by Skyla Madi
I peer at the cool sands surrounding us for miles. Laurent is buried out here? A chill sweeps up my spine and I shudder. Does Isabelle know? Would she even care?
“Six hours is more than enough,” Judge says after a small eternity has passed.
“Then you get four.”
“Four?” I gasped, stepping forward only to be caught by Judge’s palm on the flat of my belly.
“Four will do,” he says, flicking his thumb over my mid-section.
I look at him. Four hours isn’t enough time. What if Elias has changed his location? What if Nicolás needs medical treatment? What if any of us need medical treatment? If the wounds are bad enough, we won’t make the drive back to California. My chest tightens.
Without a farewell, Marco turns, and they walk back to their fancy SUVs. Judge, Creed, and I stand in silence, watching until their taillights disappear into the night.
“Tell the others,” Judge says to Creed. “Clock’s ticking.”
Creed saunters off as Judge turns his body in my direction. He glides his palm to my hip and clasps it, before gently turning me to face him. He surveys my face and I know he can see the concern etched deep into my skin.
“Trust me,” he utters, and I rush air from my lips. “Just trust me.”
I peer into his ocean eyes—eyes that are as black as space right now. I should trust him. I do trust him.
“That was a lot of money.” I rub my lips together, hating the way my anxiety reaches my voice, making it shake. “More money than I can ever repay...”
“You don’t have to repay it. It wasn’t from the club’s fund, so there’s no paper trail, no contract.”
I frown. “If it didn’t come from your fund, where did it come from?”
I pray it isn’t his money. If it is, I’m a goner. I can’t walk away from a man who’d give so much without wanting anything in return.
“It’s Blondie’s money.”
Oh. “Isabelle? Why would she do that for me?”
“She’s got a big heart.” He inches closer until our bodies press together. I crane my neck to look up at him and he peers down at me with a gaze full of esteem, making my tummy flutter. “And deep pockets.”
Thoughts of her money lead me to thoughts of her father, Jonathan. He’s a missing person still—assumed dead, but not declared.
I lift my arms and wrap them around Judge’s waist, holding his thick body against mine. “What Marco said…did you really kill her father?”
Judge purses his full lips and his eyes gloss over in thought. He stews on my question for longer than I anticipated. I assumed he would brush it off and tell me to mind my own business, but I can see the gears turning in his eyes.
“I asked you to trust me and you have, wholeheartedly. Now I’m going to trust you.” He cranes his neck, bringing his lips to my ear. “I’ve scattered Jonathan Laurent all over this desert, and tonight, Elias will join him.”
He lingers by my ear, his lips the gentlest graze, lifting the hair on the back of my neck. He’s confessed to murder…and I feel nothing. Not even fear. I know now, without a doubt, that Damon Judge is dangerous. He’s a criminal. A murderer. He’s everything I once swore an oath to destroy…but his charming lasso remains tight around my soul.
“I…” I swallow hard, noticing my mouth is suddenly dry. Images of Elias shaking Nicolás as a newborn—images of every wrong he’s committed against our son—assault my mind. He deserves to die. He deserves to rot in hell. “I want to be there when you bury Elias. I want to see it.”
“Nah. Let me shoulder all the evil shit.” Judge touches my hair and cups my face in his warm hands. “How can you raise Nicolás with those visions in your head?”
He lowers his head and presses his mouth to mine. The touch stuns me with its gentleness. Judge’s kisses are normally conquering and plundering, leaving his mark so I won’t soon forget it.
But not this one.
I part my lips and his tongue is right there, slipping between my lips to taste me. I dissolve into him, my leather jacket melting into his cut. As if the ticking clock he previously mentioned has paused to allow us one last unhurried moment, he uses his tongue to patiently memorize my mouth. I touch his arms, then slide my hands up to hold onto his shoulders and a husky groan vibrates his chest. He wraps his arms around my waist and squeezes me to him, kissing me even deeper, until my head spins…
…until an ear-piercing whistle zips through the night air, penetrating our bubble to remind us that the clock is still ticking.
Judge pulls away and our gazes lock. His lips are wet and shiny from our kiss, making me want more, and there’s a sad, disappointed look in his eyes. For a second, it feels like he’s going to ask me to stay, but he already knows the answer.
“I hope you know I want to stay with you, more than anything…” I drag a subtle inhale through my nose, expanding my lungs. “But I need to put Nicolás first.”
“I get it.” He plants a chaste peck on my lower lip and releases me from his hold. “I’ll visit you. No motorcycle. No colors.”
Something deep in my soul brightens. “You changed your mind?”
He glances over the desert, genuine happiness tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah.”
Does this mean we’re dating? Are we exclusive? I’m too scared to ask, but whatever he means, it’s enough for me. Smiling, I hold out my hand and he takes it. We walk side by side back to his motorcycle and I feel good about what’s coming. The universe owes me a win, and I feel it. This is it.
“There was no time for me to stop at McDonald’s for a cheeseburger, but there’s plenty of time for you two to play tonsil tennis?” Modo shouts, sitting atop his bike, his big arms folded tight in front of his chest. “What a crock of shit.”
Ignoring him, Judge lifts his leg over his bike and settles on his seat. I take his extended hand and step onto a tiny metal plate welded to the side of his motorcycle. I grip Judge’s thick shoulder for balance and straddle my seat, pressing my thighs around him.
“You can get your cheeseburger on the way home, Modo, you fat shit,” Creed calls, turning his motorcycle on.
“Then let’s fucking go!”
The motorcycles roar to life—all of them—and I inhale, my body filling with renewed confidence. I can’t fight the smile on my lips at the powerful sound the bikes make. It’s like a kingdom of lions or raging oceans at the center of a tropical storm. A powerful surge of emotion swells in my chest. I’m no longer a desperate and powerless mother trying to move mountains on her own. I’m not alone anymore.
Now I have an army.
SEVENTEEN
J U D G E
Elias Vergara was exactly where Sora said he would be. In a fortified lodge hidden in the woods by Mount Charleston. His security was minimum because he was an arrogant bastard who believed no one had the balls to attack him. We’re gonna do more than attack him. Tonight, we were going to smash his legacy into pieces, until there was nothing left to salvage.
Our approach to Elias’s hideout was simple. We peeled off the secluded road just under a mile out from the long, steep decline of the white gravel drive that carved the way to the main entrance. Our bikes were many and we pushed them into the dark thicket, haphazardly hiding them from the road. Amongst the sounds of crickets, and whatever else scurried through the Nevadan hills this time of night, my men murmured and prepared their guns. Clicks of metal and a gentle hint of gunpowder invaded my senses, eliciting goosebumps across my flesh. It’d been a long time since we were all out on a run like this—and we were all here for Nicolás. Even our prospects.
Minnie sat on my bike and quietly watched as I dug through my saddlebag. From its depths, I took out a handgun and placed it on my seat in the space between her legs. Then, I reached inside the bag and grabbed a busted packet of cigarettes.
“Is that to calm your nerves?” Yasmine asked, and I looked at her as I pinched the butt end of a cancer stick and freed it from the pack, along with a ski
nny blue lighter.
“Something like that.”
I put the cig between my lips, lighted it, and dragged on it. I held the smoke in my lungs until it burned, then I blew it out and licked my lower lip. She looked the part of a bad biker bitch and I was falling for it—for the daydream of always having her on the back of my bike.
Holding out her fingers, she silently asked for my cigarette. I gave it to her and watched as she held it between her full lips and inhaled, the cherry on the end glowed bright red.
“I gotta tell Creed he’s on lookout.” I cleared my throat and glanced over at Creed, who admired his AR-15 as he wiped over its army print barrel. “I promised Blondie I’d keep him safe.”
Blowing the smoke from her lips, she gently coughed. “He’s not going to like that, is he?”
“No.”
“Well…” She took another drag, blew more smoke from her lips, and handed my cigarette back. “Good luck.”
My lips quirked. Good luck. When it came to telling Creed no, I needed more than luck. I needed a damn miracle. I touched Yasmine’s leg. It was a small touch, the tip of my index finger against her thigh. I brushed it up and down, a soft caress, and she watched it. Then, I left my packet of cigarettes and the lighter on my seat and I headed in Creed’s direction. I flicked my head at Armi as I passed him, and he followed me with his sniper rifle against his shoulder. Creed lifted his attention to us as we approached, and he smirked.
“I’ve been waiting a long time to try out my custom trigger,” he said, lifting his gun to show us, but it didn’t look any different to me. “Finally.”
I dragged on my smoke and blew it out before it hit my lungs. “Give Armi your rifle.”
Creed thinned his dark eyes as he frowned, but he did as he was told. He handed over his rifle to Armi, who stepped forward to take it. Armi was my best marksman and it was a risk not to have him on the sniper, especially with this much surrounding foliage, but for Creed, being up here on the incline was safer than being in the middle of the shitshow. Before today, I would’ve told Blondie to shove it. Creed was my right-hand man and I never entered a fight without him, but Blondie was ready to start her family and she needed James alive for that. I told her I couldn’t keep him on the sidelines forever, but for the time being, I could surrender him. God knows he wanted a baby, and he wasn’t getting any younger.
“Sniper is yours,” I told him, dropping my cigarette to the ground, no longer liking the taste on my tongue. I stomped it out in the dry leaves under my heavy, black boots. “You’ll be on lookout.”
Armi extended the rifle to Creed, but Creed didn’t reach for it. Instead, he cut his eyes at me, and if looks could kill, I’d have dropped dead. Leaning against his bike, Creed crossed his arms over his chest.
“I’m not coming down the hill?” he asked, and I took the slim, but heavy, sniper rifle from Armi’s grip.
“You’re not coming down the hill.”
Armi turned on his heel and sauntered away with Creed’s pride and joy. The silence between Creed and I was palpable, but it went deeper than anger. He was disappointed and I knew why. He worked his jaw, processing the fact I was leaving him on the sidelines. He couldn’t stand being idle, not when the whole chapter was out for the first time in years.
“Blondie put you up to this?”
I didn’t react, not a nod or a shake of my head. I wasn’t following Blondie’s orders entirely. I didn’t want him down there because I needed someone I could trust—a good man—to take over the chapter should something happen to me.
And, also, Isabelle was pretty fucking scary when she demonstrated what she’d do to my balls if Creed were hurt tonight.
“Keep your distance. Stay up on the hill,” I growled at him, shoving the rifle into his chest.
He didn’t take it. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll shoot you myself.”
His stare didn’t leave mine. He didn’t back down, and I didn’t expect him to, but I expected him to have enough respect for me, as president to do what he was told. He usually listened without argument, but Blondie had been a spanner in the works from the moment he met her, and I no longer trusted him to comply. I pressed the rifle harder against his arms and chest, and clenched my teeth. Just take the fucking gun. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I’d shoot his foot if he didn’t obey.
Exhaling, Creed uncrossed his arms and snatched the gun. The thick tension in the air melted away and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The last thing I needed was to fight him. For Creed, one of the most stubborn fuckers I’d ever known, to give up without much of a fight, meant he must’ve already had this argument with Blondie. He knew what she wanted. She wanted him to come home as healthy as he left.
“I won’t be able to see shit through this foliage, Damon.” He placed the gun on the back end of his motorcycle, muttering something that ended in “boring as hell.”
I shrugged and held out my hand. “Should’ve brought a book.”
Cussing, he dug into the pocket of his cut and freed a silver pair of cuffs. I didn’t dwell on the betrayal emanating from Creed’s person because I had another heart to break. Stuffing the cuffs into the front pocket of my jeans, I made my way back to Minnie, who stood behind my bike admiring my handgun. She rolled it in her small hands, appreciating every crevice, pausing when I entered her personal space. Her lips curved gently as she turned to face me.
“What gun do I get?” she asked, extending my gun—handle first—toward me. I take it and slip it into the back of my waistband.
I didn’t answer. Behind us, the chapter was ready to go, and they melted into the greenery. The air changed when they left. The wind turned ice cold and the insects held their breath. As I stood with Yasmine under the trees, I was no longer president of a motorcycle club. I was a friend. A lover. I was someone who cared deeply about the outcome of the fight.
The problem with caring so much for someone was the distance I was willing to go to keep them safe. Even if it hurt them. I knew the pain of not doing enough, of not being protective enough. I knew better now, and I’d do everything in my power not to suffer through it again. Even if they hated me for it.
I touched Minnie’s soft wrists, then her dry, cold hands. They trembled.
“It’s been a while since I’ve stormed a building.” She smiled at me, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and fear etched her features as clear as day. “Eight years ago, I would’ve been in my element.”
While she spoke, I reached into my pocket and freed my cuffs. Yasmine looked at them, confused and unresponsive as I trapped one of her wrists with the metal.
“Wh-what are you doing?” She lifted her gaze to mine and it’d be a lie if I said the look of her didn’t sock me in the guts.
She didn’t even fight me as I leaned around her and handcuffed her to my bike. Gasping, her eyes went wide and her skin paled. She looked like she was in pain, as if I violently drove a knife through her chest a million times. Tears welled, but she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Yasmine was driven and prideful. She had this vision of being her son’s hero, of being the one who delivered him from his evil father, and it was clear in her stance, and her expression, that she hated me for taking it from her. But I was keeping her safe, and up here with Creed and Iris, she was as safe as she was gonna be.
“Uncuff me,” she demanded, her voice miraculously controlled for someone with such turbulent eyes. “If you don’t, I swear to God—”
She swallowed her words as I grabbed her face in both my hands. I cupped her cheeks and pulled her forward until her body hit mine, then I smoothed my hands over her hair. I wrapped her ponytail around my knuckles, feeling the soft, thick strands slip between my fingers. Her body bubbled with anger and betrayal. She was so mad I was certain steam would billow from her pores any second. I crushed my lips to hers and kissed her. Minnie’s body went rigid against mine, but I felt her grip on the front of my cut, pulling me further into her, into her kiss. Her pr
ide didn’t want her to kiss me, but I felt the desire in her soul tugging at me.
I touched her face and broke the kiss. “I won’t be long, baby.”
I turned and stormed off, cringing at the sound of the metal cuffs scraping the metal of my bike.
Y A S M I N E
Judge disappears into the thicket without a glance over his shoulder and I purse my lips, biting down hard to prevent the scream that bubbles at the base of my throat from tearing out of my mouth. How can he do this to me? How can he drive me all the way to Nevada only to string me up on the sidelines? Here I’m helpless. Useless.
Judge knows how bad I want to be there. Nicolás needs to see my face first. He needs to know I’m leading the charge. He needs to know Mommy is here fighting for him, risking it all for him. How else will he forgive me? How else can I forgive myself? I spent so long begging for help, doing nothing but waiting for Judge to get off his ass and give me the manpower I needed to get my boy. And now I’m here. I need to be at the forefront, only then would the risks I’ve taken be worth it. Only then will I be able to rid myself of this guilt threaded deep inside me and clear the heavy cloud of uselessness hovering over my head.
Ten minutes pass before I growl in exasperation and slump my shoulders.
“He wants to keep you safe,” Creed says, irritation thick in his voice. I lift my head and peer at him as he slings his sniper rifle over his broad shoulder and slips his phone into the pocket of his jeans. Beside him, tiny Iris drums impatient fingers against the butt of her own rifle. “Us. He’s trying to keep us safe.”
Us. As if we’re in the same boat. I don’t need to be kept safe. If something happens to Nicolás, I have no reason to live. Death is something I came to terms with years ago.
I stare at the sizable vice president. I know about his plight with Jonathan Laurent and the extent he went to to protect Isabelle. Clubhouse stories paint him as a savage, a warrior, an unstoppable force, but here he stands, the big bad James Creed, sidelined on the same hill as me, staying out of harm’s way while his brothers fight without him.
