by Karen Renee
I looked into his dark eyes. “I’ll have a beer.”
“Bottle?”
“You have draft?”
His eyes widened while his head tilted, and Sandy laughed, which was all the answer I needed.
“Sure, I’ll take a draft. Thanks.”
Sandy smacked the bar. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, but I gotta make a run to the store so these men have food to eat.”
I looked at her askance. “Really? I thought the prospects did that?”
“Shut your mouth,” the man pulling my beer muttered.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
Sandy laughed. “No, honey. I do it so the right food gets purchased.”
“Why don’t you use a grocery delivery service or something?”
Her look said I had to be joking. “Honey, these bikers won’t go for that!”
I wanted to argue with her, but raised my hands in acquiescence. “If you say so. Do you need help?”
She chuckled. “Nope. Like I told you, you’re gonna need to see to Har, honey.”
As she hustled away, I shook my head since I still hadn’t seen him, which made me doubt he needed my assistance. I grabbed my beer, tucked my sketch book under my arm and planted myself in the corner of a couch. The first sip of ice cold beer could not be beat, so I gave myself that luxury before I got down to sketching a leopard stalking its prey.
It might have been September with highs in the low nineties, but somebody kept the thermostat of the clubhouse around the low seventies and I was shivering. A chenille throw sat on the back of the couch, so I tucked my feet under my tush and wrapped the blanket around me.
I heard doors opening and the commotion of multiple bodies moving into the area.
Then a deep voice boomed, “Fill that up for the Prez.”
I glanced up, but a weight on the couch forced my head to the side and Har’s arms wrapped around me. He nuzzled my neck for a moment before he kissed me, slow and sweet.
“Hey, Miss Priss,” he murmured against my lips.
“Hey,” I whispered, before I opened my eyes.
I pulled my head back and got a good look at him. His left eye was swollen and a deep bruise colored the side of his face.
“What happened?” I cried.
He grinned, but before he could answer Cynic walked over and held out a bag of ice toward Har.
He grabbed it, muttering, “Thanks, man.”
While he put the bag to the left side of his face, I traced the right side with my index finger. There were marks, but I couldn’t tell if they were scratches or some other type of scrape.
When I focused on his whole face, his green eyes were dancing while his lips tipped up.
My eyes narrowed. “Are you smiling at me?”
He dipped his head a touch. “Yep. Like you lookin’ at me like that, Combes.”
I threw my head to the side for a moment and back to him with wide eyes. “I’m so glad, Walcott, but it doesn’t mean I like having to look at you like that! Now, tell me, what happened?”
He pulled the bag away and I saw how large the purple bruise was near his eye. My eyes widened which made him smile outright.
“Yeah. Could get used to you lookin’ at me like that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Quit stalling.”
“Went home. Walked two steps into the house when an asshole clocked me in the head.”
My lips parted, but I forced myself to keep silent.
“I ducked the next shots coming at me, and when I turned on the light, I saw it was Diana attacking me.”
My eyebrows drew together. “Diana?”
His lips twisted for a moment before he winced. “You heard Layla talk about the blonde throwing the brick?”
I nodded.
“That’s Diana. She swung a lamp at my head—”
“A lamp,” I shouted.
He winced, and I patted his arm. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“It’s all right, babe. But, she only grazed me, which led to the scratches.”
“Okay, so... what’s with the humongous shiner?”
He sighed. “Well, that’s the thing.”
My face went slack. “‘The thing?’”
“Her brother showed up.”
“A real brother? Like biological?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, babe. She’s not part of our world.”
My heart warmed at him calling it ‘our’ world, but he might not have meant me to be included in that so much as referring to him and his other brothers.
“But, why?”
He arched a brow and winced at that, too. “She needed his help with the bullshit she was doing to my home. She’s accusing me of knocking her up. Won’t take a pregnancy test now. But she told him I had knocked her up.” He cupped my cheek when my eyes bulged. “I didn’t, baby. Used protection, and knowing shit now, I’d have double wrapped if I could’ve.”
I burst with laughter and he grinned.
I shook my head. “So where the hell is she? In jail?”
He leveled a look at me.
Oh, right. They didn’t do things like that.
“You’re kidding? Legitimately, Michael, she should be in jail for breaking and entering, assault, the whole shebang. You were within your rights to defend yourself in your own home.”
He shook his head once. “Not how I roll, baby. We went over this the night she threw that brick. Besides, she vandalized both our rooms.”
Confusion washed over me. “Really? Surely we could’ve slept—”
His finger came to my lips. “She slashed your futon, destroyed your pillows. Destroyed our bed and dumped manure in the bedroom.”
“You’re shitting me?” I hung my head at my words. “Sorry, that was a lousy way to put it, but you can’t be serious?”
His eyes gentled with remorse. “Sorry to tell you, but I’m dead serious.”
“Prez, you comin’ with us?” Brute asked as he and Roman sauntered toward the back door.
He lifted his chin at them. Then he pecked my lips. “I’ll tell you the rest when I come back.”
Har
Har couldn’t believe he had been in the shed twice in two days. Diana glared at him from the chair she was tied to and muffled sounds came from behind her gag. Her brother, Dixon, if his ID was to be believed, sat slumped with his head hanging low. The Riot MC brothers had shown no mercy when they arrived at his house, but Har didn’t believe this man was still unconscious.
He gave a short whistle through his teeth before Brute got too close to the man.
Brute raised an eyebrow in response.
Har pulled his switchblade from his pocket.
“I’m thinking, my blade hasn’t seen enough action today, Brute. I’m gonna stand here behind Diana with this blade at her throat so if Dixon tries any funny business, his sister buys it.”
Diana screamed with all her might and thrashed before he could get his hands on her.
Dixon’s head jerked up and Har grinned.
“Yeah. Didn’t think you were out, motherfucker.”
Brute gave a disgusted snort. “This dumb fuck thought he’d get the jump on me?” His body whirled and his boot connected with Dixon’s jaw, blood spewing in the air.
Roman sighed, shaking his head. “Man. You keep this shit up, we’re gonna have to find a fuckin’ boat headed out of the Mississippi River to get rid of them.”
It took a moment for those words to register, but when they did Diana whimpered and tears rolled down her face.
Har moved and crouched in front of her. “Is the seriousness of the situation sinking in? The brick was one damn thing, and I might have gone easy on that shit. But this,” he tapped his face where she’d swiped at him. “This shit doesn’t stand. Woman or not, you don’t get to assault me, in my home. World doesn’t need more psycho bitches in it.”
He stood and her muffled words came at a rapid fire behind the gag.
Brute gave him a curious look. “They a
lways want to atone when it’s too damn late. Why is that?”
“This is no time for philosophical questions, Brute. How are we getting rid of them?” Roman asked.
Har looked past the two prisoners and debated how they should do this. He looked to Brute. “Block or Cynic find Carter yet?”
He shook his head. “No, and Block’s stickin’ close to Tiny. He sponsored Carter, which brings Tiny’s loyalty into question, right or wrong.”
They had to deal with Carter because otherwise he was a loose end who could point authorities at Har when someone reported Dixon or Diana missing. He grabbed two five-gallon buckets, and placed one under each chair.
From behind Dixon and Diana, he said to Brute and Roman, “When Carter’s found, we take care of business. In the meantime, got the buckets under ’em, they can piss and not cause a big mess.”
Roman closed his eyes and shook his head.
Brute shrugged. “Whatever you say, man.”
As they approached the clubhouse, Roman asked, “Shoot a game of pool? Take your mind off shit, Har? Or you gonna—”
He shook his head. “Pool sounds good. Best of three.”
As they moved through the common room, Stephanie still sat curled up with the blanket and her sketch book. He’d been curious earlier, but didn’t get the chance to spy her work. As he chalked his cue stick while Roman racked, he reminded himself to peek at it later. Sandy sat on the opposite end of the couch reading a book, and he couldn’t remember a time when two women sat in the common room not trying to get a brother’s attention.
“Your break, Prez,” Roman called as he grabbed a cue stick from the wall.
He tore his gaze from his woman, bent over the table, lined up the ball and his cue and broke the rack. It was a decent break, but none of the balls sunk, which left Roman with his pick.
Over an hour later, Roman took aim on the eight ball. “Left corner pocket.”
He lifted his chin, knowing his brother would sink the shot. It never failed that when Roman hit him up to shoot pool, enough time had elapsed for Har to forget how damn good Roman was at it. He was so good, Har often wondered why they hadn’t called him Hustler.
The ball fell into the pocket with a thunk, and Har set his cue on the table. “You done kickin’ my ass?”
Roman smiled. “What can I say? You’re one of the few who can give me a decent run for my money. Speakin’ of, you said best of three but not what was at stake.”
He lifted his chin. “Damn right. About time I did something right today. Nice games, man. Find someone else to hustle around here.”
Stephanie had hardly moved from her perch, but she looked cute as hell all curled up. Her hair cascaded over one side of her head and her face was bent toward the sketch book, a small furrow between her brows as she concentrated.
Sandy had left the area, which allowed Har to settle close beside her and look at her drawing.
His breath froze at the sight. On the page she’d drawn his house with a wolf and a bear in the front yard. The wolf had its fangs bared and the bear was crouched ready to pounce on something outside the drawing.
He exhaled quietly before he spoke. “You don’t like someone breaking into my place, do you, sweetheart?”
She chuckled. “I guess not. Didn’t even realize it was your house until I started in on the bear. Funny how the creative mind channels the subconscious, huh?”
With care, he took the sketch from her hands along with the pencil and set them aside. Then he yanked her legs over his lap toward the empty end of the couch before he twisted to his side and shifted them both lower. He pulled the blanket lower on her so he could touch her arms.
She smiled up at him, and he lowered his lips to hers. She ran her fingers into his hair, opening her mouth to his and he kissed her for a long time. He didn’t think they had ever made out before, and it was more enjoyable than with other women. Her hands moved to his shoulders and stroked.
He shoved the blanket to the floor and slipped his hand under her shirt. The silky feel of her skin turned him on and he deepened a kiss that was already deep. To his surprise, he found her satiny bra had a front clasp. With a low growl, he flicked it open and palmed her warm, soft breast.
His hips moved with a mind of their own. She broke the kiss and his tongue traced a line up her neck while his fingers pinched her nipple.
He expected her to go wild for him as she had before, but her body went stiffer than a new deck of cards.
He pulled his head away from her and gazed into fearful eyes.
Chapter 22
Getting Out of His Life
Stephanie
MAKING OUT WITH HAR was like nothing else, but feeling his hips jerk against mine forced my mind back to us being in the common room. Key word being ‘common.’ I turned my head and saw at least four men at the bar and my entire body went stiff.
I felt his head lift from the crook of my neck and turned to see him staring at me.
“What?” he breathed.
“No, Har. Not out here.”
His eyes narrowed. “My brothers don’t care, baby.”
“Four of them are on their cell phones right now. I don’t need to be on the internet again because someone has pics of me in this position.”
His eyes flared. “Not one of us would do shit like that, Combes.”
“That’s not a chance I can take. First time, it’s not my fault. The second time, who’s to blame then?”
He frowned. “My brothers wouldn’t do that shit. I know it.”
“Like you knew two of them wouldn’t pit a woman against you? Like you knew a woman couldn’t possibly get into your home with her brother in tow?”
He knifed off me roaring, “Fuck!”
I stood and hustled to his room. His words, from weeks ago, about ‘if things went bad we would reassess’ came to me, but there wasn’t a need to reassess shit as far as I was concerned. Him throwing a tantrum because I wasn’t comfortable was not cool.
Thankfully, when I changed earlier I’d shoved my uniform in the duffel, and the only thing I needed was my jewelry box. I stood staring at the safe. When he insisted on putting it there, my instincts told me that was a bad idea.
“Fuck it,” I whispered, grabbing my keys, phone, and bag.
Sandy halted midway down the corridor and I knew she was headed to find me. Her eyes fell on my bag and she shook her head. “Honey, you both need to cool it.”
I shook my head.
For some crazy reason, his words from this morning about how Wycliffe was coming after me at the worst time for him replayed in my mind. I had thought Har needed to cool it then, and I realized getting out of his life would help both of us.
I tried not to frown at Sandy. “I’ll cool it just fine where I’m headed. He needs to focus on this club, he’s free to do it. My shit won’t impact him. Take care of yourself, Sandy.”
She grabbed my bicep. “What about your fancy cooker? You can’t leave without that.”
I smiled. “I have to go. And if you’re feeling nice, maybe you can bring it to me. We exchanged numbers yesterday. I’ll text you.”
She hung her head, her hand dropping away, and I beelined to my bike.
Even if it brought me the wrath of a dozen or more bikers, I went straight to Har’s house to gather as much of my shit as I could fit in my saddlebags.
He had told me my futon had been slashed to hell, which I found myself grateful for because if I’d walked into this room unaware it would’ve sent me over the edge of the devastation I was keeping at bay. As it was I struggled against my tears of anger because what that bitch did to my bed went beyond the pale.
Or so I thought.
While I pulled clothes out of my dresser, I thought my room smelled like a public toilet. With a bundle of clothes in hand, I paused to sniff and my face twisted at the foul odor.
“God! What the fuck?” I breathed out. I wasn’t angry any more, I was livid.
I shoved the clothes into
a shopping bag since I could squish that into the saddlebag. It would be nice to take more of my stuff, but such was the downside of riding a bike.
As though fate stepped in, I noticed four bungee cords dangling from a shelf in the garage. Braving the smell, I returned to my room to pack a small suitcase. Back in the garage, I used the bungee cords to strap my overnight bag to the back of my bike. It wasn’t ideal, but it would hold up since I wasn’t going far.
Once I parked my bike in the employee parking lot, I unstrapped my luggage, took my duffel out, and relocked the saddlebag.
When I went through orientation, the human resources woman had made a big deal about how employees got a steep room discount on property. I hoped she hadn’t been blowing smoke because I damn sure needed the discount.
Thirty minutes later, I walked into my hotel room and hung up my clothes. While I should have been watching all my pennies, I couldn’t stop myself from ordering room service. It was the least I could do to dull the ache growing in my heart.
I had been on the brink of tears since Har insisted his brothers wouldn’t take pictures of me without my knowledge. His declaration showed blatant disregard for my feelings and what had happened to me. Now that I was alone, I could let myself feel the bitter resentment and severe disappointment of another man letting me down. He said he understood a week ago, but as usual there was no way a man could ever understand having your power stripped without your knowledge, let alone your permission.
It was a toss-up as to what hurt worse, the fact he could be so ignorant, or the fact he showed how little he understood...or the fact it was just him. I expected him to understand – no didn’t expect, I thought for certain he did understand. Yet again, I was wrong.
Yet again, men couldn’t be trusted.
Or maybe my instincts about men weren’t to be trusted.
Which is why you should be done with men, the little voice said in my head. That voice sounded a helluva lot like my mother. A woman who couldn’t stay married to four different men. All of them good, upstanding men. The one common factor was my mother, and yet again I wondered if I could hack it in a serious relationship.
My phone rang with Suzy’s ring tone. “Hello, big sis.”
