...or something: Ronacks Motorcycle Club (20 page)

"Doesn't matter what I'd like." Swiss's mouth softened. "We all care about you. If you needed to be protected all week, all month, or the rest of your life, we would do that for you."

"But, I don’t want that," she said, her chest squeezing at the sentiment. "I want..."

"To feel safe?" asked Swiss.

She sighed. "...or something."

Mel returned to her side. "Battery isn't answering his cell. He's probably riding."

A call from home would only distract him. Without knowing the situation on the outside, but knowing he wanted to catch the man responsible, she only put added dangers on him.

"Nevermind." She lifted her hands in the air. "Don't bother him again. I'm done."

She walked away from them and headed toward the stairs. There was nothing she could do without Battery either giving the club his okay or escorting her out himself.

Halfway up the stairs, the front door downstairs banged opened. She paused.

"Bree!" said Battery.

She pivoted and ran down the steps.

Her heart in her throat, she stopped at the sight of Battery and let her body sag forward. He caught her, but instead of holding her, he held her away from him and shook her.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" His intense gaze bore into her, and his angry words wounded her already sore and pained heart.

"I...I..." She clamped her lips together on a scream of indignation and pulled out of his grasp. "I don't want you out there with a maniac anymore."

"I can take care of myself." He ran his hand down his beard. "Is it too much to ask that you stay calm, eat, and wait."

"That's all I've been doing, Battery." She looked away from him. "I understand you wanting to handle things yourself, but...you're not just some biker or some man who is dealing with business, and I can be patient and uninvolved. You're Battery. You're mine. It's killing me to have you out there, risking your life, for me."

His head snapped back, and his brows went higher. "Upstairs."

"Why? So you can talk over my head and pacify me for another day, another week?" she asked, planting her feet solidly on the floor and ready to stand up to him.

He motioned with his chin. "Go upstairs."

Disappointed that nothing she said helped convince him to try something else to end the trouble, she turned and walked up the stairs and into the living quarters she shared with him. She barely had time to catch her breath, and he told her to sit.

She sat on the couch.

He stood in the middle of the room. Knowing when she'd pushed him too far, she waited.

Battery stared at her. She swallowed, uneasy about the mood he was in.

This wasn't her Battery. Her Battery loved her. The man in front of her acted as if she was going to leave his life any moment. As if the sight of her caused him pain.

"You're letting them win by going after them yourself," she whispered. "If they want to hurt me, they know keeping you away from me will eventually kill me."

He frowned. "I'm not leaving you."

"You are. More and more every day this continues. Can't you see that?"

He shook his head. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe not, but that's because you won't tell me anything that is happening outside." She scooted to the edge of the couch. "Who is after me?"

"I can't say."

"Can't or won't?" She hugged her middle.

"It doesn't matter." He walked over and sat on the coffee table in front of her. "You have to believe me, carny-girl. Knowing the truth. Knowing who they are. Knowing why they want to hurt you isn't going to help you."

"You don't know that," she whispered.

He nodded. "Yeah, I do."

She bowed her head and inhaled deeply. There was no getting through to him.

"This has nothing to do with trusting you, but you trusting me, Batt." She looked up. "I love you."

"I know you do."

"Then, I'm begging you not to hurt me by keeping the truth from me." She blinked the moisture from her vision. "I don't think I could ever get past you not letting me know about something that concerns my life and instead pushing me into a position where I have no power, no thoughts, no right to verbally tell you my opinion."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"It is." She leaned forward and picked up his hand, held it to her cheek. "Maybe you don't understand how important you are to me. I love how you take care of me, and I would never want you to stop. But, I'm not a little girl. My whole life, I've always taken care of myself. Don't take that from me when you've given me so much more."

He stood. She refused to let go of his hand. He sat back down. She squeezed his fingers. If she had to get on her knees and beg, scream, cry to him, she would. He couldn't see that she was losing him to something bigger than she could understand. She refused to let someone else take him from her.

"Please, Batt."

He inhaled loudly, and his eyes bore into her.

"Please," she whispered, refusing to give up.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he nodded. She stayed still in front of him, holding his hand, knowing whatever he held inside tormented him. They were together. He shouldn't have to do everything himself.

"The man who is after you killed your parents," he said.

"My parents were murdered?" Her spine straightened in surprise over the information. "How do you know that?"

He looked down. She scooted until she was almost on her knees in front of him.

"I just do," he said.

"My parents died," she said, urging him on. "I don't remember them. Social services never gave me any information, except it happened when I was little. Too little to feel the loss. I figured they died in a car accident. It happens to people all the time."

"It wasn't an accident." He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "The man who killed them is involved in an underground Russian organization—"

"Like the mob...or something?"

"...or something." He cleared his throat. "Your dad and mom owned Pine Bar and Grill—"

"Oh, my God." She covered her throat. "The bar in Haugan?"

He nodded.

"The owner." She stabbed her finger toward the window. "The older lady who hired me?"

Battery nodded.

"She thought I looked like someone she knew. Did she know my parents? Is that why you wouldn't let me work there?" she asked.

Battery exhaled. "Bree, one question at a time."

"Oh, my God," she mumbled. "My parents were killed. They owned a bar. The man who murdered them is in a Russian mob. Why did he kill them?"

"Slow down." He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. "Your dad let the Russians use the back room at the bar for their private business. It became something other than what he thought, and it got your mom and dad killed."

"Because this is a bad man and a bad group of people." Her heart raced. "That makes sense."

"Bree." Battery released her hand and held her face. "The point is this man knows you survived the shootings, and he wants revenge. He wants to take out the last member of your family."

Bree shook her head. "That's stupid. I don't even remember my parents or the murders."

"I don't make the rules on how other people run their life. That's why I'm trying to get to the man before he can get to you." Battery's voice deepened. "Now, you know. I expect you to let me do my job."

"What are you going to do with him if you catch him?" She shuddered. "Are you going to let the police handle it then?"

"That's not your concern," he said.

She blew her cheeks out and stared at him. In a gust of expelled air, she said, "This is my fault."

"Bree, I just told you—"

She waved her hand. "I know, but I went to the bar to get a job. The woman thought I looked familiar to her. She thought maybe I looked like someone off one of her television shows. I bet she's hooked in with the mob or the Russians, whoever that guy is with that wants revenge. I bet if you go talk to the owner—her name is Patty. She'll lead you right to him."

"Maybe." Battery stood and walked over to the window. "Until I can get there in the morning, it's important that you stay inside, Bree. Don't give my men trouble and stop looking for a phone. You won't find one."

"I won't." She stood and joined him by the window. Hugging him from the back, she laid her head on his leather vest. "I can't believe my parents were killed. Somehow, all this time, I assumed they were just dead."

He turned and held her. "I'm sure social services thought it was best that you never dwelled on something you had no control over. They're gone, carny-girl. It's all the same. You grew up without them."

"Yeah." She swallowed the lump of emotion in her throat. "I guess you knew all this because it happened in Haugan. That's so weird. I thought they were from Washington. At least that's what I figured since the state took over my care."

He rubbed her back. "I think that's enough talk for tonight."

She lifted her head and gazed at him. "You're tired?"

"Beat."

"Me, too."

He lifted his chin and motioned for her to walk. "Let's go to bed and get you settled."

She walked beside him and leaned against his side, her arm on his stomach. Inside, she felt blah and empty. Learning about parents she couldn't remember brought out emotions she was unfamiliar with, and she couldn’t claim it came from sadness. The thought that her parents lived, loved, and were murdered was no different than her assuming they'd died in a car accident.

And yet, it was different. It was ugly. It was brutal. It was personal.

T
wo days after telling Bree who was after her, Battery walked through the back door into Pine Bar and Grill ten minutes before the place opened for business. At least Bree recalled the conversation with the owner of the bar about her looking familiar. Her information could give him his first lead on where to find the Russians.

He'd left a voice message yesterday when the bar was closed, and the owners either hadn't checked or refused to call him back. He stepped around the walk-in freezer.

The older couple who owned the bar stood in the kitchen talking about orders with a female employee. Battery cleared his throat to get their attention. And attention came quickly and recognizable.

Patty reached for her husband's arm. The older man frowned. "The place is closed yet. Best be getting outside and waiting until the front door opens."

"Not here for a drink." Battery approached them, glanced at the employee and said, "We've got business to discuss, and you'll probably feel more comfortable if your employees were nowhere around while I talk."

The older man stepped forward. "Listen here—"

"Now." Battery never took his gaze off the man.

"Shirleen, go out and wait with the others. Give us a few moments with Mr...." The man's mouth tightened.

Once they were alone, Battery faced Patty. "I want to know where the man is that came here and talked to you about my woman."

Patty shook her head. "Nobody has been here."

"Bullshit." He turned to her husband. "I want information, and if I get it, I'll leave you two to live with the fact that what you've done could get an innocent woman killed if I don't stop him. If you don't talk, I'm not leaving, and I don't think you want to find out what will happen when the rest of Ronacks come in here to find out what's keeping me."

"John, tell him," said Patty.

"We don't owe you information." John glared. "You and your friends always coming in here, starting trouble. We'd sell this place if we could, but they stop anyone who becomes interested in taking over."

"Who?" asked Battery, knowing it wasn't Ronacks who visited the bar.

Patty sniffed. "He goes by Boykov. We don't know where he stays when he's in town. It's not at the hotel, we've checked."

"Think hard." Battery concentrated on keeping Patty talking. "What's he drive? Are there other men with him?"

She nodded. "Two other men. They speak with a Russian accent."

Fucking-bingo. "Car?"

"I-I don't know," said Patty, looking toward her husband for answers.

"Escalade. Black. You can't miss it in this town if they're still here." John put his arm around his wife. "Please, that's all we know. Leave my wife alone."

With the information they handed over, he had a better chance at finding them. Battery schooled his features and held the older man's gaze. Three men driving an expensive car with foreign accents couldn't hide in Montana.

"If they come back, tell them I've been looking for them." Battery stepped back. "They'll know where to find me."

He turned and retraced his steps, ignoring the dingy walls, the same white tile with the gray flecks, and the smell of liquor and smoke that fed his nightmares. Outside, he inhaled the fresh air and strode to his motorcycle.

Rod talked on his phone and held up a finger for Battery to wait. He pulled out a cigarette and never got to light the end because Rod stepped toward him motioning toward the phone.

"I can't understand her, Prez." Rod thrust the phone at him. "Call came through on Mel's phone."

He put the cell to his ear and Bree's crying constricted every damn muscle in his body. "Bree?"

"Oh my God, Battery. You need to come home," she said, sobbing through the words.

"What happened?" He tilted his bike with one hand and started the engine.

"Duke's dead."

His jaw locked and he muttered, "How?"

"Someone shot him," she said. "H-he's still bleeding."

He motioned with his hand for Rod to go. "Where are you at in the house?"

"Downstairs."

His chest pounded. "Who's there?"

"Swiss, LeWorth, Sander, Mel and oh God, I don't know what to do. Raelyn's at home and she doesn't know about Duke. There's blood..." Her voice gave out, and he barely picked up the last part of what she'd said.

"Stay there, carny-girl. Do not leave that room. You stick by Swiss's side."

She whined into the phone, and the ragged gusts of her breath filled his ear.

"Promise me, Bree," he ordered.