to get on his bike.

  “You could have been killed.”

  “Duh, I think that was kind of the point.”

  “You think you’re ok to ride? Not going to hurt too much? I can get us a car.”

  I threw my leg cautiously over the bike and sat down. “I’m fine. Let’s just go home.”

  Jag stayed silent for the entire ride back to his place, which was a long ride, because it wasn’t on the Vegas side of Mayhem. He killed the engine and stepped off his bike silently, holding my hand with a gentle kind of intensity I didn’t know how to take. Not with my head so fuzzy and my body so achy.

  We walked up to the front door and slowly went inside.

  Jag undressed me, giving me a moment to look around the room while he went to start the water in the tub. I’d spent hours in this room, too distracted with his naked body to take in the dark, masculine details. The room was two shades of green with cherry furniture. Stylish but not fussy, exactly like the man who occupied it.

  “Come on.” He took my hand and pulled me into the bathroom where the tub was almost full with steaming, scented water. “Get in. It’ll help with your pain.”

  I wanted to, but my senses were tingling, telling me to proceed with caution. “What’s the catch?”

  He rolled his eyes and pushed me toward the tub, tapping one leg to get me to lift it. “I can lift you and put you in if you’d prefer.”

  I would prefer dammit, but not now. I stepped in and sank into the water with a moan. It was perfectly hot and smelled faintly of Jag. “Are you going to join me?”

  “Not yet. First I want you to tell me what you haven’t told me yet.”

  And there it was.

  The trap.

  Chapter Nine

  Jag

  This was the first time since I became a Reckless Bastard that the club didn’t have my full attention. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that someone had run Vivi off the fucking road. Still, Cross was talking and he was my Prez. I needed to fucking listen.

  “Stitch has been on ID duty at one of the dispensaries and he’s spotted a couple guys who look like feds hanging around. Anyone have any idea why?” Cross’s blue gaze looked around the table, assessing each of us to see why the club might face another threat. His gaze landed on me, a question burning in the depths.

  “This shit can’t be placed at my door.” That was serious. Of all the Reckless Bastards I was the squeakiest fucking clean. I didn’t fuck the Reckless Bitches and I didn’t get serious about women, which meant my personal shit never touched the club. Until now. Maybe.

  “So this has nothing to do with the blue haired babe who came looking for you the other night?”

  I couldn’t definitively say it had nothing to do with Vivi, but I was pretty sure. “Probably not. Stitch. When did these suits first start showing up?”

  “About a month ago, maybe six weeks. They’ve been around more in the last two weeks, though.” Which meant well before Vivi reentered my life.

  “Yeah, Vivi came because she needs my help but it’s sensitive. Highly sensitive, Cross. I’m not keeping secrets.” Cross nodded his acc
eptance, for now. But I wasn’t foolish enough to think he’d stay that way forever.

  “Fuck that,” Savior spat out. “Just cut the shit and tell us what kind of trouble your girl is about to bring to our fucking door.”

  I glared at his fucking tone. “First of all, she’s not my girl. She’s a friend. Second, are we really about to pretend that half the guys at this table didn’t have a woman bringing trouble in some form or another to our fucking door?” My gaze started with Savior, who had some nerve since he’d been involved in a fucking shootout in the middle of a casino, but Max, Golden Boy and Lasso all got looks from me as well.

  “Not your girl? Then why the fuck are we even discussing this?” Savior spat out angrily. Again. He really needed to chill.

  “Was Mandy your old lady when she came here? And wasn’t it her who started this shit with Roadkill in the first place?” It was a low blow and I didn’t blame her, but Savior’s attitude was pissing me off.

  “That’s enough, Jag,” Savior protested.

  “Is it?” I stood, daring him to get in my face. Savior was crazy but I was a skilled fucking killer with more than a little crazy of my own.

  “Stop!” Cross’s voice cut through the macho bullshit, eyes blazing at us both. “What can you tell us?”

  “She saw something she probably shouldn’t have when she did some contract work for Uncle Sam and now she thinks someone with juice is after her.” And after yesterday even I couldn’t dismiss her concerns.

  “Thinks?” Gunnar guffaws. “Tell this chick to hit the road. The last thing we need is any government bullshit blowing back on us.” My hands balled into fists at his words but I gave Gunnar a break because I knew he had a lot of shit on his plate with a one-year old sister now in his care. Visits from a social worker were stressing him out so I let it go. For now.

  I glared at my friend though to let him know he was on dangerous ground. “Since someone ran her off the road yesterday and she found a tracker on her bike, I’d say it’s a bit more than a fucking hunch at this point. The bike is fucking totaled.” Just thinking about those assholes pissed me off and the way Vivi played it off like it was no big deal pissed me off even more.