by Jen Davis
He linked his pinkie with hers. “Sort of like us.”
She chewed on her lip. “Should we tackle the big stuff first or build up to it?”
The club. She had to be talking about the club. He lifted his shoulder. “Ask me anything you want.”
Her mouth opened, then closed again. The only sound came from the other people at the bar. Just when he was convinced she wouldn’t say anything, she spoke. “You always said you hated it.” Her gaze rested on their hands. “I would have bet my life your feelings were never going to change. I—I did this, didn’t I? I pushed you into this life when I walked away.”
He wanted to deny it. What kind of pussy did it make him if he couldn’t even stick to his own principles because his girlfriend broke up with him? It didn’t change the truth, though. “You didn’t make me patch in, Mandy, but yeah. Obviously, it was my way of dealing with what happened between us. The guys in the club were there for me when I was low, and I guess part of me felt like I was giving you a big fuck you for leaving. But they loved me. They still do. And I love them. They’re my family.”
She tugged her hand away, and he felt the loss immediately. “Has anything changed? In what they do? How they treat women?”
If anything, things had gotten worse. Not with the women thing, which had already been pretty fucking bad. The illegal shit, though, was at an all-time high.
The food came, taking their attention away from the conversation. He bit into his ribs and watched Mandy pick at her fries. “I thought you were starving.”
She frowned. “You didn’t answer me.”
Why would he think he could ignore the elephant in the room? “No,” he said softly. She was only talking about one part anyway. “It hasn’t changed.”
She dragged a fry around in the pool of ketchup. “How can you still be you and be one of them?”
He hated how unsure she sounded. With a sigh, he wiped his hands on the napkin, then turned to face her fully. “I’ve done shit I’m not proud of. If I’m being honest, I’m still doing shit I’m not proud of. I think maybe I forgot who I was for a little while, or maybe I thought I couldn’t be a good guy without you. Which is weak, and I’m not proud of it.”
She didn’t look up from her food.
“I’m trying to figure out how everything fits together for me right now. I can’t just walk away from them because I’ve found you again.”
No longer even pretending to eat, she folded her hands in her lap. “Of course not,” she murmured.
“But there are no other women. I swear it on my life.”
Now she looked up.
He couldn’t tell if she was angry or upset. “I haven’t so much as looked at another woman since you and I started talking again. I promise I wouldn’t betray you.”
She nodded, but the sparkle in her eyes had dulled. Calling over the bartender, she asked for a to-go box. As she scooped her food inside, she spoke quietly, “It’s getting late. I’m tired. Do you mind if we head out?”
“Sure.” He’d lost his appetite too. Dropping two twenties on the table, he followed her back to the car, and she drove the short distance to her condo, where he’d left his bike.
She parked right next to the Harley. Once they got out, she gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for the game. I had a good time.”
He slid his hand over her arm. “Don’t give up on us. We can work all of this out.”
She revealed no joy in her smile, but she said the words he needed to hear. “I won’t.” She stepped back. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked away.
***
Two police cars were driving away from the clubhouse as Kane pulled up. Cue Ball’s big bald head shone like a beacon in the backseat of one cruiser, but he couldn’t tell who was in the back of the other.
Killing his motor, he covered the distance to the front door in a few long strides. He stumbled back a step once he got a good look inside.
Someone had trashed the clubhouse. Garbage cans rested on their sides, their contents scattered across the floor. All the shelves hung askew from the rickety entertainment center; the TV was cracked, broken DVDs all around it. The sofa cushions were strewn about the room, their stuffing hemorrhaging from newly acquired slashes across their centers.
Mama V sat at the kitchen table, her head in one hand, a cigarette in the other. It was the first time he had ever seen anyone smoke in the clubhouse since he was a child. She acknowledged him without looking up. “I guess you were right about the raid.”
He searched for a piece of furniture to sit beside his mom, but she seemed to have the only chair left unbroken and intact. He leaned against the counter to her right instead. “What happened?”
She took a drag from her cigarette and tapped the ashes directly on the floor. “They got here a couple of hours ago. SP, Cue, and the prospect were shooting pool. Your brother started spouting off when they showed their warrant. They dragged him out of here faster than you can say your name.” Another puff. “Then, the cops started tearing shit up.”
Cue Ball was too smart to cause trouble if he’d already seen Scott in cuffs, which meant… “They found something.”
She sniffed and gave a reluctant nod. “Your brother had some meth stashed in the chapel.”
Kane gaped. “I don’t understand. We knew they were coming. We agreed to get everything out of here.”
“It wasn’t much. They’ll get charged with possession, probably not enough for an intent to distribute, but maybe. He said he was going to deliver it to someone after your meeting tonight.” She stood and walked to the back door, then flicked the cigarette butt into the yard.
Dammit, Scott. Why couldn’t his brother listen to reason? Now someone had to go bail the guys out of jail, for fuck’s sake. But at least they didn’t get busted with a full-blown meth lab running in the house. The club stayed safe, at least for now. “Where’s Malcolm?”
Mama V shrugged weakly. “I don’t know. I tried calling him a dozen times, but you know your father.”
He sure did. Malcolm did what he wanted, when he wanted, and the needs of his old lady were never high on his list. “I’m gonna try the bar really quick.” Traveling the two blocks to the Watering Hole wouldn’t waste too much time, even if his father wasn’t there.
His mom grabbed a bottle of vodka from the freezer and unscrewed the cap without acknowledging his words. She wasn’t allowed at the Watering Hole. Malcolm found his extra entertainment there.
He felt like an asshole for even mentioning the place, but the damage was already done. He jumped on his Harley and made a beeline for his destination.
About a dozen bikes glinted in a line outside the run-down façade, about par for a Sunday evening. He spotted his father’s right away and pulled up beside it. The strains from an old Metallica song carried through the red wooden door at the entrance.
He stomped through the loose gravel up the three groaning wood steps and forged inside. His eyes burned as he tried to focus through the fog of cigarette smoke, but he fought the urge to squeeze them shut as he executed a slow sweep of the room.
A Coors hanging light illuminated the pool table in a hazy glow. He recognized both of the old guys playing as riders from his dad’s generation. He gave a respectful nod as he passed them by.
A dartboard overlooked two banged-up tables to the right. Two women in skin-tight jeans held court with a couple of guys who were “teaching them” how to toss. It was an old dance where everyone knew damn good and well the lessons were only an excuse to put their hands on each other. Dollars to donuts, all four of them would be gone and getting freaky before the hour was up.
The bartender affectionately dubbed “Hangman” waved him over before he finished his circuit of the dark room. “Can I get you a Bud, boy?” Hangman had to be pushing sixty-five, so the nickname gave no insult.
He shook his head. “Looking for my pops. It’s urgent.”
Hangman r
aised an eyebrow and scratched his head with his index finger. The movement dislodged a gray strand or two from his ponytail and sent it hanging into his face. He blew it away as he leaned forward on the bar. “He’s back in the storeroom.” His voice climbed as Kane stalked off. “But I wouldn’t go back there right now.”
Whatever. Everyone knew what the storage room was used for here, and it wasn’t to store booze. Besides, it’s not like his father made a secret of his extra-curricular activities.
No, Malcolm getting busy in the back didn’t surprise him. The surprise came from who he was getting busy with. “Is there anyone in my family you haven’t fucked?”
Charlene looked up from the crate where Malcolm had her bent over. Her elbows were propped beneath her, and her tits bounced perilously close to the rough wood. “Why?” she purred. “You jealous?”
Malcolm didn’t even have the decency to stop drilling her. “Get the fuck out, son. I’m busy here.”
It would serve everyone right if he did exactly what his father demanded. Let Scott pay the price for his own arrogance with a night in jail. Let his father come home to a trashed house and what was probably police surveillance. But walking away would also leave Cue Ball and the prospect hanging out to dry, to say nothing of his mom’s sorry state.
No, walking away wasn’t an option. He fixed his gaze somewhere over his father’s right shoulder. “It’s a family emergency.” The words were code for club emergency, as in drop whatever you’re doing and deal with this first.
His father muttered a foul curse, and a moment later, Kane heard him zip up.
“Aren’t we going to finish, baby?” Charlene whined.
“Some other time,” Malcolm growled.
Sure his father was on his heels, he turned away from his ex and got the fuck out of dodge.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Amanda
For the umpteenth time, Amanda glanced at her rearview mirror, searching for the cause of her disquiet. She spotted nothing but normal traffic on the interstate, but really, what did she expect? A vague paranoia had followed her for days, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why.
She’d pissed off two very powerful men in a short period of time. Neither was the type to simply let things slide, so yeah, the other shoe would likely drop soon.
But there was nothing she could do to mitigate any unknown plans Nathan or her father were making. She needed to keep her eyes on the prize. Focus on the new development.
And Kane.
She swiftly rejected the plaintive voice in the back her head begging for a fix to her love life. That way lay dragons.
It had been only thirty minutes since her very productive meeting with Jared Berringer, and he’d essentially given her carte blanche in organizing the build schedule. He’d also promised her input on the marketing campaign starting after the holidays. She had a flash drive in her coat pocket with about a dozen pitches he gave her to review.
Cooper Construction stood poised on the precipice of a huge leap forward. She only had to play her cards right. Start out on the right foot. Consult her team and rely on their expertise. She’d called Xander and two of her other foremen for a meeting right away. They knew better than anyone what expectations were reasonable and what their men could accomplish.
An hour after her phone calls, she pulled up beside Xander’s truck outside his trailer at the new site. The heels she’d selected for her meeting with Jared looked great with her pantsuit but were clearly a terrible choice for the newly turned dirt. She had to walk on her tiptoes as she approached the short rise of stairs.
Three members of Kane’s team worked nearby on the frame for the concrete slab the crews would pour in a few days.
Xander waited inside the trailer, along with her two other senior foremen, Carl and Gene. The men sprang from their chairs as she stepped into the trailer’s warmth.
“It’s good to see you all. Please, sit.” These guys could give some lessons to her shareholders. It was nice to be greeted with manners for a change.
Carl gave up the chair opposite Xander at the desk and moved to sit beside Gene on the frayed loveseat along the far wall.
She shot him a grateful smile and took the vacated seat. “I know you all are very busy, so I will get right to the point. Berringer is giving us the green light to write our own ticket.”
Xander ran his hand through black wavy hair shot with strands of gray. “What exactly does he mean?”
She’d give her eye teeth to kick off her shoes right now. “He means our build schedule is up to us. Or really, up to the three of you.”
Xander didn’t smile, but his tense features relaxed a fraction. “You want us to formulate a rollout schedule.”
“Exactly.” Her left pinkie toe throbbed, but she refused to let it sap her focus. “I know winter is a slow season for contracts and sales, but with five months of lead time, we need to start building the spec houses for May sales. As far as how many of those projects your teams can successfully juggle, I need to defer to you.”
It took about an hour to hammer out a tentative plan. When they were done, Gene and Carl wasted no time getting back to their crews. Xander stood to see them off. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Griffin, I need to step out to pick up some lumber. No need to lock up when you’re done. My guys outside will keep an eye on things here.”
Her toe now screamed for attention, but she kept her nod placid. “Thank you. I just need to make a quick call, if you don’t mind.”
He lingered briefly at the door. “Take your time.” He may have said something else, but all she could think about was him closing the door so she could take off her goddamn shoes.
When she finally removed the instruments of her torture, she wanted to cry in relief. Her right baby toe was an angry red and swollen to twice its normal size. The left foot was uncomfortable, but no more than normal when she wore these shoes. An inspection of her footwear revealed a tear in the right shoe’s lining, right where her toe had been jammed.
One mystery solved. At this point, she had to figure out how she was going to get back to her car. With her damn shoe finally off, she couldn’t imagine forcing it back on. The other option was walking back through the dirt in her bare feet. Very professional.
She was so busy considering her feet, she didn’t hear anyone climb the stairs to the trailer or even the knob turning to open the door. It’s how she didn’t know Nathan was there until he spoke her name.
“Amanda.”
She jumped.
Dammit.
Way to give him the upper hand. “What are you doing here?” She stood in her bare feet. No way would she have him hover over her any more than their height difference already allowed.
His smile betrayed his simmering cruelty. “I wanted a closer look at where you’re slumming it.”
She eyed the door, but he stood squarely in the path of her only way out. “You have no business here.” Her voice betrayed none of the terror she felt being cornered by him.
“You are my business as long as I say you are.” He advanced, and she took a step back. It wasn’t fast enough. His backhand threw her back against the wall.
She braced for another hit as he cocked back his fist, but a strong, dark hand wrapped around his bicep and yanked him back.
“Get your filthy hands off me,” Nathan sputtered. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“A piece of shit as far as I can tell.” She didn’t recognize the voice, and she couldn’t see the face of her savior.
Nathan strained against the man’s grip. “Who the hell do you think you are? Go back to your own country.”
“This is my country. And I’ll tell you exactly who I am. I’m Staff Sergeant Cyrus Amir, Army Ranger. The man who’s going to kick your privileged, entitled ass if you don’t step away from the lady.”
Cyrus? Yes, he was one of the guys Xander had working outside.
Nathan laughed low in his throat. “Lady? The only woman I see her
e is a whore.”
She didn’t have to see the punch Cyrus threw. She heard the hard crack of his fist against Nathan’s face. And she couldn’t miss the way Nathan’s head snapped back with the force of the blow.
He didn’t fight back at Cyrus, though. He charged at her, wrapping his hands around her neck, cutting off her oxygen before she could gasp for air. “Is this the one? The man who scratched up your pretty face with his beard? The one you were fucking when you were supposed to be mine?” His eyes bulged, and a vein pulsed on his Botox-riddled forehead.
As her vision darkened, she glimpsed several hands pulling at Nathan’s arms and shoulders. Or maybe she was seeing double. Triple? The world was spinning. The trailer—Nathan—everything was getting further away.
Until his iron grip released, and her lungs filled with air. Her knees buckled, and she dropped to the floor in front of the loveseat, gasping like a fish on land. The sounds of violence echoed around her, but her brain struggled to make sense of what was happening only a few feet away.
Nathan lay flat on his back, a man straddling his chest, pounding his face like his fists were mallets. Blood splattered warm onto her skin. She heard yelling, but it was as if her ears were stuffed with cotton.
It wasn’t Cyrus pummeling Nathan. It was a white guy with burns on his neck and the side of his face. Cyrus was trying to pull him off, him and a big man. What was his name? He was Kane’s friend. The one who got shot.
She was still trying to remember his name when the world went dark.
***
Kane
Kane almost ignored his phone when it buzzed in his back pocket. Only the haunted look in his mother’s eyes at the kitchen table the day before made him reconsider.
What if the cops had come back? What if they found the storage unit with the drugs and the guns?
He tugged it out and glanced at the screen, expecting to see the photo Mama V had attached to her contact.
“Brick?” He could count on one hand the number of times his friend had called him. “Everything okay?”