by Jen Davis
She ran her fingers over her tingling bottom lip. “At least I know I won’t be the only one staying up tonight reliving our kiss.”
He stroked her hair and tipped his forehead to hers. “You were never going to be the only one. I’ll be thinking about it all night.”
It would be so easy to fall into his arms again, but too much distraction would torpedo all her careful planning. Squeezing her eyes shut for fortitude, she broke contact and knelt on the blanket with the picnic basket. Shadows edged the nearby trees, signaling the transition from dusk to dark. The park would be closing soon, but she’d timed their meal to avoid as much of the Georgia summer heat as possible. Even at seven-thirty, though, the thin cotton of her dress stuck to her skin, and she knew her forehead probably glistened with perspiration.
At least she didn’t have any makeup to melt off. Kane always made it a point to tell her she was beautiful without it.
“Sit with me. Eat one of these damn hot dogs.” She patted the ground beside her. “You know I only packed them for you.”
Kane settled on the blanket, but they didn’t eat right away. They held hands and watched lightning bugs flit around the trees and laughed at the mom chasing a toddler making a bee-line to the water.
Eventually, Kane fished his foil-wrapped treasure out of the basket. “One day I’m going to get you to try one. It’s positively un-American you won’t eat a hot dog.”
Shaking her head emphatically, she swallowed the bite she’d taken from her PB&J. All the food she’d packed had been simple fare; cooking wasn’t one of her strengths. “I may be crazy about you, but I’m not crazy. Do you have any idea what’s in those things?” She shuddered.
“You’re crazy about me?” He waggled his eyebrows and finished the second half of his hot dog in one bite.
Her face heated. A smartass quip hovered on her lips, but she swallowed it down and went with the simple truth. “Yeah.”
His smile widened with her quiet admission, and he ran his hand up the side of her arm. “How crazy are we talking about?” he teased gently.
“Somewhere between Nick Nolte’s mugshot and Tom Cruise jumping on the sofa with Oprah.”
He pursed his lips in mock concern. “Pretty crazy, then.” His fingers snaked around the column of her neck, and he pulled her closer, his breath hot on her skin. “It’s a good thing I’m every bit as crazy about you.”
She leaned forward and brushed his lips with hers. The desire shooting deep into her core felt positively audacious in public. When she pulled away, his stare locked on her face.
“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered. “I need to be alone with you.”
Great minds think alike.
A make-out session in her backseat would not only scratch her itch, but it would provide the perfect inspiration for some toe-curling dreams in the nights to come.
Nodding, she grabbed the picnic basket while Kane snatched the blanket from the ground. Together, they speed-walked to her car.
She stopped short when he grabbed her shoulder.
“Look. A shooting star. Make a wish.”
Glancing up, she caught the tail end of the light blazing across the sky.
I wish Kane Hale would be my first. She blinked. And my last.
“What did you wish for, baby?” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “I wished nothing will ever come between us.”
She slapped his shoulder. “No. If you say it out loud, it won’t come true.”
Taking the picnic basket from her hand, Kane put it in the trunk, then laced his fingers with hers. “Hush. We control our fate. Not luck. Not the stars. So, you’d better get used to this face, because it’s never going to change, and there is nothing in this world that’s going to take me away from your side.”
She hesitated. “What about the club?”
His father wouldn’t stop pushing for Kane to join the MC where he was a founding member. Not only were his parents deep in the life, his brother, Scott, was too.
As much as she adored Kane, she wanted no part of his world. Those guys treated women like crap. Even the “old ladies” like Kane’s mom were second-class citizens, considered barely a step above talking blow-up dolls.
The guys she’d met from the crew? Rude, crass, and violent. Probably criminals. And they were Kane’s family.
“I’m not going to join. I told you. I’ve never wanted that kind of life.” He kissed her hand. “I want a real relationship. I want a home and a job and kids who aren’t embarrassed by their dad when he comes to their school to pick them up.”
He said all the things she wanted to hear, but based on everything he’d told her before, she knew rejecting the club could drive a wedge between him and his family he may never overcome.
“I don’t want you to lose your parents or your brother and resent me one day for it.”
“It’s never going to happen. With you or without you, I’m never going to join.” His voice hardened with resolve. “I promise, Mandy. As long as I live, I will never be part of my family’s MC.”
***
Kane
Present Day
Blood and gore stuck to Kane’s boots as he tromped through what was once the city’s most notorious drug den. Now it bore the hallmarks of a slaughterhouse. Bodies littered the floor, all members of the crew once run by Sucre de la Cruz.
All dead at the hands of the Skulls MC.
His gaze met his brother’s across the dimly lit room. Scott’s tongue peeked out of his toothy grin. No doubt, he reveled in the carnage.
Kane only came for his friend, Brick. Well, Brick and the ten thousand dollars the man had promised the MC to help him take out his drug dealer boss and the bastard’s crew. The violence didn’t excite Kane like it did Scott. He considered it a necessary evil to protect his club.
They were his family.
When everyone else had started killing, his job had been to hold a weapon at the drug lord’s head, so the piece of shit could watch his empire crumble before his eyes.
He found it immensely satisfying. De la Cruz and his organization had been a stain on Atlanta for years. The guy ruled through violence, fear, and death. Now his reign was over. Not only did Kane have a hand in the takedown, he did his part without taking a single life.
His brothers were another story. They ripped through Sucre’s men like they were made of tissue paper, and they loved every second of it. All the crazed smiles and laughter would have given it away even before they’d raided the bar and started toasting with tequila shots.
In his years with the club, Kane had seen plenty of violence up close and personal, but he’d never had to kill anyone. Maybe it was a cop-out, but he didn’t want to start a body count now.
He swiped one of the tarps piled right inside the front door and dropped it next to a body. Nobody could skip clean-up.
Holding his breath against the stench of viscera and human waste, he grabbed the dead man’s arm and slid him onto the black sheet of plastic. He had to plant one foot on the tarp to keep it in place. Stealing a quick gulp of air through his mouth, he knelt and rolled the man up like a burrito. Blood coated his hands and speckled up his arms over his sleeves of tattoos.
He climbed to his feet to repeat the process with the next body. There were about forty to dispose of and only fourteen brothers to get the job done.
Cue Ball lugged each drug-dealer-burrito to the pickup parked out front. Once they were all loaded up, the brothers would take them to Sucre’s own dump-spot, the one Brick had told them about, ready-made with barrels of sulfuric acid. Not only was it convenient, but he could appreciate the poetic justice in it.
A playful slap landed on his shoulder as he finished wrapping his third body. “Fuckin-A, man. You really came through with this job tonight. We needed this money in a major fucking way.”
Scott didn’t exaggerate. Ten thousand bucks was less than a lot of crews would demand for a job like this, but right now they needed it like water in the desert. The club hadn’t been mak
ing the same kind of cash it once had. Sure, they brought in enough to get by, but the profits from running guns declined more every year. The demand was still there, but the weapons were easier to come by these days. Buyers weren’t willing to pay as much for a middleman anymore.
Most of the guys made ends meet with a second job. Scott worked on cars. Kane did construction.
He didn’t mind his day job. In fact, he preferred it. He never had to wash blood off his hands after a day nailing up sheetrock.
“I’m glad to do it.” The old scar on Kane’s cheek tugged when he smiled. Even at thirty-two years old, it felt good to have Scott’s approval. He loved his brother, even though they didn’t always see eye to eye.
He gripped the backpack Brick had left behind after the massacre was done. No telling what Scott would do if he suspected there was another forty thousand dollars in arm’s reach. “Are you heading out with Cue Ball or staying here to bleach the place down?”
“Are you serious?” Scott barked out a laugh. “You think I’d miss a chance to drop bodies in vats of acid, so I could stay here and play housemaid? Fuck you, man.” He chuckled as he walked toward the front door.
Kane pulled the elastic from his hair and gathered all the stray pieces back into a ponytail at the back of his neck, then surveyed the bar. All the bodies were gone, but it would take hours to mop up all this blood. Half a dozen members of the crew had left with Scott to dispose of the bodies, while the other half of the team stayed behind to manage the mess.
It was after midnight by the time they’d erased the evidence of the massacre. As much as he wanted to go home, he had to head back to the clubhouse to meet up with the disposal team and divvy up the money they’d made tonight.
He gave his hands a final wash in the sink behind the bar before he strapped on his helmet and settled on his bike. A Harley Davidson Dyna Super Glide Sport. Black, it was only a few years old with a matte finish.
The engine purred to life, and the rides around him did the same, creating a humming chorus. Kane pulled onto the dark street, and the others followed in a single file line before sliding into a staggered riding formation.
Anemic yellow light shone through the windows of the wood-framed clubhouse when they arrived. Without the sun to illuminate the outside, shadows hid the fading paint and sagging shutters, which both betrayed its age.
All curves in a nearly indecent little black dress, Charlene greeted him at the door the minute he walked in. She wrapped herself around him like a cheap suit, all itchy and ill-fitting. The smell of nicotine wafted off her skin. It even overpowered the bleach and stink of the night still clinging to him from the job.
“I was starting to worry about you, baby.” She stuck out her painted bottom lip in an exaggerated pout and twirled a strand of bleached blond hair around her finger. “I’ve been here all night.”
“I had a job.” The words came out gruffly, but he didn’t have it in him to pretend he cared.
Unfazed, she cupped his jaw with her hand. “It’s cool, you—” Her nose wrinkled as she peered at his beard. Using her middle finger and thumb, she pulled something from the unruly coarse hair on his face.
Oh, Christ. Was that a bone shard?
His stomach roiled, and he pushed her away. “Go home, Char.”
“But—”
“Go. Home.”
He didn’t bother to watch her long enough to see if she listened. In truth, he didn’t care where she went, as long as he didn’t have to deal with her. Rubbing the back of his neck, he trudged to the back room where they held all club business, the room they called the chapel. He was the last to arrive. All but two of the fifteen chairs were taken. They were situated along an oblong table, the seat at the far end noticeably vacant.
The guys cheered at his arrival. Some clapped; others knocked on the worn wooden table.
Forcing his burning eyes to acknowledge his brothers, he dropped heavily into his chair to the left of the president’s position. “C’mon now, y’all did the work too. We all earned it.”
“But you brought in the business.” The booming voice from the door prompted every man in the room to scramble to his feet, even Kane, who wobbled a little when the blood rushed from his head. “I’m proud of you, son.”
Despite his sixty years and decades of hard living, Malcolm Hale still cut an impressive figure. He matched Kane’s six feet, one inch, and probably came close to his two hundred pounds of muscle. Even though he didn’t ride often with the MC, he started the club with his brother, Wes, and as president demanded the respect he considered his due. He also demanded his sons call him Malcolm, just like everyone else did.
Stepping to the head of the table, the man lifted the stack of hundred-dollar bills already waiting in the center. “Ten thousand?”
It wasn’t really a question, so Kane stood silent.
Malcolm cracked a wicked smile, a lot like the one Scott flashed in the middle of the bloody bar. “To take down Sucre de la Cruz, it would have almost been worth doing it for free. We helped make that fucker a king. I’ll bet he never thought we could break him just as easily.” Amid catcalls and cheers, he dropped the money back to the table. “Five hundred dollars a man. Twenty-five hundred for the club. Now, get the fuck out of here so I can get myself a blow job.”
Biting back a sigh, Kane swiped his share and made his exit quickly. There was no telling if Malcolm’s dick would be getting sucked by Kane’s mom or some piece of club property tonight. Neither possibility was one he wanted to think about.
He only had to drag himself a few blocks to his apartment, and he couldn’t wait to get inside to close the door on this long and nasty day.
Too bad he couldn’t close the door on this life. As deeply as he loved his brothers, the way they lived turned his stomach sometimes.
Closing the distance to his private space on his Harley, he kicked off his boots on the porch before heading inside. No need to track DNA evidence through his home. The blood had dried, but it could still mark up his carpet.
He stopped in the bathroom first, hiding Brick’s bag of cash under the sink. Then, leaving his filthy clothes in a pile on the floor, he climbed into the shower and tipped his head forward into the spray. The hot stream sluiced through his hair, and the water at his feet threaded with the rust-colored remnants of his violent night. Once it ran clear, he grabbed the soap and made quick work of his body.
He’d shower again in the morning—right after he bagged up his clothes to burn them—but he wouldn’t be able to sleep covered in death. Satisfied he was clean enough, he squeezed the water from his hair and toweled off, then padded naked to his bedroom.
Charlene was spread out nude on his king-sized bed. When he’d told her to go home, he meant for her to go to her home, not his. He didn’t invite any women into his private space. Ever.
She had some fucking nerve.
Thank fuck she was asleep. He’d lay next to Charles Manson if it meant getting some rest. Sliding beneath the sheets, he gave the woman his back.
How the hell did she get in here?
He sure as fuck never gave her a key. Charlene was not his old lady, and he’d never pretended otherwise. He wasn’t interested in calling any woman his own. He’d tried it once and had never regretted anything more.
A flash of dark red hair and sea-green eyes scratched at the back of his brain, but like he’d done hundreds of times before, he shoved the memories down, squeezed his eyes shut, and fell into dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER TWO
Kane
The happy buzz Kane associated with a new day on the construction site took a hike without his best friend there. Unfortunately, Brick had earned himself a little R&R at the wrong end of a gun after the showdown with Sucre, and he wouldn’t be back for at least a week. Another guy on the team was hurt even worse, so it was basically a skeleton crew working to catch up on a project already hemorrhaging money for the company.
The man who commissioned the build had dec
ided he wanted major modifications to the plans. It would’ve been fine, except he didn’t make up his mind until after the work had already started, and he flat-out refused to pay for the cost of the changes. It meant a mad scramble for the team to make their deadlines, while their foreman weathered major pressure from the higher-ups to satisfy the client.
If it were up to him, he would’ve told the buyer to go fuck himself and put the damn house on the market, but nobody had asked for his opinion.
He’d barely strapped on his hard hat when a gangly guy clutching a clipboard darted between him and the front door. “Have you seen Brick?” the kid asked breathlessly.
Robby was the foreman’s assistant and had imprinted on Brick like a baby duckling. The young man blew his floppy brown bangs out of his eyes and blinked rapidly.
“Sorry, kid. Not yet.” He softened his voice at the disappointment on Robby’s face. “He texted me, though. Told me he’s out of the hospital. His girl Olivia is taking good care of him. Don’t know much about Will, though.”
Will was Olivia’s brother and the other member of the construction crew who had been shot Saturday night. One of Sucre’s goons snatched her before all the killing started at the bar. Brick put the punk down, but not before the fucker put bullets in both Brick and Will during their rescue operation.
Robby’s eyebrows scrunched down. “It doesn’t feel right for us to be here worrying about this stupid house while they’re hurt.”
“I hear you. But we’ve got to make sure they have jobs to come back to. We can’t get any further behind on this build.” He firmed his jaw. “Are the other guys here?”
Inclining his head toward the entryway, Robby sighed. “Yeah. They’re just getting started. You can head in.” He stepped out of the way but called out before Kane made it to the door. “I know you’re his best friend. You’ll let me know if you get any updates, right?”
A lump formed in his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a friend outside of the MC, but Robby was right; he and Brick had become tight. “I promise. I’ll go see him before the end of the day. Now I’m gonna get to work. This house isn’t going to finish itself.”