A Dirty Lion

by Faye Byrd

  “Randi?” the dark-haired chick says from about ten feet away. I narrow my eyes her way, and I can tell she’s nervous as hell, but it doesn’t stop her from glaring right back. “Is everything okay over here?”

  I look back to my girl, surprised to find she hasn’t taken her eyes off me. I’m not sure what the fuck’s going on in that pretty little head of hers, but I’m tired of the way things have been. If she’ll just tell me the problem, I can fix it.

  “It’s fine,” she finally says, glancing to her friend. “I’d like you to meet my lion.” I blanch, but she gives me a discreet headshake and continues, “Enzo, this is Layla. She’s the best friend a girl could ask for.”

  Okay, then. Charm time it is. “Hello, Layla,” I purr, holding out my hand. “Randi’s told me so much about you that I feel like we’re old friends.”

  “Same,” she says with a girly giggle.

  What the fuck?

  I pull my hand back and look to Randi with wide eyes. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting, but I was hoping I could steal Randi away this afternoon.”

  “Take her,” she says, giving me an encouraging wave. “This has been a rough few weeks.”

  “I’m sorry?” I ask, wondering what she means by that.

  “Nothing,” Randi interrupts, giving her friend the stink-eye. “She just means that psych class is kicking our asses.”

  “I’m sure it is.” I smirk. “Maybe I can help work off some of the tension.”

  “Maybe.” She shrugs, her smile devious. “Or maybe I just need to talk through some things.”

  Talk?

  Her friend barks a loud laugh, keeping me from having to respond to that bullshit. “Good luck, Lion. You’re going to need it,” she says, patting my arm as if she’s consoling me as she passes.

  “Why do I feel like nothing’s solved all of a sudden?” I palm the back of my neck, unsure when it comes to Randi’s brand of crazy. “I thought we were getting somewhere before your friend interrupted. Now, I’m not so sure.”

  Randi sighs, and her gaze falls to her feet. “Thank you for the car, Enzo.”

  “Wait just a fucking minute,” I say, wondering where the fuck her fire went. “Who are you, and where the hell is my Miranda?”

  Her head snaps up, and she can’t help but let a small smile slip through. “You do know me well, huh?”

  “Well enough.” I shrug, settling my fingers on her waist. “I know something’s wrong. Something other than the car.” I slip my hand around and span it across her back, pulling her closer. “And we probably should talk about it.”

  “Ya think?” She snorts, looking up at me but not making any effort to embrace me back. “It’d be even better if you knew what the problem was.”

  “I can’t read your mind, Randi,” I say seriously. “That’s one crazy, fucked up place, and I’d be scared to try.” She starts fighting, trying to escape my hold, but I only pull her in tighter. “But if you’d just tell me what happened, I’ll do what I can to fix it. I don’t like this distance between us.”

  “Okay,” she says, sighing. “I’ll come by the clubhouse after I cook dinner for Rodney.”

  “Yeah, no.” My lips form a snarl at the idea of her doing anything for that drunk fuck. “You can call in something at the diner, and I’ll follow you while you drop it off.” She swells up, ready to argue, but I place my finger over her lips. “I’ve been stealth-stalking you for three weeks, and now that I have you willing to see me, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “Isn’t that sweet?” she says, batting her lashes like I’ve bowled her over. “But I knew you were there, and I made sure to stay home after you left.”

  “Good,” I breathe, my eyes on her lips.

  Her hands go up, pressing against my chest. “We can’t,” she says, pushing. “I’m serious about that talk. It’s important to me.”

  I bob my head and step back. “Then it’s important to me, too.”

  The smile she gives me is blinding, and it makes my heart stutter inside my fucking chest. I don’t know what to make of the sensation, nor do I have time to ponder it because I’m too busy watching her ass sway across the lot. She pauses and looks back at me, doing some kind of weird girly dance before climbing inside the car. I smile like a fucking idiot, and I can’t seem to find a fuck to give. It feels fucking good to have made this tiny amount of progress.

  The trip to the diner is quick and I lay low, keeping my distance and watching everything around us. Not once in the past three weeks has Jackoff tried to approach Randi, and I’m suspicious as hell by now. She only had a few days to agree to his fucked-up sale, and for some reason, he’s let it slide. Something nasty is brewing, and I’ll do everything I can to keep her out of it.

  My girl sashays out of the diner with a bag of food hanging from one hand and her new key fob in the other. She shoots me a saucy wink before she slides in and settles behind the wheel. Before I know it, we’re on the road again and pulling into her neighborhood. Seeing the police cruiser parked in the drive irks the fuck out of me, but I ride past as she pulls her new car in behind it.

  I circle around the cul de sac before whipping my Harley around and rolling back to settle in between two parked cars. I have a good vantage point here, and it’s close enough that I can get to her if anything comes up—not that I think it will. I sit and watch the house for a good ten minutes, and I’m just about ready to go burst in when I hear a ruckus.

  “Fuck you.”

  The sound of Randi’s voice precedes the slamming of the front door, and I perk up, ready to crank my bike to life, but something stops me just as I put my foot on the kickstart. It’s a fucking rumble in the distance—a sound that’s part of my very being. I have a momentary freak-out as I watch Randi get into her new car and slam the door.

  For a split second, I’m unsure what the fuck to do, but I quickly realize the only way to ensure her safety is to be by her side. I ditch my beloved Harley in favor of a girl whose life matters more than a sexy piece of chrome. Pulling the Uzi from my rear waistband, I hunker down and move past the cars while keeping my eyes and ears open. The roar gets louder the closer it comes, and I’m fucking relieved when Randi doesn’t sling her car out the drive in her anger.

  I yank open her door just as she has her hand on the shifter. “Scoot over,” I say, panicked that I can hear the bikes turning onto the street. Sounds like three, but I can’t be sure. “A group of Harleys just turned onto your street.”

  “What?” Her eyes grow wide. “Rodney,” she whispers, pushing past me. “I can’t leave him like this.”

  “No, Randi!” I grab her around the waist. “I can’t let you go back in there. We need to move.”

  “It’s too late,” she screams, fighting me for all she’s worth. “At least there are weapons inside.”

  I lift my arm and show her my Uzi. “I have a fucking weapon. Now get in the goddamn car!”

  “No!” She claws at my arm until I have no choice but to release her and follow like a deer in headlights, willing to give his life to the brightness.

  When we get inside, I find Rodney barely alert, sprawled across the sofa, holding a bottle of Jack and smelling like five-day-old liquor breath. I almost puke as I snatch his nasty ass up and toss him to the floor behind it. Then I start throwing the rest of the furniture in front of it to absorb the possible barrage of bullets. Who knows? Maybe it won’t come to a gunfight, but I’m not taking any chances.

  The rumbles come to a standstill outside, and Randi races down the stairs with two shotguns. My heart thumps an extra beat at the sight of her holding the fire power. She hunkers down beside me behind the sofa while I pull out my phone and shoot a text to Mad Dog. All has gone silent outside, so all we can do is wait.

  I hear voices, but I can’t make out a fucking word until a knock comes at the door. “Randi,” a voice, who I presume to be Jackoff, yells. “I know you’re in there! Open this goddamn door!” The banging is loud and insistent, and I
aim my gun, ready to send a bullet straight through his fucking skull if he comes inside. “All right.” He chuckles darkly. “I guess we’ll do this the hard way.” He takes heavy, overly exaggerated steps as he retreats from the porch.

  “Jack, there’s a Harley parked two houses down,” someone calls, and I fucking curse internally. “Looks like it belongs to one of the Lions.”

  “Trash it,” Jackoff growls, and I make a promise right then that this motherfucker will die at my hand—or gun, whichever works. “Find Randi and kill everyone else.”

  I meet her eyes and shake my head in the negative.

  That shit is not fucking happening.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Free

  Randi

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I look between my nearly passed out father and a sexy gun-wielding Enzo, wondering how the fuck I got here and what the hell’s going to happen next. Jack thinks he’s going to take me, but that’ll only happen over my dead body. I’m too fucking young to die. There’s so much life left to live. I have a nursing degree to obtain and people to help—a father to get sober and a Lion to tame.

  How am I going to do any of that if I’m dead?

  Pulling the clip from Rodney’s shotgun, I check the number of rounds—seven—and attach it back into place before opening the 12-gauge and seeing it has three shells. Ten fucking rounds and a father who’s unable to hold a weapon, much less shoot it.

  My semi-panicked eyes connect with Enzo’s, and he motions behind us as the sound of metal crunching comes from outside. “Is there a back door through there?” he whispers, pointing toward the kitchen and visibly wincing as the metal grates again. “I need to lure them away.”

  “No!” I grab his arm, holding on for dear life. “You can’t leave us in here alone.”

  “Randi,” he says lowly, palming my cheek. “I’ll never let them get to you. That’s why you need to let me go. Do you know how to shoot that riot gun?”

  “I’ve shot it at the range.” I nod, my heart pounding. “Once.”

  “You’re a natural badass, babe.” He laughs, his pretty lips lifting at the corners. “I have no doubt you can handle it, or I wouldn’t leave you in here alone. There can’t be any more than five or six men out there, and I can take them, but I need the element of surprise.”

  “What if there’s someone waiting for you to come out?” I ask, terrified to watch him leave me.

  “There will be,” he replies, his expression serious as he holds my steady gaze. “But this is what I do, babe, and I’m good at it. These motherfuckers don’t stand a chance. I only hope I can get my hands on Jackoff before he realizes the trouble he’s in.”

  “What’s going on?” Rodney mumbles, lifting his head.

  Enzo slugs him, knocking him out, and I gasp. “What did you do that for?”

  “It’s for the best if you want him to live,” he says as a loud bang echoes from the front door. “I have to go.” He grabs my face and kisses me hard. “Kill anyone who enters this room.”

  I nod, grabbing his arm as he starts to shuffle away. “Don’t think you can get out of our talk by getting yourself killed.”

  He smirks. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  And he’s gone, through the kitchen and out of my sight. I refocus my attention on the banging that’s coming from the front door and wince when it splinters, ducking behind the sofa and taking several deep breaths. Gunfire erupts from outside, and I think I hear the distinct rumble of a Harley racing away, but I don’t have time to be sure as a hulking body is tearing its way through the splintered wood of our front door.

  I lift and take aim, my finger frozen on the trigger. It’s Eric, a guy I’ve considered a friend for a long time and who’s only two years older than me. He’s holding a handgun and searching the room. He freezes when his eyes land on mine.

  “Come on out, Randi,” he says softly, motioning for me to join him. “I don’t want to hurt you, and Jack told me to bring you back to the clubhouse.”

  I don’t move, keeping him in my sights. “He told you to kill us!”

  “It’s okay,” he says, holding up his gun as if to surrender. “Only Rodney. You can live if you just come with me.”

  “Not fucking happening.” I pull the trigger and blow a hole in the wall. “What’s going on outside? Is Jack still here? Let me talk to him.”

  “He’s gone.”

  He moves quickly and fires a fucking shot. It goes wide and ricochets off the china cabinet behind me. Asshole. I send another slug flying, and it buries into his leg, bringing him to his knees. My heart is thundering so hard I can barely catch my breath. I’m afraid of becoming a murderer and afraid not to. My life is on the line, and I have no idea where Enzo is, but the exchange of gunfire gives me hope that he’s still alive.

  “What’s happening outside?” I ask again, my voice more insistent this time.

  “That fucking Lion,” he grunts, holding his leg. “He’ll be dead soon.”

  Something strange comes over me, and it’s not the same strange from the other week. No, this is much different. It’s pure, unadulterated hatred, and every fond thing I’ve ever felt for Eric disappears within the blink of a fucking eye. I pull the trigger again, this time sending his brains splattering against the wall behind him.

  Not wasting another second, I rush past his limp form and make it to the doorway just in time to see a Wolf fall. Enzo’s hunkered behind my car, and his Harley is busted and scattered in the street, but he’s alive and looks to be unharmed.

  “Enzo,” I call, so fucking relieved.

  He steps out from behind the fender with his arms open, and I run and jump into them, burying my face in his neck. Sobs rip from my chest and push their way through my lips. I don’t know what’s come over me, and I don’t care. We made it out alive, and that’s all that matters. But even as I celebrate, I know this isn’t over.

  It’s only just begun.

  Sirens wail in the distance, and a chorus of rumbles can be heard turning onto our street, but as I tense, Enzo reassures me. “It’s the Lions.”

  “How many?” I ask, my voice scratchy from crying. “Dead Wolves, I mean.”

  “Two here and one around back,” he says, setting me on my feet as three Harleys roll to a stop in the road. “You?”

  “Eric,” I say on a sigh. “He’s just inside the door.”

  A tear rolls down my cheek, and Enzo brushes it away with his thumb as he cups my face. “Don’t you cry for that motherfucker,” he growls, and I suck it up because he’s right. “It was him or you, Randi, and that’s not even a competition.”

  “Randiiiii,” Rodney bellows, and I turn to see him leaning in the doorway. His eyes are wild as they search the yard. “Randiiiii. Please, God, please.” He stumbles as he steps onto the porch.

  “I’m here,” I call, waving my hand as I jog his way. “I’m fine.”

  “No fucking thanks to you,” Enzo snarls, standing right behind me, and I can’t even get on his ass because it’s true. “Your daughter had to kill a man today, and it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been passed out drunk.”

  Rodney’s already pale face goes even paler, and I think he might puke. “Randi?” he chokes, looking to me to deny it. “Did …”

  “Sheriff, thank God you’re all right!” Deputy Marcus says, running to Rodney. “What happened here?”

  “It was an ambush,” my father says, glancing my way. “They attacked, and Enzo and I had no choice but to defend ourselves.”

  “I figured,” the deputy says, whistling lowly. “This is a real mess, but I always knew something like this was going to happen.”

  “Well, don’t get complacent,” Enzo says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “They were here for the sheriff, and I just happened to be visiting Randi. If I hadn’t been here, they’d probably both be dead.”

  Rodney snaps his gaze to Enzo, his eyes apologetic. “Thanks for the help, son.”

  “I’m not your fucking
son,” he snaps, pulling my back against his chest. “But I’d do anything for your daughter.”

  The next hour is filled with shoving cups of black coffee down Rodney’s throat to help him sober up and giving statements, which consist of me saying I hid behind the sofa while my big manly men took out all the bad guys. I don’t know or care what my father and Enzo concocted between them, but I realize why, and I appreciate it. Neither of them wants it on record that I killed a man, even if it was in self-defense.

  I’m beat by the time we’re given the go-ahead to leave and even more flustered when I see all the bullet holes in my car. Stupid fuckers, but it’s in better shape than Enzo’s bike. The Harley’s in a gazillion pieces, and I don’t think it can be repaired, but Mad Dog calls a guy and has him come scrape it from the street and load it on his flatbed anyway.

  “Don’t let it bother you,” Enzo says, drawing my eyes from the car to him. “I’ll have it taken care of.”

  “How can I not worry about it?” I counter, huffing as I settle behind the wheel. “Someone tried to kill me today.” I turn to look at him as he adjusts the passenger seat. “Jackson, someone I’ve known for years, tried to kill me today.”

  “He’s a dead man.” Enzo’s voice is matter-of-fact, no-nonsense, and serious as fuck. “Speaking of …” He motions for me to crank the car as he whips out his cell.

  As I drive us to the clubhouse, he carries on a conversation with someone named Carl, who from the sound of it, is some type of big wig. When that call ends, he makes another, this time talking to a guy named Tank. The word nomad is tossed out there along with the mention of someone named Justice before he ends the call with a “see you in the morning.”

  After our procession passes through the gate, Enzo points to where he wants me to park. As I shut off the ignition, I sigh. “So,” I say on an exhale. “I guess I owe you a thank-you.”

  “Fuck that shit,” he replies, smirking. “My Randi isn’t about thanking me. She knows she’s worth it.”