Leave a Trail (30 page)

Before he followed, he finished his breakfast, giving her a little space. He shouldn’t have pushed again. But it didn’t make sense in his head that her father was just out of her life. He knew how close she’d been to him. It sat wrong with him that her father and brothers had no idea that she’d almost died in a fire. He felt certain that if they knew, the bridge between them could be rebuilt. But she didn’t want them to know.

When he went back to their bedroom, she was standing at her little dresser, staring down into the sparse top drawer. He’d been stunned by all the clothes and shoes they’d unpacked a few weeks ago, stuffing two closets full in the B&B. Now, she had very little. And he had no idea how she’d rebuild the kind of wardrobe she’d had. Her style, despite her fondness for cowboy boots, was not exactly something that could be replicated at Walmart. Or even at the mall in Springfield.

He could tell that she sensed him coming up behind her, but she didn’t reject him when he got as close as he could and put his hands on her hips. Brushing her hair to the side, and with a lingering kiss to her bare right shoulder and its lovely freckles—he was a fan of this halter she was wearing—he murmured, “I’m sorry. I won’t say more about it.”

“I can’t deal, Badge. I need to keep that door closed. Locked. Key thrown away.” She tipped her head, extending the line of her neck for him, and he kissed from the ball of her shoulder up to her ear, letting his beard brush invisible lines over her skin. He knew how she liked that. He felt her pulse beating faster beneath his lips. When he nipped lightly on her skin, he felt her moan as much as heard it.

“I know, babe. I’m sorry I wasn’t listening. I love you. I want you happy. I want you whole.”

Almost of their own volition, his hands pushed forward, from her hips to her belly, his fingers sliding just under the waistband of her little shorts. She wasn’t wearing underwear.

More than a month since the fire. More than a month since they’d been intimate. In the hospital, he’d felt too worried and protective to get unmanageably horny. He’d barely thought of sex. But in the days that he’d had her home—in
their
home, in
their
bed, her body and his together with little between them—he was starting to have some trouble. But she was still hurt.

His erection uncomfortably huge and digging into her back, Badger canted his hips away, making a slice of space between them. But she moaned quietly and followed his movement, keeping their bodies in contact.

“Badge.” The word was barely a whisper, but it was sultry with desire.

“Babe, we can’t.” Even as he said it, he pushed one hand into her shorts, gliding over the silken skin of her belly and into her curls. Her wet curls. Usually she kept everything trimmed and neat, just a little triangle, but of course since the fire things had gotten more…natural. Until just now, since the fire, he’d seen her a few times, but this was the first time he’d touched her. He liked the curls, soft and wet on his fingers.

He brushed a fingertip over the slick bud of her clit, and she twitched hard and bent forward, pressing her ass more tightly to his body. His cock ached. As much to himself as to her, he said again, “We can’t, babe.” But his hand, moving more firmly on her, now in her, wasn’t listening. His cock, rebelling against the bonds of his jeans, wasn’t listening. Adrienne, writhing in his arms, breathless, wasn’t listening.

“We can,” she panted.

“How?”

“Like this. Just like this. From behind. Hold me up.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” But he was opening his jeans. The way they were rocking together was already too much for his body to ignore.

She pawed with her one free hand at her shorts, but he brushed her away and took them down himself, being careful of the sleeve over her hurt leg.

He managed the condom with one hand and muttered, “Achievement unlocked.”

She looked over her shoulder; her face was flushed and gorgeous. “What?”

“Nothing,” he chuckled. “Just had a little geek leak.” To stave off further inquiry, he bent forward, pushing her over, too, and slid a hand over her firm, satiny ass and between her legs, where she was even wetter than before. “You sure about this?”

“Jesus, Badge. Yes. Please!”

He slid into her, and oh
fuck
, she felt good. She cried out as he surged, sinking deeply, so deeply into her, her body constricting tightly around him, holding him, encompassing him completely.

Her weak leg buckled a little as he rocked backwards, and he clutched her more tightly, one hand still between her legs, the other arm across her midsection. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Don’t stop.”

“I don’t think I could, babe. God, you feel good.” He shifted his hold, bringing his hand from her waist, pushing it up under her top to cup a breast. Her nipple was a hard little pebble on his fingers. He took it between his thumb and forefinger and pinched lightly, savoring the way it grew even harder in his grasp. When he did so, she moaned and dropped her head backwards to his shoulder. And her leg buckled again.

Rather than ask if she was okay—she was writhing on him so much, her hips constantly active, that he knew she was, and he was beyond words, anyway—he simply lifted her off the floor. Holding her tightly to his chest, one hand clutching her breast, the other firm but still on her clit, the movements of their joined bodies sliding her against his palm, he locked his legs and thrust into her as hard and fast as he could.

They were both grunting in time with his thrusts, in time with each other, a feral harmony. She slid a little in his grip and he shifted his hold, his fingers inadvertently tightening substantially on her breast. She flinched and gasped loudly.

“Oh, sorry. I’m sorry.”

“No,” she gasped. “That was—that was—wow.” So he did it again, pinching hard, but more controlled this time. Her body went taut, and he felt her flood over his cock. “Oh, wow. Oh, fuck. Badge—Badge! Oh, GOD.”

He thought that was the first time he’d ever heard Adrienne say ‘fuck,’ but he didn’t have the attention to spare to marvel long at that. It was hot, though. He let himself go, moving frantically while she pulsed and twitched in his arms, around his cock, until the knot of need inside him released. He came so hard he thought for a second he might lose consciousness, the tension in his body stopping blood and breath.

When he came back to himself, she was pliant in his arms, taking deep, calm breaths. He turned his head and, with his cheek, brushed her hair, damp with perspiration, back from her temple so that he could kiss her there. “Okay?”

She nodded. “Better than okay. Perfect. I love you. You’re all I need.”

~oOo~

He was late to the Keep, which meant a fine and a deadly glare from Isaac. But he couldn’t say it wasn’t totally worth it. He hadn’t showered after his encounter with Adrienne; he could smell her—them—on him. He thought today was going to be a good day.

But when he slid into his seat at the table, all of his brothers eyeing him, he understood that the meeting was a heavy one. They all seemed to be heavy these days, but this one looked to be significant even so.

Isaac glared at him for an uncomfortably long time, even after he’d apologized. But finally he spoke. “You see the news, Badger?”

“What, boss?” That question seemed to come out of some point beyond left field. “No. Guess not.”

“Didn’t think so. Dom—you mind repeating yourself?”

Dom sat forward. “There’s big trouble in LA, looks like. Got some national attention.”

Badger tried to catch up, fill in the blanks. “Wait—LA. You mean the Scorps? Bart?”

“Yeah. Hoosier is trying to secede—the whole LA charter, and he’s trying to bring the other West Coast charters him.”

“You heard this on the
news
?”

“No, asshole. I got it from Bart. What’s on the news is a bomb at the Scorps’ bike shop. Took out most of the block—their clubhouse and shop, both.”

“Shit. Bart’s okay?”

Isaac answered. “Yeah. No casualties. They got a tip, cleared the place—even got most of the bikes out. That tip confirmed it, though—Sam ordered it. The Scorps are having themselves a civil war.”

“Tip from who?” If it came from inside the Scorpions mother charter, then Badger figured a civil war was just the beginning of the chaos.

“Bart didn’t say.”

Show crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe Rick? They’re close.”

Tommy asked, “Does it matter who?”

“Sure it does. If Sam’s intel guy is feeding out Sam’s intel, then it matters a lot. It could help us. Or it could
kill
us. Because all our shit with the Perros is chained up with the Scorpions. They break, what does that mean? Does that give us a way out? Or does that bring us even more fucking grief?” Show sat up. “Because I have had my fill of it. I have fuckin’ gorged on grief and pain, and I am done.”

“What are you saying, brother?” Len’s voice was sharp, and Badger knew Len had heard the same thing he had. In fact the whole table had tensed.

Show looked around, picking up on the vibe. “Easy, brothers. I’m just saying that we need to discount nothing. I want to keep us and ours protected. There’s been enough fuckin’ bloodshed in our house. We need to know how a rift in the Scorpions affects us. Because it will affect us. We are in bed with them. They are not some piddly-shit little club like we are. They have sixty-three charters across the globe. If they break, every MC with a foot over the line will feel it in some way. And LA? They are ground zero for Scorpions’ main business. No way Sam lets them go—and I don’t see how Santaveria lets them, either. That’s bloody business, what they’re trying. And Santaveria has got to be so far up Sam’s ass over this he could see daylight. Unrest in the Scorps is a problem for the Perros. And that means we all feel it. Question is—is it an opportunity, or is it a crisis?”

Double A cleared his throat. He was still new to the table, sitting in Havoc’s seat. He was smaller, younger, lesser in every way than Havoc. He didn’t fill that seat very well. Not yet, anyway. “Can I ask a question?”

Isaac nodded. “Shoot, brother.”

“I know I’m an idiot, but I still don’t understand. What is LA trying to do?”

“What they
were
trying to do is set up a secession—take the LA charter as a whole and leave the club. Start on their own. They’ve taken some hard losses with the cartel, and they have not had Sam’s ear the way Hoosier thinks they should. Dom, jump in if I miss somethin’, but Hoosier made his intention known at a leadership meeting in Vegas and did it all right out in front. So, looks like Sam tried to bomb him back in line. Remains to be seen if he succeeded.”

Dom shook his head. “No. Bart says they’re still out.”

“But all the assets—the shop, everything—that’s all Scorpions property, right?” Badger struggled to get his head around all this.

“Yeah. They just flattened their own property, though.” Isaac stared at the carved braid in the table. Badger could see his brain working. “It’s another damn piece that doesn’t fit. Why blow up a block of LA real estate? How does that fix Sam’s problem? How does that get Santaveria off his back?”

Badger tried out an answer. “Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s as simple as Sam going off half-cocked. I mean, fuck. Look what happened in our own clubhouse, when he was all fired up about the movie. Those assholes were out of control. No respect for anything, and no concern for consequences. Rolled right over us and then rode to Hollywood to set up something not much different from what he tried to tear us apart over.”

Isaac stared at Badger, obviously working what he’d said into the equation. “That gives me no ease, little brother. None at all. Sam going Scarface on everybody does not make our situation better.”

“Let’s think about that a minute, though.” Show put his elbows on the table and leaned in. “Sam’s been top dog a long fuckin’ time. Thirty years at least. He’s been arm in arm with Santaveria almost half of that. Could it be as simple as overkill? The Perros deal with their problems with nuclear warheads, no matter how small. Could this be Sam taking a page from Santaveria’s book, trying to shut down trouble decisively?”

Tommy jumped in again. “Why do we care why Sam did it? It’s a Scorpions thing, right—an internal issue or like that?”

Isaac sort of snarled at Tommy, but Badger answered. “Shows weakness.” Isaac and Show both gave Badger their full attention. The rest of the table followed suit, but Badger kept his answer directed to Tommy. “If Sam blew up one of his major assets to prove a point, and that point didn’t get proved, then that’s a huge crack. Scorps LA are whole”—he glanced over at Isaac for confirmation and got it—“and are still looking to break away. Then all Sam accomplished was to destroy something that might have given some or all of the LA crew a reason to stay. He took their home away. Now they need a new one anyway.”

Suddenly, Badger realized he understood it completely. No longer working it out as he spoke, now he saw it all. It was like Adrienne’s life. Her father, and then the fire, had torn away all her moorings to what had been, and all she was left with was what could be. “Clean slate. New start. Sam just lost his civil war before it even started.” He looked around the table. “This helps us. It doesn’t hurt us.”

“He ran the ball into the wrong end zone.” That was Tommy, getting it—in his own way.

Isaac gave him a lopsided grin. “Good man, Badge. That makes damn fine sense.”

“We gotta know how the cartel figures.” Len had spent most of the meeting listening. Badger knew he’d been absorbing the information, looking at it strategically. Doing his job. “What I see is Santaveria isn’t gonna give much of a shit who’s running his product, as long as his product gets run. But he’s not gonna allow a vacuum. He has competitors, too. He can’t take his routes offline, or he’ll lose more than just the take. So, if the LA crew breaks away…he’s gonna need somebody to pick up his product at the border.”

“But not necessarily California.”

Isaac cocked his head. “What’re you thinkin’, Dom?”

“Just that the border is longer than just Cali, and Santaveria’s reach is long. What if he brings it up through the Southwest instead—Texas or New Mexico. If you think about it, maybe he controls it better if he sends it up the middle. He’s never farther than, like, a thousand miles or so. If he’s thought of that, maybe he’s not so inclined to help Sam out.”