Gunnar

by Aiden Bates

  “Don’t be annoying,” I grumbled.

  “Humor me, please.”

  “Raven,” I said.

  “Do you know where you are? And what day it is?”

  “Fuck you,” I said. “The clubhouse. I think it’s Sunday.”

  Logan managed a slight smile. “Thanks. Do you remember what happened?”

  I closed my eyes again.

  It came rushing back, pummeling me like a wave. The bar. The informant that didn’t show. The Viper—his hand on my face and in my hair. I turned my face away from Logan and into the back of the couch to hide the tears threatening to spill.

  “I just wanted—I was trying—” I choked back a sob. “Dad—”

  Grief chewed at my insides, and I curled into myself. My breath came in shallow gasps as I tried not to lose myself in the sobs clawing at my throat to escape. My investigation, if I could even call it that, had been the dam holding back my grief since I’d gotten that first email. As long as I was pushing forward, doing something meaningful, I could keep outrunning the despair that snapped at my heels.

  But I had no new information about the truth of Dad’s death. I’d done everything wrong: I had no leads, no ideas, no proof. I’d failed him. I’d turned my back on the club trying to avenge Dad, and all I’d done was put the club in danger.

  “Hey, hey now,” my Pops said soothingly. He knelt next to the couch and placed one hand gently on my shoulder. “You’re okay now. You’re safe.”

  I clutched at Pops’ arms where he held me the same way he had when I was still a kid who’d had a nightmare.

  But this reality was worse than any nightmare I’d ever had.

  “Everything’s gonna be okay, son.” Pops rubbed my back in gentle circles.

  “It’s not. It won’t.” My tears stained his shirt.

  Pops hummed, but didn’t press. He held me like that, rocking me slightly, muttering nonsense, until the worst of it passed.

  I pulled away slightly and rubbed hard at my eyes. “Sorry.”

  Pops’ face fell. He touched the purpling bruise on the side of my face, and then the bandage on the side of my neck covering the cigarette burn there. I grimaced.

  “Let’s let Logan finish checking you out. You up to that?”

  I nodded and sat up on the couch, leaning up against the armrest with no small amount of effort.

  Blade and Logan stood a few paces away, watching with concern. Blade had his arms wrapped around Logan, so Logan’s back was to Blade’s chest. Logan lifted one of Blade’s hands to his lips and kissed his knuckles before pulling out of Blade’s grasp to get his medical bag.

  I glanced around the room. No one else was present. Certainly not Gunnar. And why would he be? Why even look? He’d basically told me something like this would happen. He was probably at Ballast with the rest of the enforcers, cursing me over a beer for being stupid, and for not listening to him. For all the extra trouble I’d caused.

  And yet I still sunk back into the pillows and had to blink hard to keep the tears from returning. I wanted Gunnar at my side.

  I wanted him to care.

  Blade tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket. His dark gaze bore into me. “He came for you.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Gunnar,” Blade said. As if he could read my mind. “He came for you. We all did, the moment you called.”

  “Called?” I asked. “I called Gunnar?”

  Logan started. “You don’t remember? Look at me, please.” He shined a penlight in my eyes. “Hey, do you remember hitting your head at any point last night? Maybe when you passed out on the curb?”

  “No, I lay down,” I said. “I just got hit in the face.”

  Pops winced.

  Logan didn’t look convinced. “Yeah, you called him, but you weren’t really speaking. You sent him your location through your GPS.”

  I nodded slowly.

  “Though I don’t know why you would send that to Gunnar,” Logan grumbled. “Can’t hardly work his phone. Should’ve sent it to me.”

  The memory returned, slow and hazy. I’d been cold and hurting. I’d called Gunnar because—because—

  Because I trusted him. As much as I didn’t want to. As much as I tried to back off, pull away, forget the way I felt about him. I knew if I asked him to come for me, he would. Which meant he’d seen me all loopy and miserable on the side of the road. I winced at the thought.

  “Yeah, he’s not happy,” Priest said. “And neither am I. We’re going to have to have a chat about these lone ranger antics.”

  “Damn right we are,” Blade said. “No more secrets. What the fuck is going on? Who did this? And why?”

  “Blade.” Logan’s voice was stern. “Not now. Go fix some coffee, please.”

  It still surprised me every time Blade listened to Logan, but even I wanted to listen to Logan when he was in his snappy nurse-mode.

  “Fine,” Blade said. “But once you feel a little better, Raven, we’re coming back to this.”

  I nodded.

  “You want something harder in the coffee? Take the edge off?” Blade asked.

  “Yes, please,” I said.

  “It’s not for you,” Logan said. “Not while you potentially have a concussion.”

  I pouted.

  Logan was unmoved. He lifted the hem of my shirt and examined the bruises purpling nastily across my abs. He poked around, pressing at my belly and feeling the expansion of my ribs.

  “Nothing’s broken, far as I can tell,” he determined. “No internal bleeding. Lucky bastard. You should still go to the ER, though, get a CT scan, make sure it’s all okay.” His defeated tone made it clear he already knew my answer.

  “No, I’m okay,” I said.

  Logan glanced at Priest. “I really think he should go.”

  He packed up his medical supplies and joined Blade in the kitchen without waiting for a response.

  Pops crouched by the couch again. “Logan’s right, you know.”

  “I’m fine, Pops.” I closed my eyes. “I just need to rest. Please.”

  Pops sighed. He patted my arm, gently, like he wasn’t sure where to touch me without hurting me. “I’m about out of good will, son,” he said, not unkindly.

  “Just need to rest,” I murmured, and I let sleep overtake me.

  11

  Gunnar

  I hurled a hatchet at the bullseye posted on the immense oak in the backyard for the fifth or sixth time. It flew true and embedded itself deeply into the wooden target. I threw another, and another, each throw harder than the last until I was grunting with the effort, like there was a Viper in front of me instead of a tree.

  It would’ve been easy to blame the Vipers for it all. But I was culpable, too. I’d let Raven walk into their territory without backup. Worse than that—he’d done it because he felt he couldn’t trust me to provide the necessary backup. It wasn’t just a breach of duty as sergeant-at-arms, but a failure of friendship.

  All I’d wanted was to ensure Raven could live the life he deserved, with someone who deserved him back. I wasn’t right for him. I hadn’t want any feelings he had for me to keep him from meeting people who would be better for him, who would be good for him. To keep him from building his own life. But instead, I’d driven him away from the club, and into a situation that’d nearly gotten him killed.

  I stalked across the yard and wrenched the hatchets out of the target. I’d throw them until I was exhausted or I cut the damn tree down.

  I turned around to walk to the back porch again. Priest slipped out the back door and joined me.

  “He’ll be fine,” Priest said, before I could ask. “Nothing’s broken. Mild concussion, maybe. Mostly he’s just bruised.”

  “He shouldn’t fucking be hurt at all.” I chucked the hatchet hard. It went wide and sailed past the tree. “He shouldn’t be going into enemy territory without any goddamned backup!”

  Priest nodded and said nothing.

  Anger bubble
d within me, and once I started, it was as if a floodgate had opened, and I couldn’t stop.

  “He was raised in this club! If there’s anyone who should know the rules—basic shit like territory rules—it should be him. We don’t do lone wolf bullshit, right? That’s the whole point of the structure! The club doesn’t fucking exist if we just ignore the rules!” I hurled another hatchet. “He shouldn’t be keeping secrets. He knew it was dangerous, but he still went. Alone. What if I hadn’t picked up the phone?”

  The thought sent a fresh rush of fear through me. I met Priest’s soft gaze.

  “What about that, huh? What if I hadn’t had my phone on me? What if we’d been too drunk to ride? What then? He could’ve just been lying on that curb for hours. Or the Vipers could’ve found him again. He didn’t get far.”

  “But that didn’t happen,” Priest said. “Don’t waste energy beating yourself up over the what-ifs.”

  “The what-ifs are my job! I have to plan for these kinds of things! What if he runs off again?”

  “He won’t,” Priest said.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Sometimes I think I don’t know a damn thing,” Priest admitted. “But I know my son. And he knows he fucked up.”

  “Does he?” I tossed the remaining hatchet in my hand, spinning it in the air and catching it by the handle. “Or does he just regret that it went wrong?”

  “Give me that,” Priest said.

  I tossed him the hatchet. He caught it easily, and then stood beside me and threw it gracefully into the bullseye.

  “Show-off,” I said.

  Priest continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Raven’s always had a stubborn streak. Just like his dad.” He paused and rubbed at his beard. “God, I miss him.”

  I knocked my shoulder against Priest’s but said nothing.

  “He ever tell you how we met?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “In a bar, of course. I had just moved to LA a few weeks before we met—this was years and years ago, I wasn’t even twenty yet. Now, this wasn’t a gay bar, but it wasn’t not a gay bar, you know. One of the bars in Hollywood that catered to everyone. One of those places that’d let in the eighteen-year-olds, and then you’d run into the bathroom and wash the pen off your hands and get hammered.

  “Got a lot of people who were curious, you know. This was right before the AIDS crisis, so people weren’t afraid yet. Lots of wild stuff going on in those clubs.” He shook his head. “Just a year or two later, well… I’ll spare you that part.

  “Anyway, he was at the bar by himself. Completely gorgeous guy. This thick, dark hair, short and coiffed. He always had a Brando thing going on. He had a tattoo on his bicep of a raven. I had a similar one.” He pointed to the faded tattoo on his forearm. “Shockingly, it does predate my son. I struck up a conversation. He was cordial, but quickly let me know he was straight.”

  “Then why was he at the bar?”

  “That’s what I said! I think I said something ridiculous and corny like, ‘What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?’ He thought it was funny. You know when Raven thinks something is stupid, but funny at the same time, and he shakes his head and smiles at his feet like he’s embarrassed he thinks it’s funny?”

  I knew exactly what he was talking about. “Yeah, every time he talks to me.”

  “His dad did the same thing. Same reaction to my terrible pick-up lines. But I was completely smitten from the second I saw him. It was his laugh, you know. And the way he always focused on me like there wasn’t anyone else in the room. He let me down easy… But he kept coming back to the bar. And so did I.

  “Same time, one or twice a week, we’d have a drink and shoot the shit. He was a good straight kid from the rich side of town. Wasn’t supposed to spend time in the dives I hung out in. I was broke, alone, and publicly out when that wasn’t the easiest thing to do. You know he was in law school?”

  “Ankh? Law school?”

  “Yeah. He was supposed to take over his dad’s firm. He denied the feelings growing between us for a long time. We’d been talking for months before he finally got drunk enough to kiss me. After that he went fully one-eighty. Pushed me away, tried to fight me a few times, and then disappeared from the bar. I thought I’d never see him again. He was in denial for a long time. But eventually he came back. Lucky for him, I still carried a torch.”

  “You forgave him? After he treated you like that?”

  “He was trying to figure out who he was,” Priest said. “He thought he was protecting me. Thought he was too messed up and confused to get involved with me—that he’d do me more harm than good. But staying away from the person your heart wants to be with—that’s how you do real harm. He did finish law school, though. That’s why our club charter is so good.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked suddenly. Why did this matter when Raven was beaten halfway to death and the Vipers were in our business yet again?

  Priest raised his eyebrows. “You play a lot dumber than you are, Gunnar.”

  I said nothing. I rarely doubted Priest’s read on things. But if he knew how I really felt about Raven, he’d keep his son far away from me. No father would want their son to be involved with someone so much older, someone with so much baggage and so much blood on their hands. I couldn’t even blame him.

  “Listen,” Priest said. “Until we figure out what’s going on, I want you to act as Raven’s protective detail. Siren will act as the enforcers’ road captain while you do. If Raven is on the Vipers’ list, he needs security around the clock.”

  He pressed his lips together. “We saw what the Vipers are capable of with Logan. If they get their hands on Raven, I don’t—I can’t think about what might happen.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen, sir,” I said. The formality just slipped out, as it often did when Priest went full vice president and started dropping orders. You could take the dog out of the military, but not the military out of the dog. “Not on my watch. But Raven’s not going to like having me around.”

  “This isn’t about Raven’s personal preferences. He gave up that luxury when he ran off.”

  “Can’t say I disagree with you there.”

  “And you’re the best man for the job.” Priest gripped my shoulder. “I can count on you, yeah?”

  I met his steady gaze. “Always, sir.”

  “Good man.” He smiled wearily. “Don’t take the tree down with the hatchet-throwing.”

  Priest left me alone in the backyard. I paced through the grass to recover the rogue hatchet.

  Protective detail. I turned the order over in my head. Part of me was deeply relieved—now Raven couldn’t ditch me, claiming I was being nosy or paranoid. Now I had a direct order from Priest to back me up, and Raven, for all his stubbornness, was rarely willing to go blatantly against Priest or Blade.

  But another part of me dreaded the closeness. This meant I’d never get a reprieve from Raven. Would I be able to keep it professional? Could I keep my desire leashed? I had to be his sergeant right now, not his—

  His what?

  His friend?

  Lover?

  Something else?

  Something more?

  And why had Priest taken the time to tell me about the intricacies of his and Ankh’s early relationship? If I thought too hard about it, I was worried he might have been doing more than just reminiscing. I knew he wanted Raven to be happy, but Priest had to know Raven couldn’t ever truly be happy with me. I was too old, too jaded, too fucked up. I’d killed people—not for the club, not people who had wronged us. I’d killed innocent people. Under the beating hot sun in Afghanistan. Sure, I’d been under orders, but I hadn’t questioned them. I hadn’t even thought it was wrong.

  I’d just pointed my gun where I was told to and watched the blood stain the sand. My superior officer hadn’t realized our intel was incorrect until it was too late.

  Most people weren’t capable of the things I could do. Th
e things I’d already done. The things I’d do again, if it meant keeping my people safe. Raven deserved to be with someone… clean. Someone as smart, sharp, and ambitious as Raven, without a heavy past weighing them down.

  But there was no denying that I was the best option for his protective detail. The skills that had been a barrier to a romantic relationship with Raven in the past were the same skills that could potentially save his life now. In order to do that, though, I needed to keep Raven close, where I could actually keep him safe. And clearly, how I’d been trying to navigate my relationship with Raven before wasn’t going to cut it.

  I’d have to change tactics. I had to make Raven feel comfortable again. I had to show him he belonged in this club, and that he could come to any of us for what he needed—that he could come to me for what he needed, without fear of being pushed away or condescended to.

  This was more than an order or a job. This felt almost like a calling—a chance for redemption.

  Determination steadied me. I’d keep Raven safe and get to the bottom of who hurt him—and why the Vipers were after him—no matter what it took.

  12

  Raven

  When I woke up, my bedroom was shrouded in darkness, lit only by the moonlight shining through the window. I ached all over, a full-body soreness that reminded me of the aches and pains I’d gotten when I first started going on long-haul rides with the club. Not the powerful, dizzying pain I’d first experienced at the hands of the Vipers… whenever that was. I had no concept of how long I’d been asleep. But it felt like a long time.

  I was lying slightly propped up on a mound of pillows in my own bed. A cannula had been inserted into my left arm, attached to a slow-dripping saline bag. Logan’s handiwork. We were lucky to have him—his connections with the clinic in town meant I could recover at home instead of in the hospital. I coughed and cleared my throat—dry as sandpaper. I’d definitely been out a while.

  “Here, drink this.”

  I startled hard, whipping my head around to the source of the voice.