Gunnar

by Aiden Bates

  He was Ankh and Priest’s only son. And by extension, pretty much the younger brother of the entire club. So it was only expected that I treated him as such, too. Right?

  I hadn’t been inappropriate. I’d had one moment of weakness—just one. I never should’ve told him I’d grapple with him. That’d been asking for trouble. I still remembered it, though. I’d just been trying to demonstrate an easy leg sweep, something quick and simple to add to Raven’s self-defense repertoire.

  But he’d gone to the ground so easily, and I hadn’t pinned him, per se, but I’d kept my grip on his shirt and ended up close. Too close. His deep blue eyes had been wide with surprise—and something else, something darker. Then, as he’d looked up at me, he’d shifted slightly in the dirt and his tongue had darted out to wet his lips.

  It would’ve been so easy for me to just lean down and close the distance between us.

  And the fact that I’d even thought that was a sign I needed to back the fuck off. I’d seen the way he looked at me throughout his teen years, and I’d been careful to keep enough distance between us. It wasn’t a big deal—shouldn’t have been a big deal. He was just a kid, and it was just a teenage crush, and I wouldn’t be dealing with those looks forever. He was smart as fuck, and he’d be leaving us all to run off to college before we knew it. That’d be good for him, I’d thought. I’d figured he’d meet someone there, someone as smart as him, someone worth his time.

  Then he’d turned eighteen. And suddenly he wasn’t a kid anymore.

  He’d grown into himself fast. Handsome, quick-witted, and mature. And he still looked at me with obvious desire. And that—that couldn’t happen. First off, it was insanely inappropriate for me to even think about Ankh and Priest’s son in that way. And secondly, despite how mature he was, regardless of how old he was, he was still a kid.

  I’d thought all I needed to do was to keep some distance between us, and that college would cure him of his crush on me, and we could both move on. My feelings didn’t matter. I was older and had to be responsible. I’d be fine handling my attraction to Raven, and I’d never act on it. Even if I ended up alone, I’d be okay. I had the club, and that was enough.

  He deserved more. He deserved better.

  Part of me wished he hadn’t come back after college. Those four years away had treated him well. He’d become even more gorgeous, lean and muscled and exhibiting a new, comfortable confidence. My attraction was supposed to have died down, but instead it came roaring back stronger than ever. His return had made my life a little more complicated—I was avoiding him as best I could. Trying to return our interactions to some baseline of normal. Pretending I wasn’t thinking about him when I jerked off in the shower.

  But a larger part of me was selfishly grateful he did come back. I’d missed his acerbic tongue and sharp intelligence in our club meetings. Even if I’d made it clear nothing could ever happen between us, especially after that night.

  God, that night.

  Nope. Stop thinking about it. Not now.

  Even if something like that could never happen again, it was enough that he was around. Even if he hated me, at least I could be sure he was safe.

  And just because I was glad he was around didn’t mean I wanted to see him right this second. I inched down the stairs, listening for any sounds below. Hopefully I’d be able to get coffee and get gone before anyone else woke up and asked me about the shiner.

  Just as I was about to round the corner into the kitchen, I heard Priest humming to himself. I jerked back before he saw me—Priest was the last person I wanted to explain this to. I waited as he fixed his coffee, and I heard the back door swing open and closed; he was likely having his coffee on the back porch, as he often did before the day got started.

  I slunk into the kitchen and poured a cup of strong, black coffee from the carafe. Looking good so far—the common areas were abandoned. I’d slip out, hop on my bike, and go kill some time at the garage. Mav had some peas in the office freezer there, so that’d help with the swelling. I’d deal with explaining the shiner later. Excellent.

  Then, a low whistle sounded behind me.

  Fuck.

  I turned around.

  Blade was leaning against the front doorframe. He grinned at me, wide and lazy like a predatory cat. He always looked like that after a night with Logan. “Mean-looking shiner there. How’s the other guy look?”

  I grimaced. Lucky for me, Blade and Logan had left the party early, so Blade didn’t know I’d spent the rest of the evening talking shit and drinking beer and not much else. If this conversation was happening a year ago—hell, a few months ago—he’d be right to ask. I got rowdy when I drank. I’d been known to knock some people around and get knocked around myself.

  Part of the reason I fit in so well as an enforcer and now Blade’s sergeant-at-arms: I wasn’t afraid to dish violence out, and I had no problems taking it, either. I’d always had too much energy, and it built in me like a pressure valve. Only a good fight or a good fuck could take the edge off.

  That was another perk of the club. We always had people hanging around, club bunnies, men and women interested in becoming prospects or just looking to have a good time. I’d never had any problems taking people home. I had fun with the girls, fun with the boys, and all parties left satisfied.

  But recently, I’d been less interested. Really, I had to be pretty deep in the bottle to hook up at all. No one really interested me anymore, but I chalked it up to age. At thirty-nine, maybe my interest in frivolous sex was finally waning.

  Yeah. Definitely that.

  I still wanted sex. Just not meaningless sex. And not with a stranger.

  But there was someone…

  Nope. Couldn’t open that door, not now, with Blade staring me down. I had real responsibilities now, more than I ever did as just a lowly enforcer. Blade was still my best friend, but he was my president now, too. We’d patched in together and climbed through the club ranks together; he was counting on me especially heavily during these early years of his presidency. And not just Blade—the whole club looked to me to ensure our safety. No exceptions. And no distractions.

  I touched my swollen cheekbone.

  That night, after Ankh died, Raven had come to me for comfort. I’d woken up to his silhouette in the doorway of my bedroom at the clubhouse. He’d looked so small, so hurt, his arms wrapped around his own body as if he were trying to ward off a chill. I should’ve turned him away. There wasn’t any good that could’ve come from him seeking comfort from me like that. But—I couldn’t hurt him any further. Not when he had already been hurting so much from the loss of his Dad.

  And honestly, I had been hurting, too. I had wanted another beating heart in my bed. So I had scooted over on the mattress and made space for Raven to crawl inside.

  He’d pressed his body flush against mine, my chest against his back, and he’d just… fit. It had been so natural to wrap my arm around him and pull him close. It had been so long since we’d really touched at all. I’d kept myself from kissing the back of his neck, but just inhaling his scent of sweat and woodsy soap had ratcheted my desire up from a spark to a roaring flame. It’d been easy to fall asleep with Raven in my arms.

  And then.

  I’d woken up slow and lazy with a rich, warm pleasure already coursing through me. Raven. He’d been awake, between my legs, blowing me with those piercing blue eyes closed like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. Still half-asleep, I’d wound his silky dark hair between my fingers, and when I’d pulled, he’d hummed around my cock like he loved it.

  Then I’d woken up fully and reality had come crashing down. I’d stopped him before we could go any further. Sent him away.

  It fucking haunted me, the way his face had crumpled as he’d left the room. I’d broken his heart.

  I was such a fucking idiot. I never should’ve let him in my room in the first place. There were so many reasons no one could ever know how I felt, or what had happened between us. N
ot only was Raven way too young for me, but I’d watched him grow up. He’d grown into his long limbs and serious face, changing from an awkward, gangly teenager to a lean, elegant man. His brain moved fast—way faster than mine. He solved problems with his intellect; I solved problems with my fists. He didn’t need to be around that any more than he had to be.

  And of course, he was Priest’s son. No fucking way Priest would ever approve.

  Raven had a future ahead of him. With his smarts, and his looks, and his ambition—he could go anywhere. He had the education. He had the capabilities. He didn’t need to get involved with a beat-up old lowlife like me.

  “Yo, Gunnar, hello?” Blade waved a hand in front of my face. “Did whoever hit you give you brain damage?”

  “Cool it, it’s early.” I took a slow sip of my coffee and tried to formulate an excuse. Blade didn’t need to know Raven had socked me in the face. And not just to spare my pride. I’d been an enforcer for a long time, and I could tell when something was off—and something was off with Raven. I wasn’t going to involve Blade, not yet, but if Raven thought he was going to get away with not explaining himself, he had another think coming. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Never is with you, is it?” Blade poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “How was your night?”

  Blade gave me a look. He knew I was deflecting, but let it slide. “Pretty good.”

  “Just pretty good? You carry Logan over the threshold and everything?”

  “Why are you so eager for details? Didn’t get any action of your own?”

  “Maybe I got the shiner in the bedroom.”

  Blade laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Listen, are you around today?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Probably heading over to the shop to help out Mav, unless you need something.”

  “Nah, just making sure. I might be out riding for a little while.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What kind of riding?”

  “Fuck off,” Blade said, good-naturedly. “Just call me if you need anything. And for fuck’s sake, ice that shiner, will you?”

  I pressed my warm coffee mug to the throbbing shiner instead. Raven had a mean right hook. He might be a bookworm, but he could throw a punch. Despite the pain, I couldn’t help but feel a small swell of pride that my lessons had stuck. He was still a Hell’s Ankhor member through and through.

  And I was his sergeant-at-arms. I had to get my personal feelings back under control and talk to him enforcer to member, figure out what was going on.

  I’d talk to Raven. Like adults. As soon as this shiner didn’t look quite so gnarly.

  3

  Raven

  I’d been shut up in my room for what felt like a week, but in reality it’d only been thirty-six hours since I’d received the email, the night before last. I’d been awake nearly the whole time, trawling through my research and trying to improve my tracking program. The initial program I’d written was still running, trying to hone in on the email’s source, and in the meantime, I was trying to improve a new version to speed it up, or make it more accurate.

  Anything to keep me busy, to make me feel like I was making progress. I needed to feel like I was moving toward something, even if I was just running on a treadmill. The activity kept me sane.

  But the sheer amount of time I’d stayed awake was starting to weigh on me. I wasn’t ready to crash yet, though. Coffee was necessary.

  I opened my bedroom door as quietly as I could and listened hard for Pops’ voice. I couldn’t tell him what was going on—not yet. Not until I knew more. If this was just a false alarm, I didn’t want to cause him any undue stress.

  It wasn’t a false alarm, though. That much I’d figured out by now.

  But if Pops knew Dad had been murdered, he’d blame himself. He’d wonder how he hadn’t seen it coming, or how he didn’t figure it out sooner. He knew Dad better than anyone. If Pops had even an inkling of the thought that he could’ve prevented this—that if he had done something different, Ankh would still be here with us—he’d break. Pops’ road to healing had been brutal. I wasn’t going to send him back down that path.

  After Mom had died bearing me, things could’ve gone a lot differently in my life. I could’ve bounced around foster care and ended up alone at eighteen. But instead, Mom’s brother—Dad—adopted me. Because of that, I got stability. I got two parents who loved me. And I got an entire family of bikers who’d lay down their lives for each other, no questions asked.

  Pops didn’t need me to throw another wrench into his life. Not yet.

  The common area of the clubhouse was empty, so I slipped downstairs. Thankfully there was coffee on, as per usual, hot and strong. Just the smell of it sent a new rush of energy through me. My research thus far hadn’t revealed anything beyond the fact that the police report was bullshit. There was nothing in the narratives that suggested foul play.

  I’d have to take my sniffing around off the internet and into the real world soon. There had to be something that would lead me toward the killer—something that hadn’t gotten written down. There were plenty of people involved in the aftermath: first responders, cops, witnesses. Someone had to have seen something. I just had to start methodically questioning people. Cast a wide net, and you’ll eventually snag something.

  I had to believe that.

  “Hey, morning,” Logan said as he stepped into the clubhouse. He looked flushed and happy in his new club leathers. “Any coffee left?”

  I poured him a mug. “Don’t you have coffee at home?”

  “Me too, please,” Blade said, entering the clubhouse on Logan’s heels.

  They were both still basking in the afterglow of Logan’s recent patching-in. Blade followed Logan into the kitchen like he was magnetized to him and slid one hand under Logan’s jacket across his lower back. Logan leaned into the touch just the barest amount.

  Something pinched hard in my chest. I was happy for them both—Logan especially. Blade was my president, and Logan my brother. They deserved to be happy, maybe more than anyone else I knew. So why was it so hard for me to see them like this?

  But I knew the answer, even if it made me feel petty and small: No one ever touched me like Blade touched Logan.

  Gunnar barged in the front door a moment later, shuffling through a stack of papers in his hands.

  “Yo, Blade, I got the paperwork from the new prospect. Not much there, should be a quick background check.” Then he glanced up and started like he wasn’t expecting to see me there. “Morning.”

  I didn’t say anything. I moved a few paces away from the coffeemaker and sat at the island. Gunnar could fix his own coffee.

  “Thanks.” Blade took the papers from Gunnar’s outstretched hand. “Yeah, looks pretty rudimentary. Raven, can you run a background check on this guy? He might be prospecting.”

  “Can’t today, sorry. I’ve got some personal business to attend to.”

  “Personal business?” Blade looked up from the papers with his brow furrowed. “What kind of personal business?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. Blade had a right to pry, sure. He was the president. It was his job to be in everyone’s business. But between the lack of sleep, the failed research, the slow tracking program, Gunnar’s presence, and the fact that my Dad had been fucking murdered—I wasn’t exactly in the most giving mood.

  Three pairs of eyes honed in on me. I said nothing. I was so tired of being treated like a kid still, like someone needed to check in on me to make sure everything was okay. I didn’t need Blade or Gunnar to step in and save me, and I didn’t want to involve them. So I said nothing.

  “Right,” Blade said. “Okay then. Whatever you’re handling, take some back-up, will you?” He nodded toward Gunnar.

  Gunnar pressed his lips together. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  I did not need the sergeant-at-arms around while I was looking into Dad’s death. That was a guarantee that whatever I found would
get funneled directly to Blade, and by extension, Pops. And if I was being one hundred percent honest with myself, having Gunnar around would distract me from my investigation more than I wanted to admit. Even though Gunnar clearly wanted nothing to do with me, that didn’t stop me from staring at his broad shoulders and tight ass whenever he wasn’t looking. Lust and frustration would mix poorly with the anger and nausea I already felt about Dad’s death.

  Besides, I wasn’t a kid anymore—I didn’t need to be fucking babysat. I’d sparred with most of the guys in the club. Gunnar had trained me himself. Hell, I’d even laid Blade out with a judo throw once or twice.

  “Didn’t I just say it was personal?” I snapped. I clenched my fist unconsciously, which sent a dull throb of pain through my arm. Without thinking I rubbed my swollen knuckles to ease the ache.

  Blade’s gaze followed the motion, and then flicked to Gunnar’s unmistakable shiner. Realization dawned on his face. “Take Coop with you, then.”

  I started to fight back, but Blade lifted a hand to stop me. “That’s an order.”

  I slumped back into my seat. “Fine. Even though it’ll set me behind schedule.”

  Coop was a notoriously late sleeper, and a real bitch before he had about five cups of coffee. Coop was one of the club’s enforcers, and even though he technically had to defer to Gunnar, he wasn’t afraid to ask tough questions and push for what he thought was right. But when he wasn’t working, he was lighthearted and hilarious.

  I liked having him around. Even though I didn’t want backup for this investigation, maybe Coop’s jokes would take the edge off the pain. And anyone was better than Gunnar.

  I stood up, giving a lazy wave to Blade and Logan. “If I want to leave within the hour, I better wake him up now.”

  Gunnar

  Raven disappeared up the stairs to shout Coop awake. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the pert shape of his ass in his snug jeans. Sure, he was off-limits, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t look now and then.