Sour Cherry

by Nichole Severn

  My heart sank. I sat up, covering myself with a sheet and stood. Stepping into him, I planted a hand on his chest then moved it to his jawline. His bristled scuff tickled my fingertips as I stroked his face. I’d never apologize for the relief he’d given me when he told me he wouldn’t hand me over to the Outriggers, but why’d he have to put his career in danger for me? I didn’t want to die, but enough people had been hurt by this situation that I couldn’t let it destroy more lives. Especially Cooper’s. “Then why don’t you turn me in? This job is obviously important to you.”

  Cooper’s chest rose silently with an inhale. “I won’t throw you to the wolves.”

  I dropped my hand. “Then what are you going to tell your boss?”

  I’d run through the possibilities over and over again, none of which made me out as nothing more than a criminal. I was a piece of an organization that ran drugs, weapons, and occasionally took lives. Nothing Cooper said to his superiors would change that and they’d want every piece of the puzzle they could find, even if it meant giving me up.

  “I don’t know yet,” he answered. “But we need to get you somewhere safe. You can’t stay here. Outriggers have been patrolling this area since your escape.”

  “Great.” I wasn’t an integral part in this mess and the CIA had bigger fish to fry. They’d ordered Cooper to turn me in, apparently uncaring what happened to a lowest member on the totem pole. I wasn’t even in the club they were after, but the Outriggers did business with Satan’s Army, and I’d played my part.

  While I’d considered myself unbreakable at one time, Cooper had found a way into my soul and only his decision to keep me in one piece allowed me to remain sane in light of this revelation. He held my future in his hands, but didn’t have all the information to make an informed verdict. “Before you talk to them, there’s something I have to tell you about the day we met.”

  A smile pulled at the edge of his mouth. “What? Did you pick me out of the bar just like I’d targeted you?”

  I relaxed slightly, his easy-going mood change a welcome element to the conversation. “Nothing like that, no.” I inhaled, trying to recall everything about that day. “Ryder sent me to make a pickup at the junkyard on Trop. I went, but our contacts were more than an hour late. The entire time I waited, I just had this really bad feeling.” I fisted my hand against my stomach to make my point.

  “What happened?”

  My breath caught as my mind’s eye played the events. “They wore Hell’s Angels cuts, but—” I stopped, staring at a tendril of one of Cooper’s tattoos I’d never paid much attention to before. “What is that?”

  I pulled at his collar and ran my fingers over the hard edge of his shoulder. I studied the serpent slithering out of a man’s chest, taking in every gory detail. “I’ve seen that before.”

  Cooper tensed under my touch, his eyes as hard as steel. “Where?”

  “One of the men at the exchange had this tattoo on his neck.” I motioned just below my jawline with a single finger. “Right here.”

  I cursed to myself. Forcing my gaze to meet Cooper’s, I dropped the sheet then began to dress. “They weren’t Hell’s Angels at all. That bastard set me up.”

  “Who?”

  “Ryder. Outrigger’s president.” I pulled on my jeans and crouched down to lace up my boots. “I should have figured it out sooner. I can’t believe I forgot about the tattoo. No member of Hell’s Angels would wear something like that.”

  Cooper knelt in front of me, placing his hands over mine. His touch calmed me with spreading warmth, but didn’t extinguish the burning anger in my chest. “Slow down. Tell me everything. Do you remember what this guy looked like?”

  I tried to breathe evenly, my temper getting the best of me. “Long hair, mustache, tall and muscular. He looked Mexican, but it was dark. I couldn’t tell for sure. You know him?”

  He pulled at his collar and I was confronted with the serpent again. “Do you know what this is?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s a covert group in the CIA, a group I used to be a part of until we were captured and taken prisoner in Afghanistan.”

  “What happened?” I wanted to wrap him in my arms from his admission, but the hardening of his expression kept me in place. He clenched his jaw, sliding his teeth back and forth audibly. I couldn’t decipher most of the emotions rolling through him at the moment, but his eyes told me regret consumed a large portion of his thoughts. I’d never seen so much devastation.

  “We were ambushed in the middle of an op. By the time we were rescued, the CIA deemed me the only survivor. They’d only tortured me, but killed the other men on my team. Never found out why. I never gave them more than my rank and serial number, but I’d survived.” His chocolate gaze connected with mine, the depths of his stare pulling me in deeper. “I was just a newbie at the time. I’d only been in the agency for a couple of months, recruited straight from the Rangers, and I didn’t want to go back to Afghanistan. I didn’t even want to investigate their deaths.”

  “That’s understandable. You were tortured. Of course you didn’t want to go back.”

  Cooper’s head dropped. “Doesn’t excuse my actions.” When he lifted his head again, the sorrow and pain vanished. He’d built up an invisible wall and buried the emotions he’d allowed me to witness. I imagined this was the side of Cooper he kept at the forefront of his career: hardened, professional, cold. I didn’t like it. “Two months ago, the CIA got a tip some of the men in my team actually survived and had taken a special interest in the Soto Cartel. Here, in Vegas.”

  “What kind of special interest?”

  He ran a hand through his short hair, tussling it even more out of control. “Mostly drugs. They want control of Vegas to bring in more. Satan’s Army is just one vein of the Soto Cartel. With me in the lead, we can go directly to the source and kill the monster.”

  “And you think the guy with the tattoo is one of the men from your team?” This whole situation seemed too amazing.

  My club had dragged me into the middle of a cartel war.

  “So the guys I met with weren’t Hell’s Angels.”

  “If what you saw is true, then no.” Cooper stood then turned his back on me.

  I watched him from behind, following the planes of his back beneath his shirt and the strong muscles flexing when he moved. Verbalizing my thoughts as they went through my head, I tried to make sense of what this all meant in the long run. “They took the package from me. Hell’s Angels must have come asking why they didn’t get their stuff and Ryder pinned it on me. That’s why he wanted to meet with me back at the clubhouse.” I collapsed back onto the bed. “He thinks I stole from him.”

  My anger deflated with a wave of exhaustion. “This whole thing is about some brown box I gave to them. How was I supposed to know they weren’t real Angels?”

  “What’s the package?”

  “I don’t know.” When I sat up again, I ran my hands through my hair. “Must be something worth killing for. Drugs, maybe?”

  “Whatever it is, we need to get you somewhere safe. I can’t protect you 24/7 with these guys on the loose. They believe the CIA abandoned them back in Afghanistan and I’m a part of the CIA. They’ll come after you to get to me if they have to.”

  I prickled with the implication that I was someone he needed to protect. I’d done just fine without his or the CIA’s help against my brethren for two years. Then again, they hadn’t been trying to kill me during that time. That fact didn’t change just because they wanted me dead. “I can take care of myself. You, on the other hand, need me—”

  His cell rang.

  I only caught pieces of his whispered conversation, but it didn’t sound good.

  Pacing back and forth across my room, Cooper nodded to himself and responded with short, clipped answers. I’d never seen him so worked up before. After another few seconds, he hung up. “I have to go.”

  “Now?”

  “Take my bike back to the ware
house. I’ll meet you there tomorrow morning and we’ll figure out where to go from there.” Desperation coated his words and my anxiety found power again. Cooper stepped into me and captured my lips with his.

  A shiver rushed down my spine with the passion in this kiss, so different from our others. Almost as if Cooper felt he’d never see me again. Dread knotted in the center of my stomach and I clung to him like a life preserver. What if this was our last kiss? Our last time together?

  When he pulled away, I struggled to catch my breath. My lips tingled with the love they’d just received and grew cold in his retreat. “Be careful,” I told him.

  “Get to the warehouse.”

  In the next moment, an echo of the front door closing reached me in the bedroom and was followed by utter silence. My shoulders sagged in defeat and I rubbed my face with my hands. Groaning to myself, I pushed my way into the spare bedroom to find what I’d originally come home for.

  What I found rekindled the fire burning in my chest. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  The entire spare bedroom had been ripped apart. Stuffing from the futon lay in puffs all over the carpet, my computer sat in pieces on the desk. Even the curtains had been torn down and the mounts detached from the wall.

  All because of a small brown box.

  I waded through the mess toward the back of the room where an extra closet housed my father’s belongings. Cooper had said Kenyon Williams had been the best agent for the CIA when it came to undercover work in the MCs. Well, there had to be some proof somewhere.

  An hour later, I found myself cross-legged on the dismantled carpet, flipping through pictures of better days. As a child, my father was distant and seemingly uncaring, but he’d done his best to raise a redheaded hellraiser single-handedly. I settled on one photo specifically of the two of us at Disneyland for my tenth birthday. My dad carried me on his shoulders in this one, his tattooed vulture and eight ball clearly visible on his wrist, an exact replica to mine. It’d been the last time we’d taken a family vacation. Who knew ten days later I’d never see him again.

  Nothing in his possessions backed up Cooper’s claim. In my heart, I wanted to believe him. My whole life I’d seen my father as a badass, a man who protected what was his and gave his life to the club rather than his family. What if it’d all been a lie? The idea he’d been looking after millions of families rather than selfishly protecting his own filled my heart with pride, but where was the proof? Cooper had reason to lie to me so I’d help him, but somehow, in my gut, I just didn’t think he’d go that far. The evidence of my father’s involvement had to be here somewhere.

  The front door opened, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “Did you forget something?” I called out, my irritation tinting every word. “Or did you finally realize you need my help?”

  I didn’t get an answer.

  “Cooper?” I made my way out of the bedroom and walked toward the living room.

  Two people waited for me, neither of them Cooper.

  I tried not to let the fear slithering up my spine appear on my expression or in my words. Leaning against the wall with my arms crossed over my chest, I gave them my full attention and hid my shaking hands. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

  Chapter Ten

  Amelia smiled back at me, motherly, inviting. “Hey, baby. Where have you been?” She walked over to me, her heels pounding on my hardwood floors as she swayed her hips, then embraced me.

  Shock splintered down my limbs like lightning. A hug from the club’s matron was the last thing I’d expected when she showed up. This woman had ordered our Sergeant at Arms to shoot me out of a freaking vent, for crying out loud.

  My president’s electric blue gaze settled on me as I hugged his wife. His expression remained cold, calculating. In his forties, Ryder Branson controlled everything and everyone within his club with an iron fist. If orders weren’t followed or completed, punishment ensued. He might chalk it up to an accident afterward, but occasionally, people just disappeared. The dead look in his eyes made me wonder what he’d tell the other members of my club. Would it be an accident or a missing persons case?

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  Amelia released me from her embrace. With perfect beehive hair, dark makeup and crow’s feet around her eyes and lips, my president’s old lady held me at arm's length. “We’re here to help you, Cherry. We’re always here to help you.” She shook me slightly as if I wasn’t paying attention. “Now where’s the package, sweetie? Where’d you stash it?”

  She dropped her hands then began picking up the dirty clothes and couch pillows off my floor.

  “I don’t have it.” I rubbed my arms where she’d touched me, careful not to make any sudden movements as I watched her. My gaze darted toward Ryder to see his reaction, but I only received a blank expression. He didn’t believe me. “I’m telling the truth, Ryder. I met with the contact and gave them the box. Only now I think they weren’t the real Hell’s Angels—”

  “You’re changing your story?” Ryder crossed his arms over his muscular chest. In every day attire, he looked like a normal guy. Married. Kids. Great day job at a bank. But on the weekends, like today, Ryder exuded power in his jeans, cut, work boots and cut-off gloves, and scared the shit out of me. “Amelia, babe, why don’t you get a drink from across the street?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good id—”

  “Now.”

  Her green eyes lingered on me before she threw a quick smile to her husband. She planted a passionate kiss on his lips as she passed him, then whispered something in his ear before heading into the hallway. She closed the door behind her, leaving me alone with my club president.

  I didn’t know what to say, or what to do, than just stand there. This man had ordered his wife and Talon to kill me back at the safe house. And they would have if not for Cooper. Whispering thoughts of his safety crossed my mind. Had they caught up with him, too? The idea made me cringe. Over the last week, he’d played an integral part in my life and I couldn’t lose him because of some damn box.

  “Why don’t you have a seat?” Ryder motioned to the couch.

  I struggled to remember if I’d put any weapons in the couch as I moved toward it, a knife or gun perhaps? Maybe something my father had left behind? I couldn’t defend myself against Ryder. He’d been in the club practically all his life, a hardened criminal and fighter to the bone, but I’d sure as hell make it hard for him to kill me. I sat down and watched as Ryder took the recliner across from me.

  “Is this the part where you tell me I deserve this and then put a bullet in my head?”

  “I want you to tell me the truth, Cherry. You owe me that much.”

  “Seriously? You sent Talon and your old lady to kill me. I don’t owe you shit.” I had to keep my temper under control. I didn’t want things to get worse, but I just couldn’t let Ryder get away with what he’d done. I inhaled slowly, letting the air disintegrate the anger building in my chest, and let it out. “I did as you asked. I showed up at 9:00 p.m. just like the instructions said, at the junkyard on Trop, and waited for the Angels to show. Forty minutes later, I handed them the package and left.”

  “Dillan said he never got it, that you were supposed to be there at ten and you never showed.” Ryder set both elbows on his knees. “What note told you to be there at nine?”

  My shoulders sank with my heart. I’d thrown away the one piece of evidence I had to prove my innocence. “I don’t have it anymore.”

  “So you just want me to believe you?” His tone grew dark, along with his eyes. The President of Outriggers Motorcycle Club stared back at me, not Ryder, and it suddenly dawned on me that I wouldn’t leave this room.

  I bolted upright and he did the same. “The guys I gave the package to posed as Hell’s Angels. How was I supposed to know the difference?” My explanation seemed pointless as Ryder advanced on me.

  Backing myself down the hallway, I struggled to hear through my
heart pounding in my ears. My feet shuffled on the hardwood floor, my hands steadying me against the walls on either side of me. I kept my breathing even through some miracle as Ryder followed. I had a small revolver in the top of my dresser drawer—at least I had before I’d run off. The club might have taken it when they searched my apartment.

  “You were the one person I trusted with that delivery, Cherry. All you had to do was show up on time and hand it off. Do you know what you cost me?!” Ryder shouted.

  I lunged into my room, effectively knocking the air from my lungs in one exhale when I landed on my side, but kicked the door shut behind me. The lock had broken long ago and I scrambled toward my bedroom window for a way out. The door slammed against the wall behind me right as I threw myself onto the fire escape. I took less than two seconds to right myself, but a hand flew out the window and griped my upper arm, right where I’d been shot earlier.

  The pain sent white dots across my vision and ripped a scream from my throat. Ryder tried to force me back inside, but I could only focus on the flames licking straight down my arm and even into my chest as I wrenched my arm out of his grasp. Falling back onto the fire escape, I heard shouts inside my apartment and forced my feet down the stairs as Ryder’s attention was diverted toward the hallway.

  With a glance over my shoulder, I saw Ryder had disappeared. A single gunshot echoed down into the alley between my building and the next, but I refused to stop. I hit the pavement, ignoring the tingling sensation in my toes from the jolt, and ran.

  ****

  I’d left Cooper’s keys in the apartment and I definitely couldn’t go back, but I didn’t know how I’d get to the warehouse either. The friends I’d made consisted of groupies for the MC and I didn’t dare ask for help in case they turned me over.

  The club had once been a home away from home for me. Now, however, it seemed running guns, drugs, and laundering cash had taken our focus over the past year. Can’t say it wasn’t partly my fault. I’d voted Ryder in, even supported some of his extracurricular activates to bring the club more cash. A lot of good my support did. Corrupt son of a bitch.