Pawn

by Kerri Ann

  Chapter Fifteen

  Oubliette

  Standing in the shower, alone, I gave myself an ultimatum: I won’t give in like a whore. I’m not one and I won’t be one. If he wants something from me, he’ll work for it. By the time I’ve dried off and dressed, he hasn’t returned, which has me wondering what’s going on?

  Wandering down the hall toward the living room, I hear Lucius, and he sounds pissed.

  “I asked for your help for her. It was a one-time thing, King.”

  “And it opened up our relationship again, brother.” The other man’s voice is dark and condescending, sounding smug and satisfied with himself.

  “I’m not your brother. I was your way in. I was the punk kid you blamed a whole fucking club’s problems on.”

  “I was never satisfied with one club, Lucius. The Intentions were the in I needed to start my career. You knew that. And now, you’re giving me more. You may not like it, but you don’t have a choice.”

  Stepping around the corner, the man with the voice looks my way. His smile is distasteful.

  “She’ll give it to me if you won’t. Won’t you, sweet, sweet Oubliette?” He sneers at me. Who the fuck is this guy? How does he know me?

  He’s the same size as Lucius, and nearly as deadly looking, in a weird sort of way. His style is perfectly polished. His cornrows are pulled back into a low ponytail. His bright, light brown eyes search me from head to foot, giving me the heebie-jeebies.

  With a dress shirt that’s pressed and rolled at the sleeves, showcasing his multitude of tattoos, the perfectly tapered casual pants and loafers—not to forget the gun attached at his hip, he’s well-appointed and deadly.

  “Leave her the fuck out of this, King. She has nothing to do with any of it.” Stomping across the room, out for blood, Lucius looks ready to kill.

  I see the insanity taking form. It’s like watching a car wreck, or a final moment before the hero falls off the train and dies. The end is tragic to watch.

  Leaping across the room, with a fist into the side of the guy’s head, Lucius connects with a crack. Blood spatters around the kitchen as an all-out war ensues. Left-right, left-right, the two of them trade hits. I step back into the hallway, away from them, as they cause each other maximum damage.

  Spitting blood, King laughs as he stands, ready to strike again. Lucius doesn’t wait. Turning and laying shot after shot to King’s midsection and head, it’s wearing him down. It’s wearing them both down. As King falters, and when it seems that the two are almost done, Lucius lunges with a left to King’s right knee. Buckling, King falls to his knees with a grunt.

  “Stay down, asshole.” Pointing at him, Lucius pulls out a bar chair, huffing, and takes a seat. “She’s not in this. Never again will she be used. You hear me, Mr. DEA? Never. And while we’re on the topic, keep your hands out of my club.”

  “Your club?” Rising slowly off the floor, babying that knee, King stands and wipes his face on that once pristine shirt. “Fine, Mr. President. I’ll leave her out, but you’ve gotta bring me what I want.” He spits on the floor. “Remember, I always get what I want. Unless you want to renegotiate your previous—”

  Rising fast, with a strength I didn’t think he’d have left in him, Lucius links his hand at King’s neck. Holding him to the wall, I see his jaw tick. The muscles strain as he holds his anger at bay and King aloft. “My family is clear of your sights. She’s not in your sights. And my club? My club has protection. You follow?”

  “It’ll cost ya.” Even as everything is out of his favor, this King guy shows balls. I’m equally thrilled and frightened by that. What wouldn’t he do if given the chance? Men like him are scary when cornered.

  “No. You don’t get it, Magnus. It’ll cost you. I’ve paid my debt.” Releasing him from the wall, Lucius steps back. “Now get the fuck out of my house and out of my face. Then return Scarlet. No questions asked, no further issues with the club. We do what we do and you wait.”

  With a slight limp, King moves toward the door. “I’ll get what I want. You’ll bring me what I want.” Licking his lips, he smiles my way. “Scarlet can be a keen friend if you can’t find us what we want, Lucius.”

  “She’s released in an hour, King. No movement on that.”

  With a wave, he states over his shoulder, “I’ll be in touch.”

  Once the door shuts and King has finally left, Lucius stands up the tossed over stool. Taking a heavy seat, leaning on the counter, he reaches out for a towel that rests close by.

  Moving from the hallway and into the kitchen, I stand quietly.

  “Fuck me.” His tone is calmer now, but I’m still wary of coming within range.

  His temper is scary.

  He was intense.

  “Do you mind getting me some ice, Obi?”

  “Ah, sure.” Grabbing a cupful, Lucius opens the tea towel for me to drop it in.

  Watching as he scrunches it up and places it at his temple, with a small smile he says, “Thanks.” Looking around the room, taking in the damage and mess, his tone is gentle once more. “Why does that man have to invade my life over and over again?”

  I’m unsure if he means that to be rhetorical or if he’s waiting for an answer, so I stay quiet. Being around the Horsemen for so long, I’ve learned the art of keeping quiet when necessary. Speaking up garners trouble.

  “Mind giving me my phone, love?”

  Handing it to him, Lucius hits one button while adjusting the ice to the other side. I don’t hear the phone connect, but he starts speaking. “Munch. Church in an hour.” The other person answers quickly before Lucius continues. “Yeah, check on him...No...Yeah, she’s worked out...Got it.” Without a goodbye, he hangs up and lays the phone on the counter.

  I didn’t think it could be possible, but he looks more stressed out. Waiting for him to speak, I start to tidy the counter.

  “I’ll bet you’re wondering what that was about.”

  It’s a statement, not a question. Again, I don’t speak.

  Releasing the makeshift ice pack from his face, Lucius looks my way. “I’ve always been in the club life—born into it, but not this club.”

  Standing up, he grips the whiskey bottle we’d been drinking from. Uncorking it, Lucius takes a few deep gulps. Wiping his mouth on the towel and dumping the ice in the sink, he continues. “My parents were a part of the Cruel Intentions MC out of New York. My dad was the president. Even though their club ran human trafficking over the Canadian border, they weren’t bad people. They thought we’d been kept out of it as kids, but we weren’t oblivious. We knew. They were good at it too, until King and his agents showed up. They jacked the whole club, sending pretty much every member, old lady, and family that was old enough to jail or juvie.

  “At the time, he offered me an option: I could learn to be an agent and help take down clubs from the inside. I’d be his little pet project. It was that or watch my family be destroyed. He’d threatened to toss my little brother Cody in jail as an adult, my sister Dejene would be sent to children’s aid, and I’d have the label of snitch. I was about to turn seventeen, so it left me with little or no choice. I did what I had to.”

  Pacing the room, I wait as Lucius continues. “I knew I had to do it. King trained me, kept me in his clutches, then when he knew I had no other choice, he set me loose in Nor Cal with the only thing I knew better than myself—a bike. I ran for years on autopilot, riding and hopping from place to place. I didn’t have a club or a home. I slept under the stars and lived on the beach. That’s when I met True. He had this weird obsession with the sunrise. He loved to see it on the day after a full moon. He appreciated my ride and we got to talking.

  “No matter how I broke it down, I only knew club life. It was my home. Joining the Bows was as natural as breathing. I patched in fast, jumped the ranks fast, and never heard from King. I thought he was done with me. I thought I was clear of his shit, but I wasn’t. Out on a run a few months back, our cargo was hit. DEA. They were there wa
iting for us. I wrote it off, but then a week later we were ambushed again. The more I looked into it, King was at the bottom of it all.

  Taking another large gulp from the bottle, he sets it to the counter. “One day, I was left a note that only I would understand. A playing card—the fucking King of Spades with a phone number on it—stuck to the handle of my ride.” Turning my way, he looks me deep in the eyes. “That was the number I called to get you free. I called King, knowing that saving you was going to cause me to fall back into his clutches.”

  Me? “Why? Why would you? If you were out, why not stay out? I meant nothing to you.”

  “But that’s where you’re wrong.” Stepping around the counter, he stands over me. “The day I met with Death, I saw this tiny bartender at Humble. Strong, defiant, and sexy as fuck. Then, seeing you walking out of that limo, fearful and yet still defiant at the warehouse, I had hopes that True was fucking joking. Thing was, you were pushed further than anyone I know, and you kept coming back stronger than I thought you could be. Even with Nock and his sick antics, you made sure you had the upper hand. I saw a certain pride in your defiant nature. I wanted more.” Playing with my wet braid again, toying with the ends, he smiles. A huge smile that makes even his upper lip rise. “This compact little woman was showing up a hardened biker. He should have broken you, but you won. I knew I needed to save you. I knew you couldn’t stay there.” He pulls me tight to his chest. “Obi, I’m not giving you up to the likes of King. I’m not giving you up at all.”

  Well, shit. That’s one of the nicest things he’s said.

  Bending low, pressing his lips to mine, the tang of his blood is sharp, but his soft lips are scrumptious. Running a hand down his abs, there’s a sharp intake of breath.

  Breaking the kiss, I smile sneakily. “How about that shower? I’ll tend to your boo-boos.”

  With a quirk of his head, and a ‘you’ve gotta be kidding me’ glare, Lucius nods. “Bring it on, little lady.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Busta

  Oubliette took that way better than I thought she would. I basically told her that I’m a NARK, a pitiful man that has been lying to his friends and his brothers. Someone who’s working with the DEA. A stupid motherfucker that broke the trust of his brothers, all because of her. Even seeing King and I toe-to-toe in my living room, she didn’t run down the hall and out the front door, vowing to call the cops.

  Like it would do any good. King would just make it all go away.

  So, now what?

  Well, now I have to come due on the deal I brokered with Death. I have to run a club and fucking fix it. Plus, I have to come clean on the deal with King too. Within all of that, I have to somehow find a way to keep my ass out of the grave. Jail isn’t an option, I’d just get shanked as soon as my trainers hit the gen-pop floor.

  So now I have to get creative.

  First things first. I need a shower, another round of sex with this woman, and a plan.

  Leading her down the hall to the bathroom, Oubliette silently walks beside me. I can see the wheels turning as she moves, considering everything I’ve told her, but she’s entertained and intrigued as to where we might go. I see it.

  Stripping off my blood spotted jeans, lifting her now blood smattered white tee, we stand in the shower once more. The water stings against the cuts, but they fuel the rage that simmers inside. The wheels of cunning shit will start after this. But for now, the wheels of cunnilingus will turn instead.

  “Stand there and don’t move,” I growl out as the water trickles down her form.

  “Don’t fucking move, Obi,” I say as she’s about to move. Smacking her hard on the ass, Oubliette grins wide. Taking a seat on the built-in bench, I motion her toward me with a finger waggle. Stepping slowly—too slow for my tastes—I pull her by the ass cheeks toward me. Sinking my mouth between those soft folds again, I stroke her softness.

  “Holy fuck! Lucius, I—” Squealing, her arms shoot out to hold her upright against the wall and sliding glass door. That gives me an idea. Licking her until her body is wobbly and her release is close, I reposition her against the glass doors.

  “Stay there.” Stepping close, rubbing my erection against her backside, I allow it to dip between her cheeks, pushing her legs out slightly. I don’t have a condom, but I can’t resist the opportunity to sink between her hot heat once more. “I want you, Oubliette. I want to fill you up until you scream my name.”

  I rub her ass against me. “So what the fuck are you waiting for, Busta?” Cheeky woman.

  “I need to go grab a condom.”

  “In for a penny, mister. In for a penny.” She pulls me close to her, and thrusting within, filling her and feeling her body squeeze me for more, I move to the sounds of her breathless sighs. Each time I push forward, I watch her face. Turned sideways against the glass, her grin grows and her eyes close. “More, please. I’m so close.”

  I give her everything—every move I have in my arsenal in this position. I grind, pull out to the tip, and slowly rise within her, slamming hard, quick, and with a precision that seems to make her fall apart.

  We do that until the water runs cool.

  On a sigh, she releases, and I do too shortly after her. No pomp and circumstance, just unbridled lust. Washing up fast, toweling and heading back to my bed with the sun dipping low, we’re sated.

  It took me a bit, but as my mind reeled through all the scenarios, considering everything I wish to do to King, I’m amazed I’m this calm.

  Thinking of everything he deserves for all he’s done. Scrolling through my mental rolodex, everyone I can involve that will assist in his demise. I catalogue new uses for tools that I’d never considered.

  He’ll pay.

  As Oubliette is softly snoring beside me, I remind myself of the game plan. Without the intention of it, the two of us fall asleep entwined.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Oubliette

  Coming to his clubhouse wasn’t something I expected to do. Like, ever. But Lucius told me he had a meet at the club, and that we should’ve been there hours ago. We’d fallen asleep. Waking with a start when he’d caught himself with drool, we were out the door in minutes. Stopping on the street around the corner from the clubhouse, Lucius shut down the bike and hopped off.

  “Obi, have you been in a clubhouse before?”

  “Yeah, with Jasmine.”

  “I’ll be tied up in a meeting for a bit, but I’ll leave you with the old ladies. They’ll take care of you. You’ll be safe.” Pacing in front of his semi-heated bike, Lucius is rattled. He says I’ll be safe, but in some way, he seems kind of unnerved.

  I don’t know this man well enough to really chat him up or make jokes to loosen the mood, so once more, I stay quiet and wait. Moving back and forth, thinking through things, the traffic blasts by us. They’re oblivious to his internal war.

  “Obi. The Broken Bows in the past haven’t been the good guys. I’m going to change that. I need time to. But when you go there, remember they’re still expecting the same—a status quo. Don’t be shocked. And most of all, do me a favor and don’t run. I won’t have time to chase you down while I’m in church.”

  Considering everything that I’ve gone through, all the things that have changed between Lucius and I, I nod. “I can go on a little faith.”

  Smoothing out his beard, he smiles weakly. “Thank you, Obi.”

  “Explain to me what you can later though, okay?”

  “Got it, lady. And Obi?” Stepping back across the seat, he starts up his bike. “I’ve never brought a woman to the club, so it could make you a bit of a sideshow.”

  Wrapping my hands around his waist, stroking the front of his jeans, I smile into his Broken Bows rocker. “No problem.”

  Laughing, he pulls away from the curb. “While you’re there, I’m Busta.”

  PULLING UP TO THE CLUBHOUSE, parking the bike and starting for the doors, Lucius smacks my ass. Wandering in and bringing me in behind him, Lucius—I
mean, Busta, leads the way.

  Entering, taking in the dark, dank, and seedy feeling space, I let my eyes adjust. To the left there are women and men in varying acts of attraction. There are guys playing pool at a worn-out table, a few just chillin’ in chairs or chatting on phones. There’s also a good-looking older guy behind a fully stocked bar. The bar is the cleanest and most modern part of the room as far as I can see, which makes me wary of touching anything.

  As Busta travels the space—with every eye on us—he stops at the foot of a tiny elderly woman with short hair, a bright smile, and the typical clubhouse look. It suits her. The majority of the group with their tiny shirts, or non-existent shirts, short shorts and oversized earring hoops, look like hookers straight off the corner. I don’t know much about the Bows, as Lucius calls them, but to me, there’s a decidedly large difference between the Bows and the Horsemen.

  In the Four Horsemen, the hierarchy ranges, and the clubhouse is airy, clean, and decidedly bright. Here it’s dark, dangerous, and dirty feeling. Also, I’m out of place, and the staring speaks louder than words. The Broken Bows are an African American club, which means every face in the crowd is eyeing me up. Blonde, blue eyed, petite in stature. I’m an anomaly.

  Sure, the Four Horsemen have that ‘you look out of place’ too, but Death, his sister Jazzy, and his little brother Jason, treat me like family. Their club is multinational—Native American, Korean, African American, and my favorite guitarist, Destroyer, won’t say more than that he’s Canadian. I feel like I fit into their quirky puzzle.

  From across the room, I realize I’ve paused in my steps when Lucius calls my name. “Oubliette, come here.”

  Walking over, standing beside him, he smiles down at me as he places a hand on the shoulder of the lady with the short hair. “This is Pan.”

  She grins wide up at Busta. “Hi, Oubliette. I’m Pandora. Busta here calls me Panna, or Pan for short.” Holding out a hand she offers, I shake it in return.