Pawn

by Kerri Ann

  Busta

  We work out the logistics of our accord, coming up with an agreed upon plan of attack. Thing is, it all hinges on True. I don’t know the extent of King and Death’s relationship, nor does Death know mine, but we have an agreement. It’s not solid, but it’ll do.

  When I return to the nurse’s desk, the same scared little woman sits behind it. I don’t bother acting nice to her. “News?”

  Her fear is palpable. I can see it rolling off her. “The doctor can tell you—”

  “Sweetheart, I’m not waiting for some shit in a long coat to show up and tell me the same thing you can. Give it to me straight.”

  She pores over her paperwork, as if it will give her a different answer. “Um...the Madox men, correct?”

  Leaning over the counter, I slam a hand down on the paperwork she’s shuffling about. “Bracken and Kyden Madox. M-A-D-O-X.”

  She shivers at my intrusion before her eyes turn upward. “Deceased.”

  Shocking me, I feel my breath coming faster. “Which one?”

  Standing, she backs away from the counter. “I’m sorry. Neither of them survived.”

  “Busta,” Flight says, touching my shoulder.

  Pushing him off, I ask the frightened bird again, “I’m sorry. Maybe I didn’t explain properly. There are twins here, the Madox men. Kyden and Bracken. You’re telling me that they’re both dead?” Grasping a thread of composure, I try to calm down. It’s not her fault, and my patience wanes for her fearfulness. “The doctors in this fucking establishment couldn’t save either of them? You couldn’t save one of them!” Kicking the soft wood under the counter, it cracks under my attack.

  “Busta!” I hear Death call out. “It’s not her fault. Give her some space.”

  Looking at the woman that’s cowering against the wall, I walk away.

  “Fuck!”

  This is fucked up. I never intended to be the head of the table. King arranged everything in minuscule ways. Bit by fucking bit, he pushed the envelope until everything worked in his favor. I know it.

  It’s too much to handle all at once. Losing the leadership of our club, gaining the gavel, owing a debt to King...all for her. All because of her.

  Finding the stairwell, I bust through the door, taking the stairs two at a time until I reach the main floor. Pushing through the front, I find it packed with kids, parents, folks in wheelchairs, attendants, and aged volunteers. My seething need to cause mayhem is overwhelming. With so many people around, I nearly run for the exit. Bursting through the sliding doors to the light of day, I head straight for my ride.

  I can hear Flight yell out once I’m straddling my ride, but I don’t care, nor do I look back. “Fuck off. I need to clear my head.”

  Starting it and pushing it back, I speed out of there as fast as I can.

  Chapter Five

  Oubliette

  The day is warm, thankfully. I’m wearing loose shorts, a thin shift of a shirt—that I borrowed—and comfortable trainers. Making the way down from the clubhouse toward my condo in the downtown core, I’m loving the quiet. No one knows who I am. No one can feel bad that I’ve been through that.

  No one will say sorry.

  With a complete club lockdown, Humble is ‘officially’ under renovations, so I’m on a vacation of sorts. When I get to my place, I’m curling up with a bottle of wine, a heaping plate of cheese and crackers, and a soak in my tub until I wrinkle. I’ll call Grady to tell him I’m home and safe. I still don’t want to see him, as the last thing I need is his pity. My older brother Grady is an investment banker. The best thing he can do is shut down someone’s accounts with an anonymous call to the feds. He’s in no way considered scary to illegal biker gangs or the likes. He invests—not very intimidating.

  Feeling I can breathe a bit easier with every step I take, I continue on in a trance toward my sanctuary. Three blocks and I’ll be home. I tick it down. My sanity and safety are within reach.

  Waiting at a light for it to change, transports fly by, and guys honk as I stand there, sticking their heads out with whistles and catcalls. It makes me even more self-conscious about my attire.

  “Hey, baby. Come here!”

  “Gorgeous, you need a ride?”

  “Man, those legs! Come rest them here.”

  When the light finally changes, I look straight at the ground and move quickly. With my mind on the intention of getting home and nothing more, I don’t notice the distinct sound of a motorcycle. The revving engine rumbles, bounding off the surrounding buildings as it comes closer. It’s frightening how it makes one seem like a hundred.

  “Oubliette!” the person shouts.

  I ignore them, quickening my steps across the intersection.

  The motorcycle quiets. “Obi!” they shout again.

  Shit, I know that voice!

  I want so bad to leave everything behind and regain my life. To act as if nothing ever happened.

  It seems I can’t.

  I break into a sprint.

  I want to be home.

  I want to be anywhere but here.

  I want it to be anyone but him.

  Why me?

  Why again?

  Why now?

  Running, as if the hounds of hell are on my heels, I hear the moment the Harley starts up again.

  I curse my bad luck.

  God dammit!

  The one biker that I least wish to see is coming after me.

  Moving as fast as I can, with my throat and lungs burning from the pain, I push through it. I remind myself that I escaped the first time and I need to again. I won’t be taken again.

  All I can do is find a way around this.

  I can. I know I can. I think I can.

  That’s when Busta’s Harley jumps the curb directly in front of me. With a cocky grin and a gun raised, the dangerous Busta halts my escape.

  He turns off his bike. “Obi, I’m not playing. This isn’t a game, sweetheart. Stop.”

  Falling to my knees, I scuff my hands on the pavement. “Please. I can’t go back there. Please let me go, Busta. I can’t...I just can’t,” I plead with every ounce of my soul. There’s no way I’d survive that place again. I’d die first before setting foot inside there again.

  “I’m not taking you there, Obi. I promise.” Putting his gun down, he raises his other hand, which holds his phone. “Here, call Death, he’ll confirm it.”

  I don’t understand. “What? Why?”

  “He can explain it, or you can trust me and let me explain it to you. Your choice.” Popping the kickstand on his bike, he rises and steps toward me. “Here, I’ll dial.”

  Dialing a number, he then puts it on speaker. With each ring, I wonder if he’s telling the truth.

  Until I hear Bennett answer. “Busta? What’s up, man?”

  “Death, I happened upon someone in your care down the street. She wants to hear it from you that I wish her no harm.” He turns the phone my way. “Go ahead, Obi.”

  “Bennett?” I ask.

  “Oubliette? What the hell are you doing out of the compound? Never mind that. Tell me you’re okay.”

  “Yeah, I’m okay. Should I trust him?” I look up at Busta. His dark scowl has softened, and I catch him inspecting my bandages. Turning his head back and forth, his scowl deepens every time he sees something he’s unhappy with.

  “We have an understanding. He’ll keep you safe, Oubliette. Stay with him, please. If I know you’re safe, I can concentrate on other things.” Bennett’s voice is calm as he tells me this, so I trust he’s leaving me in good hands. “Oh, and Oubliette? I’ll let Jasmine know you’re safe. I’m guessing she doesn’t know you’re off walking the town.”

  I wince. He’s right. She’ll be pissed. “No, she doesn’t. Only Apoc and Malice saw me leave.”

  “I’ll be having words with them. Hey, Busta?”

  Tearing Busta's attention away from my wounds, he answers Bennett. “Yeah, brother?”

  “Don’t let her out of your
sight.” With that, Bennett hangs up.

  Pocketing his phone, Busta smiles. It’s handsome on him. I still don’t trust him, but if Bennett feels he’s a safer bet than me wandering alone, I’ll give in. For now.

  Hopping across his ride, he grabs up a helmet and holds it out to me. “Your ride, my lady.”

  “You think I’ll just jump on a bike with you, even with Bennett’s blessing?”

  “Well, if you’d like, you can run beside it. On the highway, it could be a bit scary.”

  Taking the helmet, I place it on my head and fasten the latch. “I’ve never been on a bike.”

  He nods. “Step on here, sling your leg over, then place your foot on the peg on the other side.”

  I’ve seen others ride, obviously, but I’ve never done it myself.

  Tucking my hair down the back of my shirt and resting my ass behind Busta on the tiny seat, I ready myself mentally to ride behind him. I know I need to hang on, but the last place I want my hands are around him. Being this close is terrifying. Not because he’s scary, but because I know where I have to put my hands. Our relationship so far hasn’t been the most cordial. I’d rather take that gun of his and hold it to his temple.

  “Come on, Obi. Put your arms around me.” Grasping one of my hands, he pulls it around his waist. “The last thing I want is for you to get hurt further.”

  Blowing out a heavy breath, I resign myself to the situation. In this position, my breasts are pressed against his back, my hands are dangerously close to his belt line, and I can feel the perfected abs of his stomach.

  “Hold on.”

  Starting the bike and turning up the street, we tear off. I don’t know where we’re going, but it’s decidedly the wrong direction for me. I wanted to go home, and as I see it shrink into the background over my shoulder, I watch the surroundings.

  If I need to escape him again, it’s better to know where I am.

  Hopefully, I won’t have to.

  Chapter Six

  Busta

  After our little chat, Death and I agreed to work as one unit. We noticed there were major similarities in our club issues.

  King. The genius behind our strife.

  It’s always been King.

  Our clubs are players on his chessboard. No more. Thing is, we’ve realized he’s a dirty motherfucker, and that he’s profiting off of all the ventures he’s got his fingers in.

  Lots of pies, lots of little ventures.

  He was hedging his bets that we'd never get along or find a common goal. We have one now. That’s why Oubliette wandering the streets on her own is dangerously naive. She’s worked at Humble, completely oblivious to the shitshow. King is in with the Horsemen. Who knows? Maybe he’s even in with the Bastards, the Restless Souls, and the Alta Noche too.

  King is ruining the life she knew, the one she can’t go back to.

  So that brings us to now. I can’t take her back to the Horsemen compound without taking a bullet to the head for the effort, and I won’t go back to the Bows with her either. I know there’s a mole in my camp, just as Death knows there’s one in his. We need to weed them out. Being a target won’t do Oubliette any good. She’ll be caught in the crossfire. Whoever the mole is, they’ve seen Oubliette for the past five years and know the connection she has to Death and Jasmine. She’s a pawn to be leveraged. Having her at the Bows clubhouse? As soon as I walk through those doors with her under my protection, that will put her on the radar there. That leaves my house. It's the safest place.

  As we ride down the road, I start sussing out the bad weed in the Bows. One thing I know is that they were either at church or have the ear of someone who was. They know I was appointed to VP from a closed room meeting, and they passed that info to King swiftly.

  Stopping at another light, I check on Obi. “You good back there?” I ask over the sound of the roaring engine.

  Breathing close to my ear, pushing her perfect fucking tits into my back, her sweet voice carries all the way to my core. “Yeah. So far.”

  “We won’t be long,” I shout over my shoulder. “I’ve got a place just outside the city limits.”

  Feeling her shake her head, she rests back against me. Fuck, this is going to be harder than I thought. Her on my bike was a necessity, but her sweet body pressed against mine, her hands wrapped around my waist, and her dangerously close to my dick is an itch I can’t scratch.

  I’m gonna need a cold shower.

  Maybe more than one...

  Chapter Seven

  Oubliette

  For the first time on a bike, it wasn’t altogether terrible.

  Heading down roads littered with expensive lakefront homes, making a left and turning to the water, he pulls down a driveway that stops in front of a three-car garage, red brick home.

  He taps me on the leg. “Hold on for a second.” Reaching into the saddlebag by my left leg, he plucks out a remote. Clicking it, the middle garage door opens. Pulling in and closing it after we park, the bike goes silent. The space is spotless. There’s a gym setup out here, and a nice truck parked in the far slot. Meticulously clean.

  “How you doin’ after your first ride?”

  My body still rumbles as I step onto the concrete floor. “It wasn't awful.” If I’m being honest with myself, I actually enjoyed the freedom that his motorcycle offered. Sure, riding behind and letting another have control of my fate was weird, but I found it relaxing.

  “You look like you could use a beer.” Popping the door to the inside of the house, Busta holds it open for me to progress ahead of him.

  Chivalrous.

  Taking the offered courtesy, I wander inside. Stopping short as soon as I do, I’m floored by the interior. Banks of windows that face a crystal lake. Colorful boats travelling by. It’s serene. Walking past me, Busta heads to the kitchen area. “So, you want that beer, Obi? Or something a bit stronger?”

  “Whiskey. Neat,” I say rather curtly, adding, “Please.”

  The kitchen is plain, unadorned, simplistic. Black appliances, stainless steel counter, and white cupboards.

  He sets two glasses on the counter. “Not what you were expecting I suppose. Thought I’d have a room in the clubhouse? That I lived, breathed, and bled colors of the club?”

  “Something like that.”

  While he’s pouring two neat glasses, I pull out a stool and have a seat at the end. Sliding a glass across, I down it. The fire aches in my throat, but it’s not bad. Shuttling the glass back to him, Busta refills it.

  “So, will you tell me what’s going on? Why are you and Death chummy chummy, or should I just make up the story and hope I have it right?”

  Pouring himself another shot, he shrugs. “You can make up your own story, but I’m sure it won’t be anywhere near the truth.” Downing his glassful and refilling it, he too winces at the burn. “Nothing is near enough to the truth. Even I don’t believe it.”

  “Start at the beginning. Go from there.”

  “Fair enough.” Pouring another—the third—this time to the brim, his dark, steamy voice buzzes through me. I haven’t eaten. I have a high tolerance for alcohol, but on an empty stomach, it won’t take much to have me teetering.

  “I doubt you can scare me. Lay it on me.” Wincing as the sharp liquid travels past the tenderness, I hold my breath. “That shit burns.”

  Taking a large gulp of his own, Busta smirks. That smile is dangerous. It makes him less intimidating.

  “Let’s agree to disagree. I’m sure what I know will cause you to run screaming.” With a hint of mischief, a dash of darkness, and a full helping of panty-melting, he grins between his well-trimmed beard. I’ve never really been into bearded guys, but it suits him. Add on that deep timbre voice of his, and I want to grade him on a scale like an Olympic diver.

  Staring him down, I grab up my glass and gulp a few mouthfuls. I slow blink.

  At this rate, I think drunk could be dangerous. I need to think of him as the enemy, not as sexy man candy. He’s dark,
forbidden, and crass. What I love to find in a guy and exactly wrong in all ways.

  Letting out a weak cough, I rub my throat through the bandages. “Okay.” Smacking the counter, trying to lighten the mood, I attempt to take the attention away from my neck. “Give it to me straight, Busta.”

  “Lucius,” he growls. “Call me Lucius. Busta is in the clubhouse. In this house, I’m Lucius.”

  “Okay, Lucius,” I return stoically. At two hundred plus in size, I’ve only seen the man smile twice, and his demeanor doesn’t scream Lucius. Lucius will take a bit for me to adjust to.

  “You saw True kill Crystal, right?” Kicking me out of my musings, his tone is serious.

  “Yeah. Not one of my favorite moments at work.”

  “That’s what put you in our path.”

  “Well, I want out of your path then,” I quip back.

  He leans over the counter. “That’s not your choice anymore, Obi.”

  I scowl. I feel like I’m back in the cage squaring off with him about my name. That’s the last time I’ll let him get away with calling me Obi. “Oubliette. Say it, Busta. I’m not a biker with a nickname you can use. I’m not your best friend, wife, or club girl. I’m wrapped up in something I don’t want to be in, and that doesn’t offer up the allowance for you to call me by anything but my real name.” Picking up my glass, mock cheering him, I smile condescendingly. “Got it, Lucius.”

  Smiling again, that bright grin is electric, and really quite pretty on him. “This will be fun, Obi.”

  He’s trying to get a rise out of me. Asshole.

  Staying silent, I lift my glass. At this rate, I’ll be loaded in twenty minutes.

  Honestly. I. Don’t. Care.

  I’m not locked in, I can escape, and even if I don’t quite know where I am, I do know how to get back to where I was.

  As I stay quiet, he tips his glass back. “Fine,” he growls, swallowing the remainder of his glass.

  “Fine,” I retort, trying to look anywhere but his electric eyes. Instead, I stare off into the yard that overlooks the water.

  While he rests back on his stool, he continues. “True killed her, and he couldn’t have you telling anyone. You could’ve put him in a bad position with the club. That wasn’t about to happen, not while he was trying to gain the gavel. You knew enough of what she was doing at Humble to be dangerous, Oubliette.”