by Aiden Bates
That was good, though. Distance between us. Boundaries.
Shame flooded me regardless.
“Well, fuck,” I muttered. “I must be a pretty shitty person if you don’t even think we’re friends.”
Raven blinked and studied me for a long moment. His dark blue eyes, deep and thoughtful, always made him look like he was holding something back. What was going on in that rapid-fire mind of his?
He finally curved his lips into a small smile. “You’re not that bad.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, Sarge. You’re middling.” He bit back a smile. “Mediocre.”
“A mediocre friend?”
“Sure,” Raven said. “That’s what we’ll call it.”
“I’ll take it.”
We both looked back at the immense tree directly ahead of us. Its huge trunk was fully unblemished. The accident hadn’t harmed the tree at all. Raven’s focus zeroed in on it as if I no longer existed. He chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip, brow furrowed in the same way it did when I saw him in the clubhouse, fixated on some unknown problem on his laptop.
He looked from the tree to a few narrow driveways splitting off the highway. Only one of the houses, a small one-story cabin, was visible from where we stood on the road. Raven’s hand twitched again.
“You all right?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Raven said distractedly. “Just got a lot on my mind.”
Raven always had a lot on his mind. This, though—this wasn’t his pensive face. This was his problem-solving face. But what problem was there to solve up here?
“That all?” I asked. “What did you expect to gain from coming up here?”
“Just closure,” Raven said. “That’s all.”
It didn’t sound like he’d found it.
6
Raven
For two weeks I’d been digging nonstop, turning up only breadcrumbs that led nowhere. I’d spent most of my time away from the clubhouse, dodging members as best as I could. If I was home, I was locked in my room with my computer, just like I was now. I’d been sleeping poorly since the emails arrived, but tonight was especially bad. I tossed and turned until midnight, and then I gave up and climbed out of bed. The clubhouse was quiet—most of the guys were still at Ballast.
I’d finally made time to get back up to the accident site, alone this time, and knocked on the door of the cabin near it. I couldn’t have asked questions with Gunnar there. If Gunnar knew I thought Ankh had been murdered, he’d absolutely blow his top. He wouldn’t investigate—he’d go on a rampage. He’d immediately make his interest known to everyone, and whoever did this would have a chance to cut and run. I wasn’t going to risk that level of exposure. I had to investigate as subtly and quietly as possible. Gunnar was about as far from “subtle” and “quiet” as a man could get.
The owners of the cabin had been friendly, but only offered more breadcrumbs that piqued my interest yet ultimately led me nowhere. They hadn’t seen anything—they hadn’t even realized anyone had crashed until the police arrived. But they remembered hearing the familiar sound of bike engines.
Plural, they said. Engines.
Interesting, but circumstantial. It could’ve just been a different group riding before Dad.
But what if it wasn’t? What if they’d heard his killer?
This was the information I was reviewing when my tracking program finally—finally!—pinged.
I jumped up from where I was lying on my bed and immediately unlocked my computer. I opened my geographic information software and imported the coordinates the program had provided.
The server was in San Francisco.
I double-checked the coordinates. Not just San Francisco—El Acantilado, the town just southeast of the city. The home of the Viper’s Nest.
Hell’s Ankhor had only just recovered from the Vipers’ attempt to take over Elkin Lake. They’d funneled bath salts into our clubs, turned one of our own against us, and tried to send one of their own in as a mole. Unfortunately for them, the Vipers had underestimated Logan. Instead of acting as a mole for the Vipers, he’d helped us drive them out of our territory. Blade was lucky to call Logan his Old Man. And I was lucky to call him my best friend.
Logan’s deadbeat dad—Crave, the Viper’s Nest president—was still breathing, though. That pissed Blade off something fierce.
If the Vipers were somehow involved in Ankh’s death… I didn’t know what Blade would do. And Logan—I knew he’d blame himself. I wouldn’t put that weight on Logan’s shoulders, either. Not until I knew more.
Thankful for the silence of the clubhouse, I bolted down the stairs, hopped on my bike, and tore out of the parking lot. I shaved thirty minutes off the three-hour ride between our territories.
As I finally arrived in El Acantilado, I paused at city limits to pull off my club leather and stuffed it in my oversized saddlebag. I wore just a flannel instead. The air was chilly, but it was better to be cold than attacked by Vipers. Then I rode quietly, smoothly into town, as if I were just another casual rider checking out the sights. I double-checked the location on my phone.
Snakebite Lounge. A Viper hangout.
I left my bike on a side street and ducked behind the bar near the dumpsters. It was freezing cold, dark, and dirty, but I needed to get my bearings and decide how to proceed.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I fished it out of my pocket and saw the caller ID: Blade. I winced and considered blowing him off—but that would only make him more worried.
“Hey,” I answered quietly.
“Where the fuck are you?” Blade barked over the phone. “We just got back to the clubhouse from Ballast, and Gunnar went looking for you. You’re not in your room, and Priest says he hasn’t seen you at home, either.”
“I checked in with Priest,” I said.
“Sure, hours ago,” Blade said. “Before you apparently disappeared into thin air.”
“Sorry,” I said, though I wasn’t really. And why was Gunnar checking up on me? Why couldn’t he and Blade accept that I was capable of handling myself? “I’m not trying to make you worry. That’s why I’m keeping in touch with Priest.”
“That is not how this club is run,” Blade said. “I’m your president, not Priest. You don’t get to disappear without telling me. If you can’t stand for that, you can find another president to follow.”
“That’s not what— I’m not trying to create a rift.”
“I know you’re not trying to,” Blade said. “But your actions are.”
I sighed and leaned my head back against the cold brick of the alley. Blade was the best successor to Ankh I could’ve hoped for. The thought of disappointing him made me nauseous. Blade was doing his part to uphold Ankh’s legacy—how could I explain that I was just trying to do my part, too?
“I’d never follow another president,” I said firmly. “Ankh chose you. And you’ve more than proven he made the right choice. That’s why—that’s why I’m doing this, okay? I know what I’m doing. Can you just trust me? For a little while longer?”
I could practically hear Blade frowning into the phone. “Fine. You’d better have a good explanation for all this.”
“I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can,” I said.
As I hung up the phone, I hoped I could fulfill that promise. I had to get something from this excursion. Some bit of information—some further bit of proof. I was running out of leads. If this went nowhere, I wasn’t sure where I’d go next.
I sighed and leaned back against the brick wall heavily.
It had been getting harder and harder to keep Gunnar off my mind ever since that first trip to the crash site. Whenever I wasn’t thinking about finding new leads, my thoughts always seemed to end up back on him. What would I have done if I had been in my room at the clubhouse and Gunnar knocked on my door tonight? Would I have let him in? Talked to him?
Tried something more in a moment of frustration and bad judgment?
I let myself
imagine it, in the cold darkness of the alley. Just a little—I couldn’t get too distracted. I was in enemy territory, after all. But having Gunnar at my side up on that mountain road had been grounding in a way I hadn’t expected, and it made the truth a little less painful to face. The difference was especially apparent now that I was investigating so far from home, and all alone.
Gunnar wouldn’t have wanted anything from me if he had found me—not like I would want from him. He was just worried now. Worried and nosy.
But if he did…
What if I had opened the door to my room to find Gunnar standing on the other side of it? Would he have grabbed me by the front of my shirt like he did that day at Ankhor Works and hauled me close to him? He’d been so deliciously close that afternoon. All I’d have to do to close the distance between us was lift up on my toes.
Ugh. No point lingering on it. I’d given him multiple openings at the shop—I’d let him get close. I’d even brought up our night together. If he wanted things to be any different between us, he would’ve said something then. And even if he claimed we were friends, one nice moment at Dad’s crash site didn’t make up for how he’d treated me all year since I’d come home. All the times he’d ignored me, or blown me off, or belittled me. I’d been too obvious with my feelings, and I’d been a pest. Just the club kid he couldn’t get off his back.
And I never should’ve given him that blowjob. Not when he was asleep. I’d read something into our relationship that clearly wasn’t there. When he invited me into his bed, it was because he saw me as a pitiful, sad kid—not someone who he wanted to fuck.
He always treated me like a kid, someone to be careful with. I guess the blowjob had been a crazy hail Mary attempt to make him see me differently. Like he’d suddenly open his eyes and realize how badly I wanted him—and maybe he’d realize he wanted me, too.
So fucking stupid. The wish of a reckless, naïve kid.
And this is why I had started avoiding Gunnar back just as much as he was avoiding me—letting him get close was just too distracting. I had to stop chasing my thoughts in circles if I wanted to focus on what was really important. The reason I was here.
After another minute, the back door swung open.
I pressed myself back against the wall and stood still in the shadows, mostly hidden by the beer-stinking dumpster. A tall, solidly built man stepped into the alley and fished a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his Viper’s Nest jacket. As he lit his smoke, the dim light from the flame illuminated his angular features and hazel eyes.
Rebel. Logan’s brother. The resemblance between them was uncanny—they had the same build, though Rebel was a little broader, and they had the same sharp nose, same expressive mouth. I wasn’t sure what to think about Rebel. He’d help save Logan’s life, but he was still here in El Acantilado working with the Vipers. When Logan had been kidnapped by Crave, and then shot in the warehouse, Rebel had stepped out from the shadows after all the other Vipers had left, forgoing his loyalty to Crave just long enough to help save Logan’s life.
My gut twisted. Maybe he loved his brother deep down, but he was still a Viper.
I remained in the shadows and watched as Rebel sucked his cigarette down in deep, rushed breaths, as if smoking was a chore. He smashed the butt underfoot before ducking back into the club.
If Rebel was there, it was likely the other Vipers were there as well. But that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I didn’t often go on runs with Hell’s Ankhor, so it was unlikely they’d know who I was. I could still slip inside and observe. Or—even better idea—I could check out their clubhouse while they were all at the bar drinking and drop some surveillance bugs.
That was a plan. A half-decent one, I thought, for having driven out here so spontaneously. Step one, I’d duck into the bar and see who all was there to gauge whether I could get into the clubhouse unnoticed.
Before I could get to step two in my head, though, my phone buzzed again.
An email alert.
From the same address that sent the photo.
I sucked in a breath; part of me wanted to delete it without opening it. If it was anything like the first email, it might break me completely. But at the same time, if it included more information about Dad’s death… I couldn’t ignore it.
“THEY KNOW,” the email read. “KEEP QUIET. MEET TMRW. 11P.” Coordinates included.
In the chill of the night, I snapped to attention and scanned the alleyway for any sign of surveillance: cameras, mirrors, even the odd window. But nothing looked out of place. Still, it had to have been my presence in El Acantilado that sparked the email. I’d gotten too close.
What if the Vipers had been watching me—following my online activity the same way I’d pinged their email to its source? I was good at covering my tracks. But what if they had their own tech guy?
All at once, this had gotten too big for me to handle alone. If the Vipers were on to me, I needed club backup. If the Vipers had the capabilities to murder Dad and cover it up, I didn’t want to think about what they’d be willing to do to me.
I wasn’t afraid for my own safety—but I was afraid for my Pops. Losing Dad had nearly killed him. He wouldn’t survive if he lost me, too.
I drove out of El Acantilado as quickly as I could without drawing any more attention to myself. It was so late, it was nearly dawn; exhaustion weighed heavily on me. I pulled into a roadside motel to crash for a few hours. Once I got into my room, I flopped heavily onto the bed, fully clothed, and stared at the email once more.
Who would be waiting for me tomorrow night? What did they want?
Despite my exhaustion, sleep seemed far, far away. I stared at the water-stained ceiling. My thoughts raced nonstop, circular and out of control. In the darkness, alone in the dingy motel on top of its cheap, scratchy comforter, I sighed and admitted the truth to myself.
I needed the club’s backup… But I wanted Gunnar’s backup. I trusted him the most in situations like this. I trusted his leadership and his intuition. He always seemed to know when it was worth an attempt to de-escalate, and when it was a better idea to start kicking ass. As sergeant, he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.
Still, I wished he hadn’t pushed me up against my car and gotten so close. I wished he hadn’t said what he said—that he didn’t want to hear about other guys. That show of strength and aggression and… jealousy?… had brought my attraction to him roaring back after I’d spent so long trying to drown it.
What I needed was to clear my head before going back. Slow everything down. Get my attraction to Gunnar out of my system, and relax myself enough to fall asleep.
That’s what I told myself it was, anyway. That was the only reason I was letting myself do this.
I closed my eyes and let myself drift into a fantasy, just this once.
I imagined Gunnar pushing me up against the car again. His hands would be fisted in my shirt, forcing me close to him. Instead of looking away this time, like I had in reality, I imagined myself turning my head slightly and lifting up onto my toes to kiss him.
Our lips would meet. Gunnar would inhale slightly in surprise.
And then he’d devour me. He’d kiss me like it meant something.
I rolled onto my stomach on the bed and shifted my hips against the mattress. My cock was hardening fast at the images of Gunnar’s lips on mine.
Gunnar would let go of my shirt and grab my hips instead, stepping closer to me. He’d pin me against the car and slide his thigh between my legs. The pressure would be intoxicating.
I shifted my hips harder against the mattress beneath me, chasing the feeling.
He’d kiss like he did everything else: with focus. Intention. He didn’t half-ass anything, and a kiss would be no different. It’d be deep and hot, and he’d take control. God, the closeness would be delicious—I’d finally get to feel his muscled torso press against mine. I’d loop my arms around his neck to keep him close. We’d kiss until he could feel the hardness of m
y cock against his thigh.
“Not thinking about other guys now, are you?” he’d ask in that low, rumbling voice.
“Never was,” I would admit. “It’s always you.”
That’d make his eyes flash with possessive heat again. He’d kiss my neck before sliding his hands under my shirt, and his callus-roughened hand would skate gently over my skin.
Then he’d drop suddenly to his knees and look up at me with a wicked grin.
In my motel room, I pulled my jeans open just enough to shove my hands into my shorts and gripped my cock. I gasped into the pillow at the sudden pleasure of it, and then focused back on the fantasy, eager to unravel what happened next.
Gunnar would notice my immediate reaction: I’d suck in a breath and reach for him to run my fingers through his short blond hair. He’d press his face into my crotch and mouth at the shape of my cock through my jeans. Just the hot wet pressure of his mouth, even with layers of fabric between us, would be enough to make me moan.
Then, slowly, cruelly slowly, Gunnar would unbutton my jeans and slide the zipper down.
Moaning at the image sparking behind my eyelids, I fisted my cock hard and shifted my hips, thrusting against my hand and the mattress beneath me. Pleasure built like heat inside me, and I was sweating in my club leather. More, I needed more…
Gunnar would draw my cock out of my shorts. He’d tease me a little, making me wait, jerking me off slowly while pressing kisses to my abs, until I was squirming under him and begging for it. He’d make me say his name.
Wanting it to feel as real as possible, I murmured his name into my pillow, and it devolved into a low moan.
Once I’d given him what he wanted, Gunnar would finally, finally suck my cock into his mouth. It’d be hot, and sloppy, passionate—like he couldn’t get enough of me. Like he’d been waiting for it. Like he longed for me like I did for him.
