Blood and Honor

by Vixen, Jayna

  Why would this girl have a photo of Rhee in her pocket?

  The hairs on the back of Wince’s neck began to tingle as he switched on the ceiling light.

  No way. No fucking way.

  Wince was a numbers guy—he always had been—and he knew that the likelihood of this girl being the one he had been searching for was fucking impossible. With shaking fingers he pulled up the best picture of Michaela Blake that he had on file. He studied it for several moments and then stared at the young woman who lay senseless on his bed. Wince shook his head in disbelief. He fell into his recliner before his legs could give out on him.

  Then, he just stared.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The first thing Mickey became aware of was well, a lack of the usual physiological drama that was present when she woke up. Her heart was not pounding so hard she thought it was going to break out of her chest. There was no damp sickly sweat dripping down her neck. There were no splinters of horror lodged in her brain to remind her of her past as the memories faded back into the recesses of her mind.

  No, there were none of those things and that’s why Mickey thought she was dead.

  There was a certain kind of relief that went along with thinking she was dead, which she punctuated with a long sigh that echoed for a few moments. The brief lightening of her heavy heart was all too soon replaced by oppressive regret and guilt. Even in death, Mickey thought regrettably, there was still shame. Silently, she opened her eyes to survey her surroundings.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, so she lay there, stretching her arms over her head. Ouch. Experimentally, Mickey moved her limbs, feeling a dull pain in her neck and shoulder. Her back positively ached and there was something quite wrong with her right ankle. Odd. She didn’t expect that she would feel pain after she died. Unless…

  I am in hell.

  With a gasp, Mickey sat straight up—and that’s when she saw him.

  A man sat facing the door in a recliner—she could just make out his features in the dim light that glowed from a crack in the door to his right. A familiar panic began to overtake her as the figure rose from his position. A light clicked on and now she could see his features.

  He was tall, but not overly so, with an athletic build. His hair was short and dark. But it was the intelligence that glittered in the stranger’s dark eyes that got to Mickey—the man seemed to see inside her very soul. She held her breath, confused and frightened. Finally, the man spoke and his words terrified her so much that she could no longer hold the fear in check.

  “Michaela Blake. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  Terror ignited by his words propelled her onto her feet—and then she promptly fell back onto the bed with a yelp. Her foot, her ankle, something—hurt terribly. She was trapped, like a lame animal trying in vain to escape a predator. Mickey sucked in a breath as she heard his slow, measured footsteps come closer. When she dared to open her eyes a slit, she could see the tops of the man’s sneakers through the space between her folded arms.

  “Where does it hurt?” he asked.

  “Who are you?” she shot back, her voice raspy with fear.

  He looked familiar but she knew that she had never seen the man before. Mickey peered at him suspiciously. She had been in a few MC compounds to know a member’s suite when she saw one. This guy was obviously a high ranker in a local crew—but which one? Was it Dizzy’s crew? A cartel affiliate? She wracked her brain to recall what was happening before she woke up here, and what she remembered only fed her growing panic.

  A car…there had been a car pulling up behind her as she crossed the street. Someone called her name. She ran…there was a bike. There was a man.

  There had been a man—a man with dark hair and eyes and he was surrounded by light…her dark angel sent to take her away from this place and all that she ever was…and he was accompanied by a feeling of utter peace and contentment.

  It was this man—the man standing in front of her.

  And he was also the one she had seen at Darling Park.

  “Oh my God. I—you…your bike…did I…” she trailed off, realizing she was making no sense.

  Mickey chanced a look at his face to gauge his reaction. This guy could be a total psycho—especially if she had inadvertently jacked up his bike. To her surprise, he gave her a gentle smile.

  “Everything’s okay, Mickey.”

  Mickey? The people who ever called her by her nickname were dead.

  Except for Rhiannon.

  She opened her mouth to speak but her throat had suddenly gone dry and she choked. The man strode several paces back to the desk. He opened the small fridge beside it and retrieved a bottle of water. He opened it before handing it to her—a gesture that wasn’t lost on Mickey. Her hands were shaking too badly to open it herself. She accepted the bottle gratefully, feeling the cool liquid rush over the huge lump in her throat. She took several deep breaths before she was able to speak again.

  “Who are you?” she whispered again.

  “I’m a friend of your sister’s.”

  He took a step toward the bed, and she recoiled at first, but then forced herself to sit up straight and meet his eyes. Her reaction was force of habit, Mickey supposed. When a man got too close, she couldn’t help but flinch. Most people didn’t notice her behavior and she had become very good at covering it up. When she was younger, it was easier to be weak. But now she knew that it was better to fight—at least then, she preserved some tiny piece of her self-worth.

  This man, however, stopped in his tracks. Then, he turned his back on her to busy himself at a computer that sat on his desk. She sat in stunned silence, wondering what to do next. Finally, he spoke again.

  “I just can’t believe you’re here,” he said, shaking his head in apparent disbelief. “Rhee’s been searching for you for years now. “The odds that you run into the street in front of my bike, are like, unfathomable.”

  Rhee. He said Rhee. It stood out. So did some other things.

  What kind of biker dude used words like unfathomable?

  Suspicion pricked at Mickey’s spine. This man seemed to have intimate knowledge of both her and Rhee—using their nicknames and such. Plus, the way the guy spoke her sister’s name…his tone communicated a close relationship. His fingers clanked over the keyboard and then he turned, holding the laptop up so she could see the screen. A gasp escaped her when she saw the picture he had there.

  It was a candid shot featuring three people on a beach. Rhee held a child in her arms—a little girl with a stubborn jaw and a mischievous smile. She recognized the little girl from the park. A man towered behind her with a fiercely protective expression on his face. From the angle of the shot, Mickey could see part of the large, spooky tattoo on his back.

  “Dax is our vice president.” Wince explained. “Your sister—she’s his girl.”

  “And…the little girl?” Mickey’s voice broke but she had to ask the question, even though she knew the answer.

  “Theirs.”

  The wave of emotion welled up from so many places that she had to stifle a cry. She had a niece? Mickey had little experience with children but the child in the picture was at least two years old. She had lost so much time. Rhee was a stranger now. What right did she have to come here? Rhee obviously had the protection of a powerful MC. She didn’t need Mickey’s help. In fact, it would be better if she left…without Rhee knowing she was here.

  “I—I have to go.”

  Mickey stood up but a sharp pain shot through her ankle again and she sat back down, hard. She swore softly. Forgot about that. Shit, how am I going to disappear when I can’t even get the fuck up? Dammit. Never should have come here.

  “Hey.”

  His voice, soft, and deceptively calm, stole into her senses and drew her attention.

  “I’d feel a lot better if we took care of that ankle.”

  She shivered involuntarily. We? Is he going to touch me? Do I have a choice? Oh,
God…

  Without a word, he pulled a blanket from the recliner and tossed it to her. Her arm came up automatically to catch it and she held it in her hands for a moment.

  “You looked cold,” he explained. “We have a club doc that can take a look. Hospital’s not really a good option right now.”

  Mickey didn’t move. It was like she had been thrust into a strange parallel universe.

  The man took a small step closer and she tensed. It was her nature to keep a close eye on any males in her vicinity. He didn’t come any closer—in fact, it seemed like he was just trying to get her attention.

  “Michaela? I’m going to text the doc. No one else knows you’re here yet. Once she’s checked you out, I can take you to Rhee. Is that okay? Michaela? Mickey?”

  Tears were flowing steadily now and she couldn’t seem to stop them. They fell from her eyes with alarming speed to race down her cheeks and plop onto her hands, which she was wringing with alarming intensity. He was going to take her to Rhee?

  Suddenly, as much as she wanted out, wanted to get away from this man who knew her—the real her—as much as she wanted to complete her journey—she wasn’t ready.

  The man—she didn’t even know his name—sounded confused. “Darlin? Isn’t that what you want? To see your family? I can stall a little…if you need some time. It’s a lot to process. Hell, I don’t even know what to tell her when she asks me how I found you.”

  Mickey didn’t know how to respond. She just wanted to go away. So she did. That little space inside her head—it was still there and she was grateful for it. She curled up on her side and let everything just fade to black.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Alanna wanted to bang her head against the dashboard. This whole thing was stupid—really fucking stupid—and she had no one to blame but herself. At first, she couldn’t place the man who pulled up next to her as she staked out Dax’s car at the beach. When he tapped on her window, she figured him for one of the wanna-be grunts who were constantly hitting on her at the bars.

  She was so distracted and so fucking turned on by the thought of getting sexy, salty Dax Jamison into her car, looking ripped from his surfing session, that she ignored the warning bells that were sounding in her ears as she rolled down the window.

  The guy had her door unlocked before she could make a sound and the pistol shoved into her ribs was all the convincing Alanna needed to scoot over and let him into the vehicle. She snuck a peek at him as he drove and a flash of recognition hit her. She knew this man. But…from where?

  Oh, fuck.

  ***

  The kid slowed her down, but she wasn’t about to let Dax Jamison’s daughter get caught in the crossfire. Saving the little girl would make her part of the inner circle for sure. Alanna thought she was going to get away but they caught up with her. It was bad enough being dragged through the sand and stuffed into the back of a van with a sniffling kid in tow, but when they reached their destination, all she could think was,

  You have got to be fucking kidding me.

  It was a scene straight out of Scooby fuckin’ Doo.

  A tuna cannery? Really? What kind of international drug lord broke it down in a stinky-ass place like this one?

  Alanna wrinkled her nose at the smell as they marched her into the smelly, ramshackle building and that was when she saw him. Oh God, Dax was here. And he was hurt! She stared at him in horror, still clutching his kid to her chest.

  It became clear that there had been some sort of mistake. They thought they had Dax’s baby mama, not her. Suddenly, Alanna wanted nothing more than to get away. These people were dangerous and if they wanted Rhee, they should have her instead. Thankfully, the stupid bitch showed up several moments later, like the interfering little brat she was, and gave Alanna her chance.

  The leader focused on her now, and the look in his eyes told her quite clearly that he was spun out of his damn mind. She had to think quick before he dispatched her like she was just some nobody.

  “Wait!” she cried, damning herself in front of the man she coveted so badly. It was her only chance. “I have information. It could take down the whole crew, not just Dax. If it’s leverage you need, I have it.”

  The leader over a hulking beast of a man who seemed to be dumber than dirt. His breath stank as he questioned her.

  “I have major shit on the Phantoms’ president. He’s a rat. There’s a big deal going down—I can get the details. It will make you rich, I swear it,” she whispered.

  Lucky for her, the guy seemed to believe her. “I’ll hold you to that, bitch.”

  Alanna tried not to let the low, intimidating hiss of his voice rattle her any further, but a few minutes later, pandemonium broke out. Her heart was pounding and she was moving, trying to get out of the line of fire as the familiar zing of bullets whizzed past her ear. But she was too late. She put her hand up in a feeble attempt to protect herself. Something slammed into her arm and she hit the floor like she had been clubbed with the trunk of a tree. There was another spray of bullets and then she must have passed out, because when she woke up, she was on the mainland.

  They told her it was a superficial wound, but it hurt like hell. Even after she found her way back to the compound to discover that no one had followed up on her claims to out someone at the table, Alanna was freaked out. There were certain details about the incident on the island that she would never forget—the look on Dax’s face when he saw her holding his child, the sound of that scary brute’s voice as he questioned her…

  It was the same voice hissing at her now.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  “Wince said he’d be here by now.”

  Her voice was high and shaky, telling him his girl was stressed. He didn’t want that. It wasn’t healthy. Dax dropped his duffle on the floor and without at word, took the spoon out of Rhee’s hand.

  “You’re stirring it to death, baby. Relax.” His lips found the satiny skin behind her ear and she shivered.

  True to her stubborn ass nature, Rhee didn’t stop stirring and she didn’t relax either. She slipped out of his arms like an eel and paced the small kitchen, her arms wrapped around her in a protective gesture. “It sounded important, Dax. His voice—he knows something. I know he does. Can you text him again?”

  Dax sighed. “Sure, sweetheart. Just calm down, okay. It’s not good for the baby.”

  She looked stricken and he knew he’d put his damn foot in it—again. Before he could open his mouth, Rhiannon pushed past him to the bathroom. He stalked after her, phone in hand, when the door closed practically in his face. She locked the door with an audible click.

  At first, he was baffled but then Dax felt his entire body go rigid. She’s locking me out? I don’t fucking think so.

  “Open this door, Rhiannon. Right. Now.”

  The only answer was a muffled sob. Jesus Christ, what the hell did I say?

  “Open it, Rhee, or so help me God, I’ll rip it off the hinges.”

  Dax flexed, feeling the adrenaline surging through his veins. Then, he remembered. There was a reason he couldn’t fly into a full on rage. Dax glanced back at the closed door to Sirena’s room. His daughter was in there sound asleep, and there was no way he was going to disturb her. Fuck. New plan.

  No problem.

  Dax Jamison was resourceful, that was a fact. He paced back to the kitchen and pulled a screwdriver from the drawer, forcing the frustrated glare from his face—it wouldn’t do him any damn good. Five minutes later, he had the bathroom door dismantled. He lifted it off the hinges and set it down roughly in the hall. He was going to throw his wayward woman over his shoulder and give her what she needed. Pregnant or not, sometimes Rhiannon just needed to be forced out of her head for a while—and he knew just how to do that.

  Fuckin’ chicks, man. He started to storm into the bathroom and then caught himself. Easy does it. Dax managed to tone down his body language but when he scanned the bathroom and didn’t immediately see Rhiannon, his pulse kic
ked up a notch. All thoughts of being calm and collected flew right out of his head.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

  She was huddled on the floor next to the toilet. Crying.

  “What the fuck is going on, Rhiannon?” Dax roared.

  Her behavior was fucking with his head. Rhee’s head was buried in her arms and the wracking sobs that she tried to muffle pierced him like arrows. He wanted to put his fucking fist through the glass because he had no fucking idea what to do. She’d been acting strange for weeks. Granted, he hadn’t been with Rhee when she was knocked up the first time, so maybe it was all some chick shit. Then again, maybe she was using chick shit to fuck with him.

  “Goddamn it, Rhiannon, you better explain yourself right fuckin’ now. I have shit to take care of that’s more important than your hormonal bull—”

  His words died away as a blue cardboard box flew at his head and bounced off of his cheek, landing in the sink. The package lay on its side, the contents visible from where he stood, lined up neatly like little white soldiers ready for battle.

  Fuckin’ tampons? She threw a box of fuckin’ tampons at my head?

  Dax glanced at the black can next to the toilet. A lone wrapper sat inside, a light blue bit of plastic peeking through. Aw, hell.

  The disappointment cut through him so hard he had to take a deep inhale. Dax hadn’t realized how much he had wanted this experience until this very moment. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring at the bathroom wastebasket, but once he processed what he was seeing and how fucked up he was feeling, he realized that his emotions couldn’t compare to what Rhee must be going through.

  “Baby.” She was still light as a feather, he mused, as he scooped her up like a child, cradling her head against his chest.

  Rhee’s arms went around his neck. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into his shirt. Though muffled, the anguish in her voice killed him—it fucking killed him.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. I guess…I guess I was just really late. I called my doctor back home and she said all of the, you know, stress, over the last few months, could have messed up my cycle.”