by Vixen, Jayna
Dax would come to take over the club went Hawk went away. No question about it. He would have to honor his rightful place at the Phantoms’ table. It was what Dax had been groomed for all this time. It was his destiny. Alanna knew that he wouldn’t leave his club—his family—to suffer in Hawk’s absence. He might be an outlaw, but Dax had values in addition to his ridiculous good looks.
It was why she loved him so much.
When Dax came back, with his little baby mama in tow, he would inherit Alanna too. He’d have to take care of her—and she would take care of him—the way a real old lady was supposed to.
Chapter Eighteen
“Are you fucking serious, Wince?” Dax roared at the phone, even though Wince’s text certainly couldn’t respond.
“Dax!” Rhee hissed, gesturing to Sirena, who observed his angry outburst with an amused look in her blue eyes.
His jaw clenched and he felt himself swelling up with anger the way he always did when he felt an injustice was unfolding.
Don’t want to go back there. Things were just getting good here.
“What is it, baby?”
Baby.
One simple word was all it took to settle him. Some of the anger trickled away as he turned to look at her.
“Let’s talk about it later, darlin.”
A cherubic little voice piped up, “You fuckin’ seewious, Daddy?”
Dax cringed, hearing the f-bomb fall from the lips of an angel.
“Those are adult words, Sirena,” Rhee admonished, but he could hear the laughter in her voice.
“I’m a big girl!” Sirena proclaimed, placing her hands on her hips and standing her ground.
“That you are, princess.” Dax agreed, swinging her into his arms. He slung her onto his back and grinned. “Let’s get your mom.”
Sirena squealed in excitement as Rhee pretended to run away in terror. Some things could wait until tomorrow morning, and Hawk was one of them.
Chapter Nineteen
“Get in the car.”
Mickey didn’t want to make a scene, not at school. She looked over her shoulder, conscious of the way the popular kids stared at her. They teased her about the long sleeves she always wore now, and the baggy sweats she was never without, even in gym class. Paul tapped the horn, making her jump.
What did he want?
Paul raked her with his eyes as she opened the car door and sat down gingerly.
“Wh-where are we going?” she ventured.
“Got something special set up tonight, sweet thing. You’re coming with me. Good luck charm.” He winked and ice ran down her spine.
Why? He’d never brought her to any of his card games before. And why was her stepfather wearing his ratty, old suit?
“Put your hair up—you know, in those little ponytails?” He motioned near his ears and she automatically began to braid her hair into pigtails. It wouldn’t do any good to disobey him now—not when she had no idea where they were headed.
“It’s Thursday. Mom’s going to be home…”
“She’s working overtime,” Paul spat. “Don’t talk back to me, Mouse. It makes me angry.”
Instead of the smelly old basement she expected, they ended up at a hotel. Some kind of charity event was going on. It was odd. Mickey had no idea why Paul wanted to attend something like this—or why he wanted her with him. He introduced her to lots of men who wore fancy suits and shiny watches that probably cost more than their car. She shook the hands Paul told her to shake, and she smiled obediently, wondering what was going on.
He spent some time talking to some of the men, leaving her sitting on a bench by the elevator of the hotel. Mickey watched the patrons going up to their rooms and wondering what kind of lives they had. Finally, he came to get her and they were headed home.
She glanced at him, trying to gauge his mood. Paul was rambling again, about his master plan, whatever that was. He seemed tense and distracted, and he swerved hard. Then, he was just angry. With quavering fingers, Mickey’s hand went to her stepfather’s thigh. She stroked his leg, feeling ill as he calmed and the look in his eyes became less wild.
It was so much worse when he was angry.
Chapter Twenty
Slade was tripping. Why was Hawk running him around on bogus errands? First, he was sent to make a pointless stop at the port. Things were status quo and he had just done a check the day before. Then, he found himself at Lenny’s picking up some package—something one of the newer grunts could do.
Maybe he wasn’t as close to the inner circle as he’d hoped.
When Slade arrived at the compound, five minutes before meeting time, the place was eerily quiet. A warning prickle went down his spine as he pushed open the clubhouse door. Something was definitely up. He scanned the room. A few Phantom stalkers lounged on the couch, but no one else seemed to be around. The door to the meeting room was closed.
Slade hesitated, unsure what he was supposed to do. Once that door closed, interrupting was a major taboo. Slade checked his watch to confirm that he was not, indeed late. He still had a couple of minutes and Hawk always got started a few minutes past the hour, anyway. As he stood there, his fist half-raised to knock on the door, it suddenly opened.
Gray stood there, a terse look on his face. “Kid. We’ve been waiting on you.”
Slade wasn’t the anxious type. But standing here, with a full table staring him down, he felt the stirrings of nervous adrenaline roiling in his stomach. He looked around at each man at the table. They all wore a similar expression—intense.
Fuck.
“Sit down, kid.” Hawk gestured to an empty chair.
Slade made his way to the place Hawk indicated. Something was wrong but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
Odd. Why is there an empty seat at the table?
His head shot up, meeting Hawk’s eyes, which twinkled now—with mirth. Then, one by one, the seven men at the table starting busting up. Hawk reached out his hand and Slade gripped it hard. He was avalanched with fist bumps and an unexpected full-on hug from Gray.
“Welcome to the Phantoms, son. You ain’t got a broad, so I hope you know how to sew.”
Hawk slid a patch across the table and Slade caught it up in his palm. The club president produced a bottle of single malt scotch and took a long draught before wiping his mouth with his sleeve and passing it to Slade. He tipped a healthy amount of the amber liquid down his throat, enjoying the burn that trailed into his guts. A wide grin broke out on Slade’s face as he turned the bit of leather and string over in his hand.
Soldier.
He couldn’t recall the last time he had felt this good—this accomplished. A place at the table—already. It was unexpected. And it made his fucking day.
One step closer, dad.
Chapter Twenty-One
Wince was late. Goddamn traffic. It was slow going all the way to Darling from the airport. From the looks of it, things were only going to get worse. Developers, politicians—it seemed like there was pressure for their little town to expand. The club relied on Darling staying small. Big city meant big money—and big time police involvement.
Right now, things were running the way they had for decades. Hawk and Carter, who had a lot of influence with Darling’s police chief, had some kind of understanding. The Phantoms did their business and kept the other clubs under control. In return, the cops had their back—most of the time. The sweet little arrangement gave Hawk and his boys the backing they needed to pressure some of the other crews…to be the big fish in the small Darling cesspool.
Wince noticed three separate billboards advertising a strip mall, a golf course, and a gated community. Things were changing here, and Wince wasn’t sure there was any help for it. He was torn. But, he had his duties and he would carry them out.
For now.
Things were in full swing when he walked through the door. Two topless chicks bending over the pool tables and the boys all looked pretty fucked up. Wince scanned the room for Ha
wk, but didn’t see his president anywhere.
“Hey, man.”
Slade. Just the man he wanted to see.
“Let’s go.”
The grunt nodded. As he moved down the corridor, the flash of white and gray on Slade’s chest caught Wince’s discerning eye.
“You got patched in?”
Slade nodded. The smile on his face seemed genuine. Still…what kind of power play was he up to?
“When?”
The other man looked at his watch. “Man, only about two hours ago. I still can’t believe it. I still had a few months to go.”
“Congratulations.”
They walked in silence to Wince’s bunk. He unlocked the door and set his suitcase on the floor. Wince let out a sigh and stretched his hands over his head, momentarily forgetting about Slade. It was good to be back in a familiar space.
“Yeah, thanks. But, things ain’t no fuckin’ tea party lately.”
Slade’s voice reminded him that they weren’t here to have a fucking tea party. In fact, Slade had interrupted a tea party that was very dear to Wince.
“Start fucking talking, man. I’ve spent the good part of forty-eight hours traveling back and forth. This had better be worth it.”
“It’s worth it.” Slade’s voice was flat and ominous. He spilled without further preamble. Alanna was still playing her game of who’s the rat.
“Has she made any specific accusations?”
Wince was thrown for a loop when Slade hesitated, seeming to hold back. Then, he risked his new patch with his final comments.
“I didn’t know who else to tell, man. But Hawk…he’s been acting funny. Maybe you should check in with Gray and the other old-timer, Tank. I’m not the only one who’s concerned. And given my new status, I’d appreciate it if you…you know…were discreet.”
Well, he had to give the kid some credit, Wince thought. It was a pretty chancy move—implicating the very man who had slammed the gavel on his initiation just a few hours beforehand.
Kid’s got a code, Wince mused. I like that about him.
“I’ll look into it.”
Slade nodded and offered his hand. Wince shook it, pleased to find the other man’s palm strong and sure. Not sweaty. You got to know a liar by his expression, his gestures. The new patch was definitely no liar.
“Enjoy your party, kid. Get laid or something.”
Slade shrugged. Wince locked the door and made for the shower. Then, he fired up his laptop and scrambled his signal so he couldn’t be tracked online. He was restless. He felt helpless. Time to spend a few hours hacking the FBI database. If that didn’t distract him…nothing would.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“But honey, that clipping is almost three weeks old,” Ruby argued.
Mickey wasn’t sure if the older woman was protesting her potential departure because she truly believed Rhee might not be on the island any longer, or if it was because she didn’t want Mickey to leave.
“Where would she go? She’s some event planner out there, or something.”
“At the very least, you could make some calls…make sure she’s there. I just don’t see why you can’t call your own sister…”
There was no way in hell Mickey could just call Rhee, out of the blue. Rhee probably thought she was dead. For all Mickey knew, Rhee would either freak out, or call the police or something. Either way, it just wasn’t the right thing to do. No more copping out. Mickey had to get out there, and tell Rhee the truth in person.
Well, maybe not all of it. But enough—enough to make Rhee believe her.
“Fine, I could—I could Google her. The name of her business is in the article.”
Mickey’s hands were actually shaking. She had tried to escape from her personal hell, but now, it looked as though one of her demons was coming back to haunt her in person.
***
Sometimes, Mickey wondered why he hadn’t just gone ahead and done it already. He’d made her do everything else. It was torture, praying each time that he wouldn’t…wondering when he would.
But he seemed to be holding off on taking that final thing from her and she wasn’t sure why but she was grateful—while it lasted.
Lately, he made her use her mouth. Which she hated. He tasted…awful. Like dirty socks. And his…stuff. Ugh. She wasn’t sure how much longer she would be his victim before she jumped out a window. Mickey focused on her doll, letting her throat go slack as she regressed to the time before. Then, as he held her nose and forced her to swallow, her pig of a stepfather unwittingly sealed his own fate.
Usually, she shut him out but when he finished, Paul was always chatty. He liked to stroke her hair and talk at her while she ignored his words and fought the urge to vomit. But this time, what he said…it flipped a switch inside of her brain.
“You’re real special, Mouse. You’re gonna be my ticket to the big time.”
There was a lot a person could endure, to protect the ones they loved. But when it came down to it, every person had a threshold. And for sixteen-year old Michaela Blake, that threshold was the very clear line. She would not allow herself to be traded for mistakes that Paul would never stop making.
After he finally left her, Mickey sat up and spat into the corner. Then, something akin to resolve began to form in the pit of her stomach, which roiled with the need to vomit. A cold, dead numbness spread through Mickey from that strange rolling in her tummy. She padded to her computer and began to surf the net. It was time for a plan of her own. She had to take a stand. No one was going to help her. So, Mickey was going to take matters into her own hands.
Somehow, some way, Paul was going to die.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Sirena’s never been on a plane.”
Rhee tried to keep the trepidation from her voice. Because she was pretty sure that she and Sirena were going to be on a plane. Together. Very soon.
Dax looked like he was pissed right off, and Rhee didn’t blame him. Still, maybe they should be grateful—grateful that he’d been given a kind of reprieve from club bullshit for the last three months. It was almost like a delayed paternity leave or something. Rhee sighed. Their little paradise life couldn’t last forever. The club was a part of Dax, and no matter how much he tried to deny it, his crew would always have a place in his life.
Our lives.
“Maybe…maybe you could go handle whatever it is and come right back?” she asked.
Rhee didn’t want to be apart from Dax, especially not now—when she still had three days before her doctor’s appointment. The idea of going back there—to Darling—scared her. There were memories there and most of them were bad.
“Nah, darlin’. I might be a while. And I’m not taking any chances. Not with you—or her.”
The way he looked at Sirena as she napped on the couch, the way the steel in his gaze softened, turned Rhee’s heart into mush.
“Turtle’s here,” she commented softly. Turtle had protected them before. Rhee knew that she and Sirena were safe on the island.
Rhee wasn’t prepared for Dax’s reaction. “You are not his, stowaway. You’re mine.”
His long fingers shot out and latched around her wrist. He hauled her to him, crushing her sensitive breasts against his hard chest. Then, one large hand was yanking up the material of her loose skirt, cupping her buttock, pulling her open and into his impressive erection.
“Don’t you forget it, hear me, darlin’?”
Rhee was equal parts outraged and aroused.
He can’t just go around manhandling me—ooh!
Dax’s mouth was at her ear. He nipped the sensitive flesh, and then growled low,
“Turtle was supposed to have your back when I got here, baby. Do you remember that night, Rhiannon? What would have happened if I hadn’t been in that parking lot?”
“Fuck you!” She shoved at his chest, anger lacing her desire.
It was the wrong thing to say, but how fucking dare he?! Reminding her of an-almost a
ssault that was her own fucking fault for being too trusting? His comment made her feel stupid—naïve. Like the dumb little girl she had been when she met Dax.
“What the fuck did you say?”
Oh, he was pissed now. Beyond pissed. Rhee’s pulse began to race as his hand clenched around her ass. She chanced a look at his face, daring herself to discover just how angry he was. It was another mistake.
His blue eyes glittered with intensity and raw, male rage.
Rhee gasped. “Let me go, Dax.”
“No.”
His voice was harsh. Possessive. And his response held all kinds of different meanings. Dax wouldn’t let her go. Not now. Not ever. Despite the twinge of fear that his aggression inspired, a tickle of desire bloomed between Rhee’s thighs. This man wanted her in a way she couldn’t describe. It was primal. It was…animal.
Then she did something else—-something that was sure to be a mistake too, but she just couldn’t help herself. She knew what the gesture did to Dax, knew what it would lead to, and even though she was angry at his domineering attitude, she did it anyway. Rhee opened her mouth and slowly, deliberately, ran her tongue across her full bottom lip, drawing his attention to her mouth.
He made that sound—that low, guttural sound deep in his throat, and just like that, the tone of their interaction changed from angry to…carnal.
“Did you curse at me, Rhiannon?”
Oh, shit. Rhee glanced furtively at Sirena. She had just gone down, over an hour late for her nap. Let’s see. No nap yesterday. Up at five this morning. Yeah, she’s down for the count. I’m betting on at least a two-hour window…
“I don’t think I like being cursed at, darlin’. It’s…disrespectful.”
Dax nuzzled her ear, his warm breath igniting a sweet hot desire that raced from his mouth straight into her panties. Rhee shifted on her standing leg, nudging against the rock hard bulge in Dax’s shorts. God, Dax Jamison in board shorts—she could feel the heat from his cock searing her through the thin material of her flimsy underwear…the sensation made her lose all control of herself. And Dax…Dax was perfectly comfortable teasing her, driving her crazy….
