by Nicole James
“What kind of calls?”
“The kind where he breathes heavy and…”
“And?”
“He describes what I’m wearing. He tells me what he’s going to do to me.” I want to be tough, to be a hardass, but my eyes sting, and I blink and look away. I’ll be damned if I’ll cry in front of these men. I stand up and pace away.
“What kind of things, Cherry?”
“Tie me up. Fuck me. Beat me. Make me beg for mercy.”
“Jesus,” someone behind me says.
“And I’m just hearin’ about this now?” That’s Daytona’s deadly quiet voice. “And that reason was you thought it was me or my guys?”
I nod, not turning around.
“That everything?”
I take a deep breath and face him. “Someone was in my house and left this on the bed.” I pull up the photo I took with my phone and cross the room to show it to him. His jaw ticks and his eyes flare with emotion.
“I’m gonna put a man on you ‘round the clock. Trick, you’re up tonight. Drive her home and stay until I send a replacement in the morning. Lobo, find that info.”
“You got it,” Lobo replies.
“Give us a minute,” Daytona orders, and the men move to clear out.
Trick pauses at the door. “I’ll be outside, Cherry.”
I nod.
Daytona moves around to the front of his desk, leans against the edge, and folds his arms.
“That isn’t necessary. I’m sorry I came. I’m sorry I thought it was you.”
“Damage is done. Maybe when I cool off, I’ll see things different. Right now, I’m too pissed off. But regardless, I give a shit about you, so I’m gonna look out for you. Make sure you’re safe until we get to the bottom of this. I’m sending my VP, because I don’t need to be around you right now. You understand that?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to worry about him. He knows if he lays a finger on you, I’ll kill him.”
The way he says it, it’s not just a turn of phrase. It sounds more like actual fact.
“Daytona—”
“Don’t.” He holds a hand up.
I stop speaking.
“You have my number. Call if you need anything. Someone will keep you posted on what we find out.”
He sounds so cold and distant and done with me, like this is some kind of security detail, and I’m just a client. And I hate it. Hate. It.
And I’m the one who did this.
“Thank you.”
He lifts his chin to the door.
“Trick’s waiting.”
That’s it. That’s all. We’re over before we even got started.
I quietly exit the room and find Trick. He’s standing outside smoking a cigarette. The MC cut is gone, and he’s replaced it with a black hoodie. A backpack is slung over one shoulder. I guess when someone does what he does, they’ve got a go bag at the ready.
He holds the passenger door for me and slides behind my wheel, taking the keys from my hand. We drive back in silence. I stare out the window, going over every single second of the past hour in my head.
Before I know it, we pull up at the house.
Trick unlocks the front door and checks the inside, making sure it’s clear.
“I’ll crash on the couch,” he informs me.
“I’ll get you a pillow and blanket.” I go to retrieve them. When I return, he’s standing at the window, a pair of binoculars aimed at the gas station. He talks into his phone. “Yeah, he’s there. I see movement. Yeah, I’ll set them up now. I brought four. Okay. Later.”
He disconnects, and I lay the items on the couch. “Four what?”
“Cameras. We’re going to put them up around the exterior. He makes any more midnight deliveries, we’ll see him.”
“Oh.”
Trick bends and digs through his pack, pulling out items. I see a gun in a shoulder holster under his hoodie and another shoved in the back of his jeans. He lays some extra clips on the table.
“You expecting a war?” I ask, mostly teasing.
“Always.” He twists to look over his shoulder at me. “Go on. Get some sleep. You’re safe, darlin’.”
“Thank you. For all of this.”
“Don’t thank me. This is all Daytona. He’s the one you should be thanking.”
I retreat to the bedroom, his words ringing in my ears.
CHAPTER TEN
Charlotte—
When I come awake, the sun is streaming in the windows. Last night floods back into my memory like a wave washing ashore, and I grab my phone off the nightstand to immediately check for a missed call, voicemail, or even a text from Daytona, but there’s nothing. Has he washed his hands of me, then? Can I blame him?
I scroll to Daryl’s number and fire off a quick text. I don’t want to worry Scarlett with any of this stuff yet, but I do want to check on her.
Me: How’s my sister?
Daryl: She’s doing well. Enjoying herself. You okay?
Me: I’m good. Glad she’s having fun.
Daryl: When are you coming back?
Me: Not sure yet. I’ll text you later.
Daryl: Ok. Talk to you then.
I shove the covers aside with more force than necessary and climb out of bed. I curse the fact that I have to get dressed before I can get my coffee, because there’s a man in my living room. My MC guard. On the flip side, I’m extremely grateful he’s here, and because of him, last night I had the best sleep I’ve had in days. I yank open a drawer and pull out a pair of Scarlett’s faded denim capris. I hold them up and look at them. They’ve got funky embroidery along the hem in white. I move to the closet and grab a gauzy, loose fitting, white peasant top off a hanger and slip it on. It hangs off one shoulder, revealing my tanned skin. I slip on a pair of dangling large hoops to go with the look and leave the room.
I expect to find Trick asleep on the couch. I see the pillow and blanket, but no Trick.
I smell coffee and know he’s already brewed a pot. Rounding the corner, I see he’s not in the kitchen.
I grab a mug and pour a cup, then wander to the front and look out the window. I see him out there on the phone.
I stand there, figuring he wants privacy for that call, since he went outside to take it. He’s also smoking a cigarette and pacing. I watch for another minute, standing back from the window so he doesn’t spot me. I notice he hasn’t got a coffee yet, so I return to the kitchen, fill a mug, and carry it out to him.
He’s off his call now.
“Coffee?” I hold it out to him.
“Thanks.”
I sit on the steps and he sits next to me. The sun is still low, and it’s cool this morning. We both sip our coffee and stare out at the landscape. After a few moments, he turns his head to me.
“You had some balls last night, walking in like that and unloading on Prez in front of the whole fucking club.”
I stare straight ahead; I know that wasn’t a compliment. He’s pissed on behalf of his president, and he’s letting me know it. Loyalty runs deep with this bunch.
“Baseless fucking accusations, and you know it.” He shakes his head and looks at the horizon. “What I don’t get is why, because Daytona was into you, and you were into him. I saw it.”
“I had reasons to believe it could be him, but I admit I handled it poorly. I should have talked to him in private instead of doing what I did.”
“Exactly. You fucked up, babe.”
He’s right. I fucked up. I take a sip of coffee, then murmur, “I know.”
“But you did it in a way that captured his admiration, too. All full of fire. Took guts.” He sips his coffee and stares at the mountains in the distance. “Maybe fixing it is gonna take more guts.”
“You’re right. I need to fix it or at least try. But will he listen?”
“He’s a guy, and you, lookin’ like you do, the whole package, beauty, brains, guts, and you makin’ him smile more than I’ve ever seen. That ass
, those legs, that hair. Yeah, he’ll listen.”
I blush at his description. “Will you take me?”
He looks at me and grins. “Can I finish my coffee?”
I return his smile. “I suppose.”
“You don’t know it, but Daytona’s a good guy,” he murmurs.
“No, he’s not. But for some reason, I like him anyway.”
Trick chuckles at that and takes another sip.
I glance up to the corners of the eaves and spot the cameras. “I see you’ve been busy.”
“Those are only the ones you can see.”
“Did you find out anything about that guy at the gas station?”
“Lobo’s checking on that.”
I feel like he knows more than he’s sharing. “There weren’t any gifts on the porch this morning?”
“Nope.”
“Strange.”
“Why is that strange?”
“Because I’ve gotten something every day.”
“I want to get a few more cameras today and mount them around the outside of the bar.”
We both stare toward the bar, and then look at each other. I’m sure we’re both suddenly thinking the same thing, because we both set our mugs down.
“Shit,” he growls, rising and stalking across the gravel toward the front of the bar. I follow. We round the corner and he holds out an arm. “Stay back.”
“What is it?”
“Just stay there.”
I peek around the corner. There’s some dead animal’s body against the door, a pool of blood around it. I see something dripping down the glass window and step out to see. Blood is smeared on the glass, spelling out, DIRTY BIKER WHORE.
I cover my mouth.
Trick squats down by the animal.
“What is it? It’s not a dog is it?” All I can think of is that sweet, shy German Shepard.
“No. It’s a Coyote.”
He stands to click a picture of the animal and the bloody graffiti.
“What are you doing?”
“Letting Daytona know.”
“Wait. Don’t send him that.”
“Girl, he’s my president. I’m here for a reason, and I’m not keeping a fucking thing from him. You need to understand where my loyalties lie.”
“I didn’t ask for you to come here.”
“You got us involved when you walked in the clubhouse and did what you did last night.” He splays his arms, leaning toward me. “So here we are, all fucking wrapped up in your shit. And you don’t think that man has feelings for you? Woman, get a clue.”
“I haven’t even apologized to him yet.”
“Well, you better get ready.” His phone rings a few seconds after he sends the picture. He takes the call, his eyes on mine the entire time. There are a lot of grunting yes and no answers, and then he disconnects the call. “We don’t touch anything until he gets here. Come on. Let’s wait at the house.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Daytona—
I pull up at Badlands with Lobo, Tin Man, Maker, Shine, and Reckless.
I’m off my bike in a split second and stalking to the boardwalk in front of the bar. I see the words, their dripping red letters smeared across the windows. It’s hard to miss. Rage floods my body. I want to hunt this motherfucker down and strangle the life out of him with my bare hands.
My eyes drop to the carcass and the pool of blood.
I kneel down and take a closer look. How this coyote was killed might give me a clue as to what kind of man I’m hunting.
Lobo squats down beside me. I lift a twisted, broken front paw. “What do you think? Steel trap?”
Lobo shakes his head. “Naw. There are too many injuries. I think a car hit it.”
“And all the blood?” I arc a brow.
He dips his finger in it and smells it. “That’s not blood. I’d bet it’s the fake stuff they sell in costume shops for Halloween.”
“So this motherfucker finds a road kill or hits it with his own car—happy accident for him, just what he needs—and drags it here.”
Lobo shrugs. “Or he hits the thing, and a light bulb goes off in his head. Decides to make use of it and throws it in his vehicle and drops it off. Does it up good with the fake blood to scare the shit out of her.”
I lift my chin to the windows. “He’s definitely sending a message.”
“Yup. Pretty clear it’s someone infatuated with her. Or just filled with anger and hatred, and she became an easy target for him—woman alone, isolated like she is out here.”
“I’ve got an idea where to start. Keep your eyes on the shack behind the gas station. I’m going to talk to her.”
“You got it.”
I stalk around the side of the building and make a beeline for the little white cottage. My boots thud on the steps. Before I reach the door, Trick swings it open, and I step inside.
Cherry is sitting on the sofa, rubbing her palms up and down her thighs. She looks nervous to see me, and after last night, I can understand why. I close the door and stand, staring at her. “This seems like a rejected lover or someone you may have turned down when he hit on you. Any ideas on that?”
“I can’t think of anyone.”
“When’s the last time you slept with a man?” My question has her eyes widening, and her gaze flicking to Trick. I look over at him. “Wanna give us a minute?”
He grins at Cherry. “Sure, Prez. Take all the time you need.”
I watch him go. Once the door closes behind him, I swivel back to her. “Talk.”
“Um. There hasn’t been anyone since Buck.”
“Buck. The guy who used to own Badlands?”
“Yes.”
“Heard he passed a while back. How many months has it been?”
“Almost a year.”
“And there’s been no one in all that time?”
She stands and paces, but the room’s not very big. “No. I told you already. There’s been no one.”
“You and Buck… I take it you were in love?” She stops with her back to me.
“Yes.” Her word is barely a whisper, and I feel like an ass for cross-examining her like this.
“Sorry. It’s necessary.”
She shakes her head. “I’m the one that needs to apologize. I’m sorry for flinging accusations at you. And I’m sorry I did it the way I did—in front of everyone like that. It wasn’t cool.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“I was wrong. I fucked up. I fucked everything up.”
“Yeah. Doesn’t mean it can’t be fixed, though.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“You said that already.”
She finally turns and meets my eyes. “Am I forgiven?”
I drag in a long breath and blow it out. “Yeah. Hard to stay mad at you, I’m finding.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.
I jerk my chin up. “Come here.”
She stands in front of me, and I want to reach out and pull her flush against me. My palms actually itch to touch her, but I refrain. I muster all of my will power and hold back on that feeling. “You learn a lesson from this?”
“Yes.”
“You gonna do it again? Throw accusations without asking me about shit first?”
She shakes her head.
“You can talk to me about anything, baby. I want you to know that. I want you to feel safe to come to me with anything. Last thing I want is to hurt you.”
I stare at her, and her eyes drop to my mouth.
“You want to kiss me, Cherry?”
She nods.
“Then kiss me, babe. You don’t need permission.”
She flings her arms around me instead and buries her face in my chest, sobbing and clinging tightly. “I’m so sorry.”
I wrap my arms around her and stroke the back of her head. “It’s okay. It’s over. It’s done. We worked through it. Now I’m gonna find this guy and make sure you’re safe.”
She nods against my
shoulder and tucks under my chin, her forehead pressed against my neck.
“Still waitin’ on that kiss,” I say, a grin tugging at my mouth.
She pulls back, smiles, and goes up on her toes to press her mouth to mine. My hands latch on to her hips and hold her tight against my growing erection. I delve inside her lips, my tongue chasing hers.
There’s a rap on the door. I break the kiss and look that way. Trick ducks his head in. “Sorry. Lobo said our friend just went around behind the shack.”
I look down at Cherry and cup her face. “I’ve got to take care of this. Stay here. Lock the door. I’ll leave a man just outside. Don’t go anywhere. Understand?”
She nods, and I kiss her forehead, then step back and follow Trick out.
I order Shine to stay with her, then we stalk across the street and approach the shack. Trick and Lobo haul the guy around from the back, and the fool’s still trying to do up his pants.
“Can’t a man take a piss, for Christ’s sake?” He twists in their hold.
I dip my head and pin him with a don’t-fuck-with-me look. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Who the fuck are you?” He gives it right back.
“You got some balls, askin’ that. You know who the fuck we are, so don’t stand here and piss me off any more than I already am.” When he remains mute, I lift my chin to Trick, who takes my cue and punches him in the gut.
“Man asked you a question.”
“Ryan Rhett.”
We hear a dog barking inside.
“That your dog?”
“Whose else would it be?”
“We take you inside, you tell him to heel or he’s a dead dog.” I jerk my chin toward the door, and they drag him inside. He orders the dog to lie down. I follow, peering around the place. It’s a pigsty with crap piled everywhere, but I recognize the German Shepard. Now that I’ve got a better look at it, I see it’s underfed.
“Search the place,” I snap at Lobo.
He nods. I know he knows what to look for. Anything suspicious—porn, fake blood, a fucking shrine to Scarlett tacked up in his closet. It shouldn’t take long; the place can’t be more than six hundred square feet.
“When’s the last time you cleaned this dump?” I stare at the bottles of booze strewn around the place and the dozen prescription bottles on a table next to an easy chair.
