“Vice.” Mav stood up. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Wars have been started over less,” Vice said.
“Vice,” Lucas said. “They let you go. They’re not going to follow you here, where we have the numbers.”
“I agree,” Mav said. “If they wanted to hurt you or Felicia, they would’ve done it closer to their turf. They already had the numbers.”
Vice heard Felicia’s scream in his mind. “One of them took her,” he said, his fury roaring back into existence. “And I hit two of them.”
“Took her?” Mav’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
“He grabbed her from me, and she screamed. Two of them were on me in a second, and I couldn’t get back to her. I hit one of them, and the next thing I knew, Felicia had gotten away from the man who’d pulled her away. I hit the other one, and we ran.” He pushed his fingers through his hair. “I got us out of there as quickly as I could.”
“You did the right thing,” Mav said.
“Have you heard from them?”
“I called Fire,” Mav said. “He didn’t pick up.”
“Call him again,” Vice said.
“Vice,” Lucas said, plenty of warning in the name.
“Call him again,” Vice demanded. “That’s all I’m asking. I’ll talk to him.”
Maverick sighed, clearly not wanting to do what Vice had asked of him. But he pulled out his phone and made the call, putting it on speaker so the three of them could hear the line ring.
Fire answered with a curse before the line scuffled and then went dead.
“I don’t think he can talk right now,” Mav said.
“Call him back.”
“Jordan, you’re not seeing clearly,” Lucas said, putting his hand on Vice’s arm. “Come sit down. Take a minute. Fire is obviously dealing with something.” He exchanged a look with Mav, who also sat down.
Vice did what Lucas said, and he took the coffee cup his best friend gave him. The warmth seeped into his hands, and he realized how cold he was. He took a sip of the coffee, expecting the strong bitterness that Lucas preferred. But he got regular coffee, and he remembered he was at Maverick’s house.
He took a deep breath after the hot liquid slid down his throat. “Okay.”
“Something happened to me today,” Lucas said, and Vice whipped his attention to his friend.
“Tell us about it,” Maverick said, and Vice knew he’d just seized whatever distraction he could.
“I met a girl. A—a woman.” Lucas cleared his throat, and Vice could only stare at him.
“A woman?” he repeated.
“Her dog ran me over, and my hot chocolate spilled everywhere, and she took me back to Whitetails to buy me another drink.”
“Good for you,” Maverick said. “Did you get her number?”
“Oh, no,” Lucas said, shaking his head. “I’m not going to get her number.”
“Why not?” Mav asked.
This time, the look that was exchanged happened between Vice and Lucas. “She’s Lawrence Paige’s little sister.”
Pure surprise moved through Vice. “Yeah, that’s a hard pass, isn’t it?”
“Who’s Lawrence Paige?” Mav asked.
“He tormented Lucas in high school,” Vice said. “It was like his part-time job to make sure Lucas was unhappy.”
“Like I needed more help with that.” Lucas hung his head, and Vice felt bad for focusing on his own problems so keenly.
“Oh, okay,” Mav said. “So she’s maybe not the one for you.”
“Definitely not,” Lucas said. “And Jordan called anyway, and I left quick.” He shrugged, but Vice had been friends with Lucas for twenty years, and he saw something in Lucas’s eyes that indicated his interest in this new woman.
And Vice wanted him to be happy. Lucas hadn’t had a girlfriend for a while, and with the loss of his house and his job, he definitely needed a win.
“Maybe you should just call her,” Vice said, his voice a little bit too high.
“She works at the hospital,” Lucas said, obviously willing to keep talking about this woman. “And she said they’re always hiring. So I’m going to look into that.”
“That’s a great idea,” Mav said, nodding. “I asked Karly too, House, and she said her family is always looking for good people at the orchards.”
“Thanks,” Lucas said. “I’ll look that up too.” He sighed and lifted his coffee cup to his lips. “Looking for a job is so demoralizing.”
“It’s the worst,” Vice agreed.
Mav’s phone rang, and Vice’s hand jerked, causing some hot coffee to splash onto his skin.
“It’s Fire.”
“Put it on speaker.” Vice leaned forward, the anticipation in the room skyrocketing again.
Mav swiped and tapped before he said, “Fire.”
“Have you sent anyone our way?” he barked.
“No.”
A heavy sigh came through the line. “Look, my boys acted out of line,” he said. “We’ve had people all over the place this past week, and not everyone got the word about your cooperation, and they saw an unfamiliar bike near us…it wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Mav was nodding, but he didn’t say anything.
“Is your guy all right?”
“They took his girlfriend from him,” Mav said. “He is not happy about that.”
Fire swore again, the sound quieting as he clearly moved the phone away from his mouth. When he came back with, “It won’t happen again,” Vice actually believed him.
“His girlfriend is pretty shaken up,” Mav said, making eye contact with Vice.
“It’s not going to happen again,” Fire repeated. “You won’t see us in Forbidden Lake unless you’re looking, and that restaurant is in neutral territory, same as always.”
“I’ll let them both know,” Mav said. “And Fire, you’re going to need to tell me what’s going on with your Prez sooner or later.”
“Later,” Fire said. “I know you have me on speaker, and I don’t appreciate it.”
Mav frowned, tapped, and lifted the phone to his ear. “Not anymore.”
Vice actually leaned in a little closer, as if he’d still be able to hear the rival biker. He couldn’t, and it didn’t matter anyway. Mav would tell him whatever Fire said.
“Fine,” Mav said. “But I know something’s off over there.” After another pause, he said, “Okay, but you let me know if there’s something I can do.”
The call ended, and Vice gaped at him. “Let you know if there’s something you can do? What is going on? Are we helping the Breathers now?”
Mav put his phone down on the couch. “We help anyone who needs it, Jordan. That’s what Sentinels do.”
Vice just shook his head. That was another reason he could never truly lead the Sentinels. He wasn’t as compassionate as Maverick. He drew lines, and it was hard for him to erase them.
“Okay,” he said. “I think I’m calm enough to go see Felicia.” He stood up and took his coffee mug into the kitchen.
Lucas joined him at the sink. “I think you should leave her be for a day or two,” he said. “How about you come help me apply for a job at the hospital?”
Vice looked into his friend’s eyes, and he saw there was so much more for them to talk about. “You think so? Two days?”
“At least wait until morning,” he said. “Text her what you just heard from Fire so she knows no one is going to show up at her house tonight. And then just let her be.”
Vice thought about Felicia—his soft, strong Felicia—and he nodded. She did need time to think through things on her own. Process them. Make a plan. And he didn’t need to come off as frantic or desperate.
He did, however, tap out a quick text to her. Talked to Mav, who talked to that other club. It was a mistake, and they apologized. Sorry to scare you today, sweetheart.
He read over the text several times, deemed it good, and sent it before following Lucas downstairs and out of th
e clubhouse.
Felicia hadn’t responded by the time he got home, and he was glad Lucas had suggested Vice give her some space. He just hoped she wouldn’t take too much of it, and that she wouldn’t put more distance between them.
He didn’t see Felicia again until Thanksgiving Day. They’d texted back and forth, but it felt like a huge step backward in their relationship. Vice had no idea what to do about it, though, and he reminded himself he wasn’t running a race.
There was no deadline on his relationship with Felicia, and if she needed three days to move past the scare at the restaurant, he could spare the time.
She’d agreed to pick him up for lunch at her sister’s place, as she didn’t want to arrive on the back of a motorcycle. Vice hadn’t questioned her on that, because he seriously doubted if she’d ever ride with him again.
He mourned the loss of her already, and he hadn’t even lost her. But riding with her pressed right into his back, those hands gripping his jacket…he shivered just thinking about it. He knew he was slipping and sliding and falling all the way in love with Felicia, but he didn’t know how to stop himself. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to stop himself.
Smoky started barking while he was still in the bedroom, changing his shirt. He’d met her sister and her boyfriend before, but not for a while, and Vice knew Shelley didn’t hold him in high regard. So he couldn’t eat Thanksgiving dinner wearing a coffee-stained T-shirt or anything that looked remotely like a biker would wear it.
He had plenty of professional clothes, but he wasn’t going to a conference for paralegals either. He’d be the turkey if he showed up in a white shirt and tie.
The problem was, he had very few clothes in between, and he’d managed to find a polo in the back of his closet that was clean, if not a little musty. But he remembered why it was in the back of his closet after he’d worn it for ten minutes. The shirtsleeves were too tight against his biceps, and they revealed far too much of his tattoos for a family meal. At least one where he was the only biker among others who had a general disdain for men like him.
The doorbell rang, as if Smoky’s obnoxious barking hadn’t already alerted him to Felicia’s presence. “Come in!” he yelled, but he wasn’t sure if she’d hear him or actually do it.
But he didn’t currently wear a shirt, and he couldn’t answer the door like that. Smoky quieted, which meant Felicia had likely come inside.
“Jordan?” she called, and relief hit him in a strange way. He wasn’t sure why, only that he was glad she’d come. He’d gotten deep inside his head, and he’d started to worry she’d break things off with him after three days of not seeing her in the flesh.
“In the bedroom,” he called, hurrying to the doorway. “Can you come help me?”
“Help you?” She appeared at the end of the hall, and he motioned for her to come toward him.
“I need help with a shirt.” He stepped back, out of the doorway, as she entered. “I have no idea what to wear.” He currently had on a pair of jeans—his nicest ones, fresh from the washer and dryer. “I need help.”
But she’d frozen on the threshold from hallway to bedroom, her eyes wide as she scanned his body from head to toe, foot to scalp, and down for a third time. She turned bright red, and Vice’s body heated too.
He grabbed his leather jacket from the recliner just inside the door and pulled it on. “Come help me.” He walked over to his closet. He couldn’t actually walk into his closet, and he didn’t have that many choices anyway.
Felicia did not join him, and he turned to look over his shoulder. She still stood in the same position, but now she was swallowing quickly.
“I’m not going to bite,” he teased.
That launched her into motion, and Vice stared into the closet. “Help.”
“I’m not sure I can.” She started leafing through his hangers, discarding everything the way he had. “These are all T-shirts and white shirts.”
“I know.” He turned away from his closet, a groan pulling through his throat. “I should’ve gone shopping.”
“What about this?” She turned, a hanger in her hand. She held a blue and orange button-down shirt, and Vice should’ve balled that up and thrown it away a long time ago.
“I don’t wear that shirt,” he said.
“Why not?” She looked at it and then him. “It looks nice. Does it not fit?”
“My father sent it to me.”
Felicia sat down on his bed, the shirt draped across her lap. “When?”
“Last year.”
“I didn’t think you were speaking to him.”
“I’m not. I haven’t, for years. So when I got that, I sort of just stuffed it in the closet and forgot about it.”
“Did you try it on?”
“No.”
Felicia stood up and hung the shirt back in his closet. “Okay. Just wear a T-shirt,” she said. “We’re not trying to impress anyone. It’s just Shelley and Gideon.”
Which meant he was trying to impress three people—Shelley, Gideon, and Felicia.
“Pick one for me,” he said.
She handed him one that was dark blue and had an electric guitar on the front, and Tyson shrugged out of his leather jacket and pulled the shirt over his head. “All right. I’m ready.”
She left the bedroom first, and Vice followed her into the kitchen. He’d fed Smoky, and he grabbed his coat, his keys, his phone, and his wallet from the bowl on the kitchen counter. Felicia hadn’t said anything about the incident since Monday morning, when she’d finally texted him back with, Okay, thanks Jordan.
He wanted to talk about it; make sure she was okay. But he didn’t at the same time. No sense in re-opening old wounds.
The drive to her sister’s happened in silence, and she paused at the back seat to retrieve a casserole dish. Vice faced the house like it was a prison, and he let Felicia lead them toward the front door and then through it.
Inside, it was warm and the air held the scent of roasted turkey and sweet potatoes. “Fee!” her sister shrieked, and Felicia laughed as she set the casserole dish on the kitchen counter and embraced her.
Gideon was nowhere to be found, and Vice stood in the background, feeling very out of sorts. He’d spent the last several Thanksgivings with Mav and the other club members who didn’t have family in the area. The atmosphere was much less tense than here, and he didn’t have to deal with daggered looks from his girlfriend’s sister.
“Jordan,” she said, stepping away from Felicia.
“Good to see you again, Shelley,” he said with the widest smile he could muster. “Where’s Gideon?”
“He’s getting the turkey going in the backyard.”
“The backyard?” Vice looked in that direction, and through the window, all he could see was snow. “What’s he doing back there?”
“The fryer is back there.”
“You’re frying the turkey?”
Shelley’s eyes sharpened, and Felicia said, “It’s really good, Jordan.”
“I didn’t say it wouldn’t be,” he said. “I’m just surprised.”
No one said anything after that, and Vice realized he’d said the wrong thing—again. He honestly didn’t care if they had a fried turkey or a roasted one. Felicia stayed in the kitchen with her sister, and with both of them ignoring him, Vice retreated to the living room.
As he sat on the couch, he mentally went through all of the things he had to be grateful for.
Your house.
Your brothers in the Sentinels.
He glanced over to the kitchen. Felicia?
“I sure hope so,” he muttered to himself, but there was definitely some distance between them now that hadn’t been there before.
Chapter Twenty
“We should go,” Jordan whispered to Felicia, and she nodded though she’d rather stay at her sister’s than go over to the Sentinels clubhouse for another turkey dinner. But she’d promised him, and he’d endured the past four and a half hours with her sister a
nd Gideon.
Felicia longed for easier days, when she could just chat with Shelley about whatever. Or not say anything. She’d tried to include Jordan in the conversation, but it hadn’t gone well. Shelley was cold toward him, and everyone in the house could feel it.
Gideon had attempted some conversation a couple of times, and Jordan was a good sport to talk about football and basketball and other athletic events he had no interest in.
Relief spread through her when she finally hugged her sister. “Thanks for dinner. It was delicious.”
“I can make up an excuse for you,” Shelley whispered.
Part of Felicia wanted that, and the other part couldn’t stand to disappoint Jordan. “It’s okay,” she said.
Jordan shook hands with Gideon and then Shelley, and he put his hand on Felicia’s lower back to guide her out the front door. She drove, and she hadn’t gone two blocks before Jordan said, “I think you can just take me home, okay?”
“Home?”
“You don’t want to go to Ruby’s for Thanksgiving, and I can’t do another dinner like the one we just attended.”
“I want to go,” she said, but her voice sounded false. She shot him a look and focused back on the road.
“No, Felicia, you don’t.” He sighed and slumped down in his seat. “I feel like we’ve gone backward, and I’d rather if you’d just tell me how you’re feeling. Remember how you said we needed to be open and honest and all that?”
Her stomach started to quiver, and she gripped the steering wheel. “I remember.”
“You’re not being honest with me.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Whatever you need to.”
She swallowed, her tongue suddenly too big for her mouth. She hadn’t kissed him at his house that morning. She hadn’t seen him in three days.
The truth was, she didn’t know how she felt. So she said, “I don’t know how I feel.”
“You’re afraid to be with me,” he said.
“Maybe.”
“You don’t want to date a biker, because it’s dangerous.”
“Kind of.”
He sighed, and it wasn’t the happy, content kind. “You won’t even commit to anything. Turn left here, and take me home.”
Vice Page 15
