by Isabel Wroth
Nasa gave her a nod to answer, and she pressed her lips together before answering. “I was sent an anonymous email, alerting me to the fact that my fiancé was a racist, Hitler loving Nazi. I was a little tweaked by this news, seeing as how my father’s motorcycle club, was having issues with a racist, Hitler loving gang of Nazi’s infringing on their turf. I was not aware until today, that the man who asked me to marry him, was an officer of the law.” Granger wrote that down, “As you can surmise, Agent Jackson was in deep cover, infiltrating the drug, gun and human trafficking going on in that Nazi skinhead gang. He reported to his superior officers that the higher ups in that gang had decided to use you as a way in, in their plan to assimilate the Torandos into their business.” Nasa looked at her again and gave a blink of assent. “Yeah, I figured that out a while ago. Not him being undercover, but the skinheads deciding I was the weak link in the chain.”
“Is that why you disappeared and took fifty million dollars worth of drug money with you?”
Roar was stiff as a board by this point, while she remained calm and unruffled, knowing full well that her financials were being looked into right now, and all the agents could prove was that she ran a legit business selling plants. “I disappeared, because I was mildly concerned that the people responsible for massacring my family on the day I was supposed to get married, might decide to come looking for me. And what I took with me, was a beater car registered to nobody, my purse, the cash in my wallet which I’m pretty sure was under five hundred dollars, and the clothes on my back.”
“We found your prints at two different confirmed safe houses, owned by your father and grandfather.”
“I cleaned up after both of them, did their laundry, made dinner for them and pushed a vacuum around their carpet. Sometimes I would do it for one of the other brothers when my dad asked, whether or not it was a safe house, they didn’t tell me.”
“Agent Jackson reported that earning your trust was difficult, and that you rarely gave out information on your father’s business dealings.”
“Agent Jackson’s reports are accurate then, and I didn’t give him any information on my father’s business, because I wasn’t involved with any of it.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Not even at their garage?”
“I brought my car in a few times a month for oil changes or to have the tires rotated, but my father was a misogynist. So was my grandfather, for that matter. If I wasn’t cleaning something, bringing food or having my car serviced, I had no business being there.”
“You’re saying you had no knowledge of the illegal activities going on in your father and grandfather’s businesses, or within the motorcycle gang?”
“Aside from the illegal gambling they did when some of the boys went two towns over to mess around in the underground fighting arenas? No.”
More scratching of the pen, more purposeful pauses in between questions, and one very annoyed uniformed officer with her bag of sweet potato fries and a pair of pulled pork street tacos. She smiled at him in thanks, and after a glare from Granger, the guy left. But he came back a few minutes later with a bottle of water and a ginger ale with a straw for her. The uniform nodded to Roar like they were pals, didn’t say a word, and then left. “So you know nothing about the fifty million that was supposed to be hidden between the two safe houses we found your prints at?” She sipped at the ginger ale and nibbled on a fry, not having realized how ravenous she was. Must have been the dust up. “I have no idea what was, or wasn’t supposed to be, or what safe houses you’re talking about. The club owned a lot of property.”
Frustrated and starting to show it, Granger pulled out pictures of the two houses she remembered hitting right before she’d taken off. The second one was where she’d changed out of her wedding dress and into a slutty jean skirt left behind by one of the club sluts, and a man’s t-shirt. Her wedding dress had gone into the trash, and there was a picture of it too. “That house is the one my father let me use to get changed before the wedding, as it was closer to the compound than my place. It’s where I went after I decided to get lost before anyone could find me and shoot me, or set me on fire. And there wasn’t fifty million dollars laying around in the living room, I’d have remembered that. How did you find me, by the way?”
“We’ll get to that in a minute. What knowledge did you have of the rivalry going on between your father’s club and the skinheads?”
“Very little. My father told me to watch my ass, because skinheads were moving into their territory and he didn’t like that. Whatever rivalry there was, he kept me out of it on purpose. Girls were going missing around town, and he’d have been pissed if one of them was me.”
“About the time you went missing, several drug rehabilitation facilities were suddenly gifted with large cash donations.”
“Lucky them. How’d you find me?”
She was glad she hadn’t eaten much of her meal, because Granger slid a pair of photos across the table to where Top was sitting, and asked him a question he already knew the answer to. “Do you know either of these individuals?” She watched his face turn to granite, and his dark eyes go black as he stared at the pictures. Nasa straightened from his sprawl beside them, and Roar’s hands firmed on her body. “They’re two of mine. Frank Henderson and his wife, Susan.” Bile churned in her stomach at his answer, tears immediately welling in her eyes because she knew, she knew from the look on Top’s face, that the pictures he was looking at, were morgue photos. “They were killed in what appears to be a random robbery, four days ago just outside of Carson City. When I heard about Mr. Henderson’s ties to your club and as a private investigator for your business, and how he’d been asking for public death records involving specific gang related violence, I looked into it. And I found you, Mrs. Morningstar, when I came here to speak to your husband and his business partners, due to the nature of those public records and their central theme of skinheads and Tornados.” Susan and Pike were dead, because they had been looking into her past.
Susan and Pike, were dead.
Chapter Seventeen
She’d checked out. Another two hours of questions and bullshit answers, and Ever still hadn’t said a mother fucking word. She just sat on his lap with her cheek on his chest and stared at the table top with vacant, unseeing eyes. She didn’t even blink when he called an end to the whole shit show and stood up with her in his arms. She didn’t say a thing, when he walked her out of the station and put her down in the back of the truck beside him. Didn’t respond when he got her home and Squatch went crazy, happy to see him and jumped up on the furniture to try and lick his face. Didn’t fight him when he peeled her out of her dirty clothes, and his, and got them in the shower. She let him wash her, didn’t even wiggle away when he spent longer than he needed to, rubbing on her distended belly. It wasn’t until he curled down with her in their bed, that the damn broke and she cried a river against his chest.
Pen and Saint went to Nevada to take care of Pike and Susan’s bodies, to have Pike’s Fat Boy shipped home, and two days later they buried them side by side. Ever stood next to him at the gravesite in a black dress that at any other time would have inspired him to fuck her silly. It was long sleeved and low cut, showing off the beauty of what being pregnant had done to her tits, and hugged every curve from there down to her knees. He loved how it outlined her belly, loved that the world saw just how much she belonged to him, that she was carrying his son inside her.
It was cold out, but aside from a pair of black stockings and an expensive looking pair of knee high boots, that dress was all she was wearing. She’d pulled her hair up into a big bun at her nape, had a pair of huge black sunglasses on and a dark stone on a long silver chain around her neck. Something Susan had given her, she said. Any other time, he would have been strutting like a prize rooster to have her walking next to him. But not today.
Preacher kept the service short and sweet, thank fuck, because he didn’t know if he could have handl
ed even a minute more of the fat, silent tears Ever was crying while she stared at the gaping holes in the ground where their friends were being lowered. She stayed curled to his side, being the strong bitch he knew she was, but a flash of light caught his attention and he looked up to see the last fuckin person on earth he wanted to see, standing within a hundred miles of her.
Her lying, son of a bitch, dick ATF ex.
Saint touched his shoulder and a quick look at him confirmed that his brother had seen him too, and he tilted his head silently at Ever. Saint nodded and stepped back to be ready to take her to the car. “Babe, need a minute. Saint’s gonna take you to the car, okay?” She nodded, and he tipped her head up to softly kiss her, almost smiling when she murmured, “Don’t fuck him up too bad. Not today.” He huffed and kissed her again, “Maybe tomorrow?” Her lips quivered like she wanted to smile too, but didn’t have the power to make it just yet. “Maybe tomorrow.” He nodded, taking a minute to palm her belly, loving how he felt his son give a little flip inside her, imagining that he did it on purpose. His heart gave one hell of a lurch, “Go, I’ll be right there.” He watched Saint wrap his arm around her shoulders, watched her tilt her head to his chest and wrap both arms around his waist while they slowly walked to the line of cars parked behind the long row of gleaming Harley’s.
It took effort to tear himself away from the sight of her, but he did, and moved to walk over to where Agent fuckin Jackson of the ATF was standing, crossing his arms to firmly plant his hands under his pits to keep from punching the fucker in his taped up nose. He wanted to do it so bad, his fists hurt from how hard he clenched them, but he wouldn’t disrespect his brother, dead in that box beside his bitch. Not today. “I’m surprised you got balls enough left to show your face after what my woman did to you.” He grated out, and the dark haired, fairly good looking suit huffed a laugh, then winced when it jarred his beat up body. “Spent eight years, thinking she went down some pipeline, couldn’t find her.”
“Glad you did then, for some fuckin closure or whatever.”
“Closure. Right.” The dick huffed, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, “Everly Taggart isn’t exactly the sort of woman you just…get over.”
“Everly Morningstar, isn’t the kind of woman you use to keep your fuckin cover either.”
“Funny, you know. I couldn’t find any record of you and Ever having gotten married.”
It chapped his ass that the fucker had a point, but didn’t have to mean he had to acknowledge it. He could drive the knife a little deeper, and that felt like a fine thing to him. “What would have happened, if she hadn’t gotten that email?” ATF boy’s jaw went white. “I’m guessing you weren’t even there when the shooting started, when it counts, the rats don’t go down with the ship. But she would have been there. She’d have been there in her pretty white dress, waiting for you, and she’d have died in a bloodbath, believing you were coming for her.” He sucked in a deep, satisfied breath and nodded when the dick swallowed loudly, “I guess in a way I should be grateful, your fuck up sent her running straight into my arms. I asked about you, you know. You’ve got a career. No wife. No family. Nothing but the job. Me? I get to wake up with that beautiful, ball busting, bad ass bitch in my bed every morning. Get to have her sweet ass on my bike. I get to see my son growing inside her, feel him kicking against my hands. You got today, you got to see her, and I think her reaction to seeing you made her feelings clear. You had your chance to keep her safe and you fucked it up. My job now, and this is the last time I want to see your face. You get me?”
“The case-“
“You got questions need answered, you give them to Granger to ask. I don’t see you, she, does not see you. Do you get me?”
“Yes.” He answered tightly, and he nodded. “Good. Hate to have to sell tickets to the next smackdown where my pregnant wife, kicks your tactical trained ass to the dirt.”
“Kind of difficult not to have my ass handed to me, on account of not wanting to hurt her.”
“Well, then that just leaves me, doesn’t it?” he clapped the guy on the shoulder and squeezed until he wheezed with pain, and walked off to join Ever at the car.
The wake at the compound was a somber affair, not surprising since it was the first time in twenty years that one of their own had died of something other than old age or liver failure. It was a shock. A brutal shock, and while all of them were taking it hard, Ever was taking it worse. Like it was somehow her fault, or that it was because of her, and everyone seemed to notice her withdrawal. Top caught his eye and lifted his hand, hooking a thumb towards his office and looked pointedly at Ever. He nodded, and took her hand to lead her down the long hallway, hearing her take a bracing breath before they got to the door.
He stopped just outside it and tugged on her hand, making her look up at him, and the pain in her eyes, the tears swimming across those gorgeous blue eyes of hers, it fuckin gutted him. “Not your fault.” He rasped, and her lips wobbled. “Not. Your. Fault.” He repeated tightly when she opened her mouth, not giving her a chance to say anything else because his mouth was on hers and sipping softly. He stopped when he felt a warm wetness slide over their lips, stopped when he tasted the salt of her tears. He kissed those away too, knowing he’d give anything to make her not hurt, feeling useless because all he could do was kiss her damn tears away and hold her while she grieved.
God, he loved this sexy, strong, ball busting bitch.
Loved her.
She took a deep breath and sat, lifting her eyes to Top’s haggard, tired face and wondered if he blamed her. If he regretted making her part of his family. The way he took her hands and tried to smile at her, told her he didn’t, and it made a fresh round of tears flood her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” She managed to force out, and he squeezed her hands again. “Not a damn thing for you to be sorry about. Pike and Susan went down on my orders, and the fuckers that killed them, they’re the ones who’re gonna be sorry. Know you’re hurting over this, but before the feds roll in and fuck this all up again, I need your help.” Roar stiffened behind her, she could hear the creaking of his hands fisting against the back of the chair she sat in. “I don’t know anything that can help, dad didn’t tell me his business.”
“No, I know that, baby. But someone does. You told me one of the guys was in the hospital recovering from a gut shot.”
“Yeah. Um, Krieger. Jonas Krieger. He went by, Harlow.”
“And the other guy who wasn’t among the dead?”
“Connor Talbert, McGuyver. Could fix anything with gum and some tape. I can give Nasa descriptions, priors, that stuff I do know. I was usually the one to bring the bail money.”
Top shook his head and pulled another folded up bandana from inside his cut, and she found herself laughing a little, wondering if he had an endless supply of them and who ironed them into perfect little squares. “No more blowback, girly. Just needed those names. Let Roar take you home,” She smiled into her damp hankie and pressed her lips together. “I am.”
“Are what?”
“Home.”
“Shit yeah, you are.”
Roar took her upstairs to his old room in the compound and curled up behind her on the bed where they’d made their son. She fell asleep with his arms around her and the scent of his pillows surrounding her.
Chapter Eighteen
He was still with her when she woke up, still holding her, but there was a tension thrumming through him that set her heart to racing. “Will you go back?” She whispered, too afraid to speak any louder than that. His hand was rubbing little circles on her belly, but stopped for a second when she spoke. “Back where?” She took his hand, pulling it up between her breasts to hug his arm to her chest, holding tight like she could keep him there in the bed with her forever. “To track down who killed Pike and Susan.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and nuzzled his way through her now loose hair. He must have unwound it while she slept, “No, baby. Pen and Saint have this one. I’m not leavin y
ou again.”
She nodded, rubbing her lips over the back of his hand, laying in the soft dark, relieved yet remorseful for having asked Top to get rid of him for a few days to give her some peace of mind. If he hadn’t come back, if she’d been standing next to his open grave today, she’d never have peace again. Life was so short, too short for her to be worried about what might happen in a few years, a few weeks, or a few days. “Roar?”
“Mm?”
“My list is really long.”
“What list, baby?”
“Stuff I like about you.”
Stillness bled through him, his lips stopping over the pounding pulse in her throat, a burning brand against her skin that made the weirdest sense of happiness permeate the grief flowing through her. “I’m making a new one. Stuff that I love, about you.” His throat working was loud, his fingers curling around her shoulder tighter, “What’s on it so far?” He rasped softly, hugging her back those scant few millimeters separating them, “Not much, you’re kind of an aggravating asshole. But you’re my aggravating asshole, and I love you.”
“Bout fuckin time,” He muttered, and she scowled, though she couldn’t be shocked by his response. “I tell you I love you, and you say ‘bout fuckin time?’” He laughed at her then, shifting and pulled his arm out of her grip and rolled half away from her, leaving her feeling cold and terribly vulnerable, but he wasn’t gone for long. He flipped the lamp beside the bed on and rolled back over to grab her hand, sliding a glittering ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. She just stared at it, at the tiny diamond dotted vines that made up the band, and the ten pointed diamond star in the center. It was perfect, and unique, and it fit like a dream. “Roar,”
