Speaking of our secondary business, I reached into my pocket and fingered my knife. “We have a daughter now. I don’t know about Flame, but I don’t want to spend the rest of her childhood in lock up.”
Wolfe reached up and scrubbed a hand over his head. “No more hits,” he agreed, after Flame stated, “I’m not missing out on another day of that girl’s life. And I don’t just mean Amaryllis. No more unless it’s for fun.”
I shook my head at Flame’s idea of fun. If the sick fuck wasn’t like a brother to me, and not just the MC kind, I’d avoid him like the plague.
“When’s our next shipment?” I asked Axe.
“Next week. We got the cigarettes in while you were over in Alabama.”
Alabama, where I’d been mimicking a mugging that had gone ‘wrong’ in Birmingham.
“If we could get up a production line on these guns, we could use the same channels to distribute them,” I pointed out.
Wolfe hissed out a breath. “Damn her.”
“For what?”
“Boxing me into a motherfucking corner.”
“Least she did it with a smile. I’m surprised she didn’t slap you before she headed out,” Flame retorted lazily, punctuating the remark with a hiss of his lighter.
I had to laugh because, sweet Lord, he was right.
Lucie was not the submissive type. Not like the women we’d all been fucking these past few years without her.
Jesus, I’d missed her, and I recognized just how goddamn much now that she was back.
❖
Flame
A few days later
I was uneasy.
Hell, I was more than uneasy.
As I leaned in the doorway and stared into the family room, I looked at my daughter, looked at her and tried to figure out what the fuck I’d say to her.
What did I know about talking to little girls?
Shit, there were some hanging around the clubhouse, daughters of brothers, but I pretty much ignored them. Most of them thought I was the boogeyman anyway, so they went out of their way to avoid me—something I wasn’t about to change.
Still, this was my daughter. I didn’t want her to think I was the boogeyman.
I wanted, God help me, to be her hero.
Shit.
Scrubbing a hand over my face, I sighed at myself in exasperation. The motion had my knuckles cracking, but I was used to the pain. They were always split from some beating I’d had to dole out. The latest being with Gutter—the doped-up fucker who’d disrespected Lucie at the gates. His prospect ass was black and blue, but my knuckles were shot. It was why I preferred the brass knuckles, but sometimes, a man just needed to ram a message home. One that was strengthened by the spilling of his own blood.
Before I could chicken out, I cleared my throat. Lucie and Amaryllis both shot me startled looks, whereas the other kids in the room ducked their heads and tried to escape my attention—as if. I knew where they were, who they were, and which brother they belonged to.
“What are you doing?” I rasped. I mean, I knew what they were doing, but fuck, a conversation had to start somewhere, right?
“Giving Momma more tattoos,” Amaryllis whispered shyly, her cheeks tingeing pink as she looked to her mother for backup.
Lucie smiled at her, then reached forward, grabbed a Sharpie, and said, “Have at it.”
Because that was easier than just sitting there and feeling awkward as fuck, I grabbed the pen, sidled up next to Amaryllis, and began doodling on the cast that wasn’t even doodled on that much.
“I’m surprised this isn’t covered by now,” I mumbled.
“Pretty much the first time we’ve been able to chill. Driving down here took a while,” Lucie replied, tipping her head back against the sofa. “Amaryllis isn’t a good traveler.”
“I get car sick,” she murmured, her head bowing with shame.
I frowned at her. “I did when I was a kid too.”
Her eyes rounded. “You did?”
“Yeah. Fuc—” I cleared my throat. “Nightmare. That’s why I like bikes. You’re in control of it, so it’s better on your system, and the wind in your face stops you from getting sick.”
She blinked at me. “Can I have one?”
My lips twitched. “I mean, when you’re older. Maybe.”
Lucie snorted when Amaryllis mumbled, “Momma had one. It was pretty.”
She whistled. “Was too. Matte black with shiny red flames.”
I cocked a brow. “Flames, huh?”
“It goes with the name, you know?” she retorted piously. “Lucifer.”
Amaryllis stuck her tongue in her cheek as she focused on her doodles. “They’re good,” I told her softly, keeping my voice low so as not to scare her. I mean, I knew she wasn’t a dog or anything but fuck, I scared men who were three times her age.
“T-Thank you,” she stuttered, peering up at me through lashes so thick, with eyes so beautiful, that I knew, ten years down the line, I’d be killing motherfuckers who were lining up to date her.
Those eyes would slay a man.
Jesus.
This being a dad shit was tough.
“You can relax, Flame,” Lucie teased. “She won’t bite.”
That elicited a giggle from Amaryllis. “I don’t bite. That’s Daddy Wolfe’s job.”
My brows rose at that. Far as I knew, Amaryllis was ignoring Wolfe. When I cocked a look at Lucie, she just hitched her good shoulder in a shrug.
“Daddy Wolfe has a lot of important jobs to do. That’s why he can bark sometimes,” I told her, trying to stick up for my brother.
“I don’t like when he barks at Momma,” she retorted stubbornly, her shading suddenly growing a little more erratic with her temper.
I almost laughed at the display, because if Amaryllis had inherited his temper, then fuck, we were in for a fun ride.
She finished coloring, and her mouth pursed in a stubborn moue, then asked, “Why do you got so many tattoos?”
“Why’s your momma?” I countered.
“Hers are pretty. Yours are scary.”
Pretty? I’d seen all of Luce’s tats except for two, none of them were pretty. Still, beauty was subjective, I guessed.
“Mine are scary because I’m scary.”
She giggled. “You’re not scary.”
My lips twitched. Well, hell. Did I agree or disagree with her?
Lucie saved me. “He’s your daddy. He’ll never be scary to you, but to everyone else?” She shot me a look. “Everyone else has to be scared of him. That’s how he’ll keep us safe forever and ever.”
The trust inherent in that statement had my heart surging into my throat.
Fuck.
This woman slayed me.
Every single fucking time.
My grip on the Sharpie tightened to the point of pain, but I ignored it. Just took that moment to stare deeply into her eyes and fall for her all over again.
“Fuck,” I whispered to myself, but Amaryllis heard it and giggled. I cut her a surprised look, but she was back to doodling, back to coloring the cast. When I looked at what I’d drawn, what she was coloring around, I saw what I’d drafted on there. Saw what I’d been messing around creating.
The word: MINE.
❖
Lucie
Stalemate.
At least, that was how things seemed.
Wolfe hadn’t said a word to me in three days, but with Amaryllis, he was downright talkative.
Most of that conversation was one-sided though, because Amaryllis knew how to hold a grudge.
I’d taught her well, I thought with a smirk, watching Wolfe trying not to lose his patience when Amaryllis refused to talk to him, her focus on the TV.
Of course, I wanted them to have a relationship. I wouldn’t have brought her back to the MC if I hadn’t, but Wolfe had to learn that he couldn’t treat her or me like shit. We came as a package, and even though I wasn’t sure how or why, Amaryllis was very protective of me.
If she saw him hurting me, verbally or otherwise, she’d never forgive him.
I hadn’t anticipated her sulking, and although I was amused by it, I knew we’d all have to be careful where she was concerned.
She’d lost her daddy, Daddy Ryan, the one who’d changed her diapers, taught her the piano, and who’d been her book bud. It was no wonder she was scared of losing me.
When he gave up, patting her on the shoulder in farewell, he stalked over to me. I was reading—well, pretending to read—a magazine that had lost my interest the moment he’d stalked into the family room.
The sound of his boots, pathetically enough, always made me wet. Which was damn inconvenient. I knew his tread, knew it from the days of listening to him walk past my bedroom with some giggling slut he’d picked up at a clubhouse party.
His room had been next to mine—yeah, my father had sucked—and I’d heard him bouncing away in there with way too many women over the years. So I knew his tread, knew his gait, and knew whether he was drunk or sober.
The others, less so. Though they had their tells.
Flame had his lighter constantly on him, then Axe had a faint limp from a bad motorcycle crash so his gait was slightly staggered, but Dagger was impossible. His stealth was bewildering to behold.
“My office?” Wolfe hissed at me in a low whisper.
I carried on turning the pages of my magazine.
“Please?” he tacked on, the word more of a snarl than a request, when he pressed his hands to the armrests and loomed over me.
“What do we have to talk about?” I retorted, my focus on the magazine.
“How about that you’ve turned my daughter against me—”
That had fire sliding through my veins and I surged up, shoving him forward as I moved. “You did that yourself.”
Without waiting on him, I headed to his office. The place was quieter than it had been when I was a kid. I wasn’t sure why, considering Dorie had told me the numbers were the same. And when I’d asked about why it was so quiet, she’d just said that only twenty brothers lived in now. Still, quiet or not, and though everyone knew everyone’s business, this was not the kind of shit I wanted wafting around the common room.
I didn’t wait for his ‘approval’ to open the damn door. My dad hadn’t been into corporal punishment. He’d never touched me, hadn’t spanked me no matter the crazy shit I’d pulled. That teacher’s car I’d set fire to? He’d only laughed when the principal had told him. Yeah, that was the kind of influence I’d had as a kid. But if I’d have tried to enter his office without a knock?
He’d have slapped me.
Hard.
He’d only had to do it the once, though—back when I was seven—and I’d learned my lesson.
Respect came in different forms in a one-percenter MC, and each brother had their own code. Might not have seemed that way from the outside. Most people thought we were scum. Delinquents. Nothing more than trailer trash that had graduated from trailers to a clubhouse, but fuck those people.
There was more heart, more community, in this building than in the entire fucking town.
A brother got ill?
The MC handled the insurance.
A brother died?
The funeral was epic. The widow didn’t have to worry about how to pay, the club handled that shit, and held a massive wake to celebrate the deceased’s life.
And after? The club looked after the old lady until she was back on her feet, and would continue to check in with her until the day she moved on because that was how we rolled.
We were one huge family, and like any family, they were all nosy fuckers. Hence my sliding into Wolfe’s office to avoid some of the chatter I’d been at the center of since my return.
When I came in here, I wasn’t surprised to see Dagger with his shoulders hunched over a computer. Even though he’d come by his road name honestly, he’d always been great with figures. My father had been using him to cook the books for a long time, and seemed like shit hadn’t changed now that Wolfe was Prez.
Seeing me over his screen, he cocked a brow at me then sank back into the chair. It rocked as he grinned at me and when he pushed back slightly, I knew what that meant.
I thought nothing of rounding the desk and plunking myself on his lap. The second I did, I felt his boner and cocked a brow right back at him. “That’s not comfortable,” I complained.
“You’re damn straight it isn’t,” he retorted, reaching up to run his finger down my nose.
Ugh. Sometimes, these fuckers killed me with their affection.
“Where you been hiding?”
I blinked at him. “I don’t hide.”
“No?” His nose crinkled. “Well, I haven’t been able to find you.”
“Didn’t look hard then. I was with Ama.”
He banked the fire in his eyes, then he shot a look at Wolfe who’d slammed the door to the office closed.
“How’s our girl doing?”
“You’d know if you went and talked with her,” I retorted, not cutting him any slack.
He winced. “The fuck do I know what to say to a little girl, babe?” Because he wasn’t bullshitting, because I saw the fear of fucking up in his face, I reached up and cupped his chin.
“She’s yours. You can’t fuck up.”
That had Wolfe snorting. “Unless you’re me, apparently.”
My nostrils flared as I whipped my head around to glower at him. “You’re the one who fucked up by being mean to me. She’s protective of me.”
He huffed, shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and just stood there. Looking awkward. And Wolfe didn’t do awkward.
He was one of those effortlessly cool fuckers who rarely got riled. He always had a level head too, and that just made him even cooler. Except where I was concerned.
Together, we were dynamite, and some might say that was warning enough to back off, but not me. I’d never liked listening to people. I did what I wanted and damned the consequences.
Which was why I’d been exiled for too fucking long.
Still, Wolfe didn’t deserve my help. Not yet. Not until he’d fucking groveled. Sometimes, helping someone out of the pile of shit they’d buried themselves in did no one any good, and I wasn’t a fucking martyr. I knew what my men were like. If I gave them an inch, they’d take a goddamn mile. Just because I loved them didn’t mean I was blind to their flaws.
They were mine, but they still had cocks. And anything with a cock wasn’t to be trusted. Not one hundred percent.
It was like that joke guys had about women. About not trusting something that bled for a week and didn’t die. Well, you couldn’t trust a snake not to bite… at least the snakes guys had didn’t have fangs.
And wasn’t that nightmare material?
Turning back to Dagger, I rested my hands on his shoulders and murmured, “What are you doing in here? Thought this was King Dick’s space?”
Dagger grinned at me. “You’re playing with fire, baby.”
I hitched a shoulder. “It’s what I do best. Why do you think Flame and me are birds of a feather?”
“Just what we need,” Wolfe sneered. “Those two fucking pyros back together again.”
Ignoring him and his rather rude labeling of both Flame and me—pyromaniacs, sure, but fucking pyros? A girl had standards—I asked, “How come you’re in the Prez’s chair?”
Instead of replying, Dagger immediately grabbed my ass and squeezed my cheeks. When he pulled them apart, just ever so slightly, my irritation morphed as awareness of him took over everything else.
The smugness that settled on his face was deserved, so I didn’t slap him upside the head. Instead, I focused on him and his words as he explained, “He’s less formal than your father.”
My dad had taken the ‘president’ part of his title a little too far in my opinion. He’d thought that being Prez meant he was king.
“Wouldn’t take much. Guess the old fucker didn’t soften up much
before he got shot down?”
The lack of feeling in my voice had Dagger tensing. The trouble with MC brothers was they took that ‘ride and die’ shit far too seriously. Sure, when you were committing fuck knew how many crimes, you needed your brother at your back, but when that brother was bad to the bone? And not in a way that was acceptable in our community? Yeah, that fucker deserved no loyalty.
My dad had been like that.
Even more than that, he’d been a cunt, and that was irrefutable. A fact I thought he’d have agreed with and been proud of too.
From him, I’d learned there were two ways to rule men—one through fear and the other through loyalty. I knew, without even having been around the place all that long, that Wolfe ruled through loyalty. The men loved him. Not because he was Bomber’s first choice of heir, but because he was one of them but smarter. Stronger. Fiercer.
My dad had reigned through fear. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that my father had killed first and questioned later. Wolfe was the kind of guy to give someone the benefit of the doubt, which was why it was ironic that he was giving me as much shit as he was.
“You shouldn’t talk that way about your pop, baby girl,” Dagger chided, and because he meant well, I didn’t smack him, just reached up and ran a finger along the wrinkle that had formed between his brow.
“He wasn’t my pop.”
His eyes flared for a second. “What do you mean?”
I could have shrugged it off. Said that Bomber had never acted like my dad, which was the truth, but what was the point in lying? I hadn’t come back here to withhold shit that mattered.
“Bomber wasn’t my dad.”
“The fuck are you talking about?” Wolfe ground out. His stomping feet approached and, within seconds, he was there, beside me, glowering down at me.
“I’m talking about shit that doesn’t leave this room.” My top lip curled a little. “Well, you can tell Flame and Axe, of course, but no one else. I’m Bomber’s to the rest of the MC, and that will make them accept us when—”
Their Sinner: Hell’s Rebel’s MC Part I Page 6
