Risking It All: A Hellfire Riders MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 14) (3 page)

Like he never meant to stay.

I’ve got a choice now. I can try again. I can make another bet. I can make it so easy for him.

But I don’t really see the point. This is the story of my life. I have to fight tooth and claw for everything I want. But no one I’ve been with has wanted me for more than a fuck. They sure as hell never wanted me enough to fight for me.

Jack let me go so easily. Do I really think thirty more nights will make a difference? Because I believed they would last time. I thought for sure he cared enough to hold on. I risked my heart on that belief.

I risked my heart and I lost.

My chest feels like someone is drilling a hole past my ribs as I pull on my boots, then sit on the stairs and stare at my phone. Last night, I wrote and erased a million messages to him. My throat is a solid ache as I write one more.

Our bet was for a month. That ended last night. So I guess we’re done?

My thumb hovers over ‘send.’ That question mark. Why am I
asking
him whether we’re done? Jesus. By not showing up last night, he already said we are.

That question mark just drags this out.

Before I can think it over, I replace the mark with a period, then hit ‘send.’ And I wait. I don’t even know what I’m waiting for.

Yes, I do. I’m hoping for a response. I’m hoping Jack says he lost track of the days—that he intended to ask for more. No reply comes. That doesn’t mean he won’t answer. If he’s on the road, he probably won’t check his phone right away. If he’s at the clubhouse, the message won’t hit his phone until he leaves the property. Reception is shit out at the ranch.

I know all that. Yet every passing minute drills a deeper hole into my chest and it hurts so fucking bad. Only two things might numb it: a bottle of whiskey, or the wind in my face.

I already drank all my whiskey. So I head for my bike and ride.

Jack

“The way I see it, we’ve got three options,” the prez says. “We let Valentine be, we remind him it’s best to keep his mouth shut, or we put a bullet in his head.”

As the Riders’ warlord, I’d carry out two of those options, using my fists or my gun. They probably won’t be needed. I can see the prez is leaning toward the first option. But he’s leaving the question open for discussion.

It’ll be a short discussion. A meeting like this doesn’t include most of the brothers. There’s just the VP, the enforcer, and me in the prez’s office today—the two men who’ll decide Valentine’s fate, and the two men who’ll make the boss’s orders happen.

Thorne knows Valentine best. One of the old-timers, he’s got steel in his hair and a leather kutte worn thin over the years. He was the VP for the Steel Titans before the Riders folded that club into our own. Valentine came with them.

“He never could keep his mouth shut,” Thorne says now. “He’ll flap his gums to any Hangman who’ll listen.”

“And it’ll all be hot air,” Stone Wall adds from his seat next to Thorne’s. “That boy likes to exaggerate the size of his dick. Anything he says will only be about making us look like shit so that he looks better.”

“Do we care if he’s talking shit?” the prez asks.

Stone shakes his head. As enforcer, his role isn’t much different from mine. We both only answer to the prez. Stone makes sure that people outside the club do whatever we’ve asked them to do. If someone sees Stone coming, they’ve got one chance to fall in line. If someone sees me coming, it’s already too late. I take care of the shit that goes unasked, making certain everything runs smoothly—and if it doesn’t, I clean up the mess.

Valentine is a mess, but only a small one. He had it in for Lily. She took him down. So he turned in his colors, throwing shit at us all on his way out, but making sure most of the disrespect landed on her. I can still her face as she silently absorbed every insult, her spine rigid and rage flushing her skin.

Killing isn’t something I like or dislike; it’s just something I do. But I’d enjoy putting a bullet between his baby blues.

“Talking shit does us a favor,” Stone says. “If he makes us sound weak, they’ll underestimate our strength. That’ll give us the early advantage.”

“He’ll just puff himself up,” Thorne agrees. “I can’t see that anything he’ll say is a threat to us. He’ll talk about the brothers, their ranks, but it’s not anything the Hangmen couldn’t have learned from anyone with eyes.”

From behind his desk, the prez turns his gaze on me, waiting. I make sure things run smoothly. That means I do the risk assessment.

That means my word weighs more heavily than any other.

“He doesn’t know anything worth telling,” I say. “He wasn’t on-site when we took down the Eighty-Eight. Maybe he’ll tell them the Riders took out Reichmann and his crew, but they’ll figure it’s more of his bullshit because he won’t have any details to share. The feds believe a cartel was behind it. The Eighty-Eight’s mother chapter is convinced the DEA burned them down. No one’s thinking we did.”

“Will they start looking at us if he says so?”

“He’ll only bring pain on himself if he does. Not from us.” The Riders would shut him up if it came to that. But we wouldn’t get the chance. “Because that would mean he was with us when we took out the Eighty-Eight, and their California chapters still have strong business ties to the Hangmen. The Hangmen would hand Valentine over so that they can find out more. Then they might start looking at us. But he’d be dead before they do.”

And I’d head out to clean up a much bigger mess—first by spilling a river of blood, then by mopping it up. Our assault on the Eighty-Eight’s compound will never come back on the Riders, not as long as I’m alive.

The prez’s eyes narrow. “So maybe that’s all the reminder he needs. If he opens his mouth about the Eighty-Eight, it won’t be us stringing him up. It’ll be his new friends.”

“I’ll see that he gets the message.” And when the prez keeps eyeing me, I tell him, “I’ll deliver it gently.”

He smiles a bit before looking to the others. No arguments from them.

So the decision’s been made. Business done, Stone gives a heavy sigh like he’s disappointed. “I guess it’s best. It might start some shit if we whack their new boy.”

“Shit’s going to start anyway,” I say.

Thorne nods his agreement before looking to the prez. “Why hasn’t it yet? We’ve been expecting it for the past month.”

“They haven’t been as successful recruiting local muscle as they were in other chapters.” The prez moved quickly when the Hangmen came into the region, reaching out to other MCs and offering our support and protection. He nods to me. “Blowback figures they’ve also had their hands full taking over the Eighty-Eight’s operations.”

“But now they’ve had time to get a handle on it,” I add. Running meth, girls, and anything else their business partners tell them to run. “So they’ll be making their move soon.”

Stone shakes his head. “You think Valentine has any idea how lucky he is?”

“No,” the prez says.

Because the little shit didn’t just insult Lily on his way out, though that would have been enough to earn Valentine a lesson in respect. He all but pissed on the Riders’ colors. If the Hangmen hadn’t rolled into the Eighty-Eight’s place at the same time Val walked, he’d have been schooled several times over by now. But although the prez would probably like to pound his fist through Valentine’s face himself, he’s not important enough to warrant the effort.

The meeting’s over, but I stay put as Thorne and Stone head out of the office. There’s business that even the VP and enforcer haven’t been looped into.

The prez rocks back in his chair. “You hear anything from Creek?”

One of the Devil’s Hangmen, and an undercover FBI agent. A man without family ties or friends, he wouldn’t have expected to be recognized—or to run into me, an operative he served with years ago. But I’m not interested in exposing him. He’s here to discover who’s providing the Devil’s Hangmen with their merchandise, to map their supply line, and eventually take the network out. As long as he doesn’t touch the Riders, I’m willing to exchange info with him.

“Nothing worth repeating,” I tell the prez now. Aside from Lily, he’s the only Rider aware of Creek’s background.

He nods, but by the way his expression tightens I see he’s already thinking about something that doesn’t have anything to do with Creek. “The Hangmen will be looking to make us fall in line. Do I need to worry about Jenny?”

His woman. Hurting her wouldn’t make him fall in line. It’d destroy him—but not before he flayed every Hangman to the bone.

“Their prez won’t come after you. Not through her. Croc is looking to cut your legs out from under you so he can step on you later. That means taking your strength.” The Riders’ officers and the strongest patchholders. “But put Hashtag and Scarecrow on Jenny, anyway.”

All at once he’s rigid. “Why?”

“Because you’ll worry anyway when this shit starts going down, and you’ll worry less if you know they’re looking over her.”

He eases back a bit. “I’d tell you to fuck off, but you’re right.”

That doesn’t warrant a response. It’s my job to know what the prez needs. He needs Jenny. So I’ll do whatever necessary to make sure he always has her.

Now he pushes up out of his seat, goes to the window overlooking the pines behind the clubhouse. “First the Eighty-Eight. Now the Hangmen. I bet that nomad’s life started looking good again these past few months.”

Because of the shit that’s been coming our way? Escaping trouble was never why I considered taking a nomad’s patch all those years ago—still wearing the Riders’ colors, but roaming rather than living in one place. No, I considered leaving Pine Valley because the club was the only reason I had to stay. I’ll be a Rider until I die but it’s not enough. A man’s got to belong somewhere and I didn’t feel I belonged here.

But over the course of a few months, it all changed. The owner of the garage where I was working offered to sell it to me. Shortly after that, Lucifer died, Saxon was voted in as the Riders’ prez, and he appointed me as his VP.

Then Lily Burns came home from Afghanistan and fought her way into the club. Fucking Lily Burns, with engine oil beneath her fingernails and steel behind her gray eyes. With her husky laugh and her endless legs. With the fire inside her that keeps blazing no matter how many motherfuckers have tried stamping it out.

I had plenty of reasons to stay after that. Taking care of this shit is just the price of belonging, so it’s one I’ll gladly pay.

Besides, I don’t mind trouble. It gives me more to do. “Croc will come after the others. Probably not the old-timers, but he might try to pull them in because it’ll be a kick in the balls to see them wearing the Hangmen colors. If he does, he’ll target their kids, their old ladies. But I expect he’ll threaten the younger brothers first, especially anyone with standing in the club. The only one he won’t touch is Lily. Croc’s not going to recruit a woman.”

The prez’s eyebrows shoot together. “Will Croc come after you?”

“Maybe.” Or try again to have me killed. He would if he knew I snapped his enforcer’s neck.

“Then he might go after Zoomie,” the prez says, then narrows his eyes when I frown at him. “You said they target old ladies.”

“Lily doesn’t belong to me.” She’ll never belong to anyone—a fact that I’m all too fucking aware of. She’s invited me to share her bed for a short time. That doesn’t make her mine.

“You think that matters? They look at you, at her, and they’ll have a way to come at you. You don’t see that?”

No. I only see Lily.

But fuck if he isn’t probably right. Weighing risks means calculating them. I take most threats at face value and don’t always add in the shithead factor. When assholes like Croc see Lily, they only see pussy—and that pussy belongs to anyone who’s sticking their dick into it. What she really is doesn’t matter.

All at once my chest is tight as hell. All this time, I figured she was safe. “I’ll look after her.”

The prez snorts out a laugh. “You think you need to?”

I won’t be able to stop myself. But I keep my mouth shut on that point.

He reads me, anyway. He’s wearing a grin as he stands. “You’re fucked, my brother.”

I know it. But I was long before this.

• • •

I shouldn’t have made Lily follow through on that first bet. Shouldn’t have tied her up and fucked her. It was another situation I took at face value: She would never screw another Rider. She would never back out of a bet. And she hated me. That all added up to my one chance to have her—and when she hated me afterward, nothing would change.

But I didn’t include the Lily factor. She fights until the end. It doesn’t matter if she’s been kicked to the ground. She’ll just get on her feet and try again.

And all these years, she didn’t hate me. Instead I learned every time I defended her, she thought I was cutting her down. For five years, I hurt her. What I thought was hate was just Lily fighting back.

So I got what I wanted. I won the bet. I tied her up, tasted every inch of her, and pumped her full of my cock.

Then I had to let her go. Riding away in the morning was like ripping a knife through my own gut. Knowing how bad I’d fucked up. Knowing that if I’d just asked, she’d have taken me into her bed without any goddamn bet between us. Knowing she’d never give me another chance.

All that won’t compare to what’s coming. I figure the only reason she made the second bet was because of what she was crying against my mouth as her pussy clenched around my cock the first night.
I love the way you fuck.

As if there’s any other way to fuck a woman like Lily—as if every time was the first, the last. The only.

Soon it
will
be the last. I burned through the time so quick the first two weeks. Every night, having her. Under me, over me. Every way I could get her. I just couldn’t fucking stay away—until I realized how few days I had remaining. Until I realized how I wasn’t giving her any room to breathe. Treating her like she was mine, though nothing could push her away faster.

Now I only have six nights left. Just six. And when I’m down to one…I’m fucked. Riding away the first night was hard. This time it’ll kill me.

So I won’t be going. That’ll be when the real fight between Lily and me begins.

Until then, I’ve been hoarding the remaining nights like a miser counting out each penny in his pocket. Tonight’s another penny to spend, and if I do, only five will be left. But it’s early afternoon. Lily’s got today off. If she’s home, I can make this one night stretch to include part of the day. I’ll taste her again. Her hot mouth, her smooth skin, and the sweet juicy heaven between her thighs. And when she’s wet enough, after she comes against my tongue, I’ll bury my cock deep inside her tight cunt and stay as long as I can.

My dick’s hard by the time I reach the end of the clubhouse driveway. I pause at the stop and check my phone.

A message from Lily. Anticipation is hot and hard. Then each word of her message hits me like a bullet, filling my gut with lead.

Our bet was for a month. That ended last night. So I guess we’re done.

Done.

I read the word a dozen times before backing up to
a month.
That wasn’t the bet. She gave me thirty nights. I’ve been counting every single one. Apparently she’s been counting differently.

And I wondered if she’d want more time when our bet was over. Now I have my answer.

We’re done.

Slowly I put my phone away. My cock’s so fucking stiff that the tug of denim as I push the device into my pocket kicks off a throbbing ache. I’m hotter and harder now than before I got her message. She thinks this is over? Fuck no. This fight’s just begun. And my gloves are coming off.

Because I’m
never
going to be done.