Authors: JC Emery
“No—yes,” she says quickly, and then corrects, “I don’t know.”
“We’re not staying,” I say. My body buzzes with fear and anticipation of all the awful things that could happen here. If I can get us in the car, we’ll be safe. But here in this building with who knows how many old rusted locks and broken latches? Not just no, but hell no. I am
not
staying here.
“Okay, if you’re sure,” she mutters. Nothing in her voice or demeanor tells me that she trusts me. I can’t blame her. I shouldn’t be trusting me, either. I just can’t stop thinking of the ways that man could get in here and how we’re isolated enough from anyone else that nobody could hear our screams. The custodian could be anywhere on campus, and we no longer have campus security—they got laid off. So it’s likely just her and me and that crazy bastard outside. No and thank you. We have to go.
At the back door, I tell Cheyenne to stay put, and then I rush around to the windows, looking to see if the man is anywhere in sight. Thankfully, this part of the building has pretty good visibility and not much blockage. Taking a deep breath, I grab Cheyenne’s hand again, tighten my grip, and rush out the door with her. It’s a short distance to my car, parked in the third spot from the door. I don’t pause to look around, for fear that I might trip to waste time.
“It’s unlocked!” I shout to Cheyenne as I let go of her hand and we part at the front of the car. She heads for the passenger door and I for the driver’s side. In a matter of seconds we’re inside the Jeep and locking our doors and then the backseat doors as well. I start her up, and we peel out of the lot with nobody else in sight. Still, I don’t stop shaking until a few minutes later when we’re pulling through the gates of the Forsaken Motorcycle Club’s clubhouse.
Grady
WE’RE AROUND THE
table and about to vote on what to do with Junior. We just got through a waste-of-time rundown of what happened at The 101 Club. We’ve figured out that we don’t got shit—no car, no witnesses, no evidence, and no fucking tracks. Which is just goddamn wonderful if you ask me. We didn’t catch the car that was used to get away when some prick fired a couple of rounds into the place. Didn’t even get a glimpse of it, like it’s a fucking ghost.
Jim brought it to the club to talk about moving Junior out of the safe house and into someplace more permanent. We’ve talked about this twice now, and moving him has been voted down both times. I already asked him if this was Ruby holding his dick again, or if this was his idea. The old man swears it’s his idea, but I fucking doubt it. For every ounce of support and loyalty she’s shown that man, he owes her, at the very least, giving her his ear every now and then. I only fucking wish he had the fucking spine to tell her no once in a while. One more call from his Old Lady, and I’m gonna call to patch her ass in. Apparently she’s running this shit anyway.
Speaking of chicks that think they’re running shit, I’m about to have to have a “Come to Jesus” moment with Holly about how she’s avoiding me— again. The situation was ridiculous two weeks ago. Now it’s just pissing me the fuck off. Guess she doesn’t realize that the more she tries to run, the more intent I am on catching her, especially after she showed me what she’s made of behind all of her arrogance and indignation. I’ve been by her place enough times. She never answers the door. Her roommate, Mindy, thinks Holly and I are in the middle of a messy break-up, which is a good thing. It means she does know how to keep her mouth shut. Now, if only she’d let me make good on my end of our bargain, and take the fucking cash. The crazy bitch threw twenty-five grand out of her car window, so I’m pretty sure she won’t accept it, but that’s just too fucking bad. At every turn she’s shown that she can handle her shit and she can handle mine, so fuck that. We’re just going to keep playing this dance until she gives up.
“I’m telling you, the kid may be a Grade-A asshole, but he’s got some theories on Mancuso’s next play,” Duke says from across the table. He takes a drag of his cigarette, holds the smoke in a moment, and then blows it out like it’s the best goddamn thing he’s ever had his lips on, and that’s saying something since I know the bitch he has in his bed. Nic’s hot—a little young for my taste—and she used to be a real party girl, but now that Duke’s dumb ass went and knocked her up, she’s all about nobody smoking around her and being healthy and shit. It’s the right thing to do, but now this asshole has to get his fix in Church. Wouldn’t bother me if he could just stop looking like he’s just shot a load into his jeans while he’s doing it.
“We’re not moving him,” Ryan says from my left. His voice is strained, and his muscles are tight. He’s really not having any of this conversation, but too bad for his bitch ass, we each get a vote. Ryan can’t see past his hatred for the guy, and while it’s understandable, we really need him to get his head in the game and to start voting smart, not angry.
Some months back, Jim called in a marker he’d put in with the club decades ago. His Old Lady, had a couple of kids—twins—that were taken from her. Jim promised her that even though she didn’t have custody of the kids, should they ever need it, he’d keep them safe. It was one of those things he agreed to and then forgot about, but then just before summer, he had to call in that fucking marker. And as if rescuing a teenage girl from the Italian fucking mafia on their own turf isn’t stupid enough, we ended up rescuing a teenage girl who ratted her own father out. My word is my word, so I went and did my thing. It was a club vote, and the club voted that the girl is family, so I kept my mouth shut, played my part, and let it go. But then Ryan had to go and fall for the bitch, and now shit’s all fucked up again.
“He’s of no use to us as long as he’s living in that shithole,” Duke says, leaning in toward Ryan. “I get that this is personal for you, but you gotta let it go, brother. Princess has.” Ryan’s head cocks to the side just slightly, and he narrows his eyes. Ryan has an itchy trigger finger because Junior beat the shit out of the girl, Alex, until she had her ribs busted up and she could barely see from her swollen eyes. Can’t say I’d let that shit go, either. If Layla had taken a beating like that, the motherfucker would be dead. Even if he was my own brother, I’d gut him and let him watch me tear his intestines out of his body.
“Do I?” Ryan says.
“Yeah,” Duke says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Like you let it go when Darren tried to rape Nic? Like you handled that? Is that what I should do?”
“That’s different, brother,” Duke says. “That piece of shit fucking raped her more times than your dumb ass can count and then he tried to rape her with
my
baby inside of her.
Mine.
He hurt her, and he made her think she was shit. Princess took a couple of pops and walked away from it. Nic’s still trying to figure her shit out. Do
not
fucking compare the two.”
“Hey!” Wyatt shouts. “Neither of those situations should have ever happened. The club failed both of them. The last thing I want to think about is how we let a member’s kid get raped…again and a-fucking-gain…and how we let a member of our family be kidnapped from under our noses. So let’s move the fuck on, already, shall we?”
With that, the bickering comes to a halt and we take a vote. It comes back tied with 5-5, and it all starts up again. We’ve moved past the bitching about what Junior did to Alex, and now we’re onto figuring out where we would even put the kid if we did vote to move him.
Heavy thuds sound at the solid wooden door. I peer up at the door, over my brothers’ heads, and try to bite back my anger. The prospects and the lost girls know better than to interrupt us during Church. Something better be on fire, or somebody's head is about to fucking roll.
Fish jumps up and goes to the door. When he opens it, one of the prospects barges in. He’s got a cell phone to his ear and his face is pale white. He’s a short thing, and stocky, but he’s built as fuck. We call him Squat and, until about five seconds ago, he was one of the ones I thought we’d patch in.
Stupid fuck
.
“Mancuso got to Miss Priss,” Squat shouts and turns around back out the door. My stomach sinks as my worst fears are realized. Miss Priss is the name Ruby gave Cheyenne when she was a toddler. Despite her raising, Chey’s always been a girly girl. My brothers waste no time getting on their feet and rushing out after him. I launch myself from my seat and push to the front of the crowd. Every thought I have vanishes as I go on auto-pilot.
“She’s holed up at the high school in the office with one of the employees,” Squat says as he moves out of my way. My brothers and I grab our phones and guns from behind the bar in the main room and rush out the front door into the parking lot. Our bikes are all backed up in an orderly line against the side of the building. I’m two feet away from mine when a familiar white Jeep barrels into the parking lot, past the open gates. The vehicle comes skidding to a halt, and before it’s even fully stopped, the passenger side door swings open and Cheyenne jumps out.
I’m stone still for a moment as I force myself to check back in. Chey’s here, and she’s safe as long as she’s within these gates. Her lips are parted, and her chest heaves with panic. Her eyes flash from the left to the right and back again before they settle on me. She lets out a deep breath and runs at me so fast that when she reaches me, I have to take a step back from the impact.
Instantly, I wrap my arms around her and crush her to me. The rush of fear, and then the gratitude of having her here and safe, is practically unbearable. I squeeze her small body until I feel her tapping out on my lower back. It’s something she’s done since she was in grade school, which is apparently when my hugs got too tight and started to smother her. I can’t help it. The more independent she becomes, the tighter I want to hold on to the little girl she once was.
“Can’t,” she whispers and takes in a shaky breath, “breathe.” I loosen my grip and let her go.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” I say. I give her a moment to calm down before I find out what’s going on. My eyes lift to the Jeep just as the driver climbs out. It’s Holly Mercer, and she looks more than a little uncomfortable being here. As she should.
“You,” I shout and point at Holly. Her jaw slacks, and she lifts a finger, pointing at her own chest. I nod and crook my finger to order her over to me. She tightens her jaw back up, and straightens her back as she walks over. Finally, it seems she’s learned to follow a fucking order when she hears one. It’s about damn time I found something that knocks her off her game. She’s one hard-headed bitch.
She goes to open her mouth, but I shake my head. “Don’t.”
Yanking my cell out of my pocket, I dial Ruby’s cell and wait for her to pick up. She answers on the second ring. “That was quick.”
“Chey’s at the clubhouse,” I say, hoping to give her some peace of mind.
“Are you shittin’ me?” she says in disbelief. “I told her to keep her ass at the school.”
My eyes cut to Holly. Guess I gave her too much credit for following orders. I say a quick thanks to Ruby then hang up the phone and shove it back in to my pocket. “What happened, Chey?” I ask.
“This scary dude was leaning on my car when I left football practice. He said he had a message for you,” she says. She waits a beat before saying, “I ran into the office and told Holly.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” I ask as gently as I can.
“I did. You didn’t answer,” she says quietly. That sinking feeling returns. We don’t bring phones or guns into the chapel – with rare exception, –so of course, I wouldn’t know she called. Doesn’t matter though. My kid needed me and I wasn’t there. Nothing else can make me feel as low as being unable to help Chey does.
“What did Holly do?” I ask Cheyenne. Holly’s mouth opens, and I put my finger in the air to silence her. I’ll hear from her in a minute. I want to hear from Cheyenne right now.
“She ran outside and told the guy to leave,” Chey says with her eyes sliding over to Holly. I take my eyes off my daughter and scan the parking lot. My brothers are all standing around and listening. They’re smoking and keeping an eye on the open clubhouse gates. I catch Wyatt’s gaze and nod toward Chey. He’s at her side in a minute, leading her inside for a soda and to chill out. Once she’s out of earshot, I look to Holly and signal her to follow me as I walk into the clubhouse. She follows close behind as we walk through the main room and down the hallway, and practically bumps into me when I pause at the door to my room. I doubt she’ll talk openly in front of the club, but maybe if I get her alone I can get a few things out of her besides insults.
I open the door and let her in first. She walks in cautiously, her eyes everywhere but on me. She’s different from how she normally is around me—mean and bitter. Right now, she’s quiet and compliant. It’s good to know she’s not a raging nut case all the time— not that the raging nut case doesn’t get my dick hard. She starts going off and gets me torqued up and acting irrational and shit, and that’s good for no one. I haven’t met anyone who could piss me off as bad as Holly Mercer can, and that’s saying something considering the assholes I share a patch with. Every time we’re in the same space shit gets explosive. We’re all trying to keep a low profile on behalf of the club right now.
As it is, I’ve got Detective Gonzales all over my ass to come down to the station to answer a few questions about the recent assault on a local named Darren Jennings. Apparently someone saw a van that looks similar to one the club owns in the neighborhood the night Jennings’s body was dumped in his dad’s driveway. As if we don’t have enough shit to deal with, now we get to deal with the cops crawling up our asses because Duke had to be a prick. Not that Darren didn’t deserve what he got.
“Ruby told you to stay put,” I say. It’s the first thing that comes to mind. Not the most important thing to be focusing on, but I want to know what the fuck she was thinking when she drove my kid through town while one of Mancuso’s men is here. And at Chey’s fuckin’ school no less.
“That was terrifying,” she says as she folds her arms over her chest. She’s seething mad. Her eyes are narrowed, and everything her gaze lands on receives a dirty fucking look if I’ve ever seen one. That natural pretty shines through even her pissed face. She sucks in deep breaths that go in steady and blow out unsteadily. My eyes catch sight of her chest rising and falling and I’m back to thinking about bending her over shit.
“I don’t even know what that was about, but I
never
want to be sucked into your club’s crap like that again.”
Now I’m glad I brought her in here. I can deal with a little sass behind a closed door, but in front of my brothers? We’d have a real big problem. I should consider it a problem even in here without any witnesses, but there’s something about this woman that just makes me not give a shit that she’s throwing me attitude. I haven’t had anything new in a while and might as well see what I can do. I haven’t been fucked proper in a while and even an uptight bitch with a smart mouth and a nice ass has me forgiving shit I shouldn’t. Going soft is one of the reasons Ruby wants us all settled at home. You don’t got a steady woman, you go soft on all of them, she says. I guess she’s right.
Women like Holly are nothing but trouble, and trouble is the last fucking thing I need. Still, she’s hot and fiery and God help me, but I like it. Still, I’m chalking up my interest in her to a temporary bout of insanity. I was all emotion last week, but as much as I enjoyed having my hands all over her like that, I really shouldn’t entertain the idea of letting this shit spiral out any further than it already has. I lock my shit down and focus in on what I need to take care of for right now.