Double Dare You: A Bedlam Butchers MC Romance

by Ruby Dixon

  Turned out it was because I shouldn’t have been looking for just one guy. I should have been looking for two: one fast-paced and daredevil, and the other more in control, more protective.

  “More Bojack Horseman?” Penny asks, picking up the control. “I think that was the last episode, but I can check.”

  I shrug, resting my head against her shoulder.

  “More popcorn?” she prompts. “Another soda?”

  “I’m good.”

  She flicks to some home improvement show and strokes my hair again. “So glad you’re home, Becka.”

  “Mmhmm.” I almost said me too, but the truth is, I’m glad to see my sister…and still a little resentful of the fact that the guys got rid of me at the first opportunity. Were they even tempted to stay in that cabin with me just a little longer? Or is it all in my head?

  “I’m sorry you had to stay away so long. Things were just real iffy around here for a while. Even now, Solo doesn’t like it when I go out on my own.”

  “It’s okay. I’d rather be safe.” I don’t regret those weeks away. I think of yesterday morning, when I woke up, sandwiched between both men in the heart bed. My head was pressed to Locke’s chest and Epic had a hand just under my breast, teasing the underside with small strokes of his thumb. I’d been so utterly content and yet yearning for more…

  And then ‘more’ happened and everything went to hell afterward.

  “Someone will be at your side twenty-four-seven until you have to go back to Stanford,” Penny assures me, rubbing my arm. “We want you to feel protected. If it’s not me, it’ll be Jim or Solo. If not one of us, we can call someone in the crew. You won’t be left alone.”

  For a moment, my heart flutters with hope. Maybe I could ask for Locke and Epic to look out for me…except, what good would that do? They made it clear that I was just a momentary diversion. That nothing real could happen between us. “Actually, I was thinking about heading back to school early,” I tell my sister. “Get settled into my dorm early, get my head back into the books.”

  “Oh.” Penny sounds a little disappointed, but she gives me a cheery nod. “It makes sense. And you’d be completely safe up there and in your element. You just let me know when you want to go and I’ll take you back to the airport.”

  I nod absently. It feels like there’s a hole in my chest where Epic and Locke used to go. I wonder what they’re going to do when I go back. Heck, I wonder what they’re doing now. I’m here curled up on the sofa with my sister. Are they out at a club? Looking for ‘honeys,’ as Epic likes to say? Because now there’s no Becka to toy with?

  The thought hurts.

  With them, I felt for the first time in my life like I’d found the place I’d belonged—sandwiched between Epic and Locke. Now that they’ve rejected me, I feel rudderless and alone again. Why not go back to school? It doesn’t matter if I stay here.

  I’m done with Albuquerque and the Bedlam Butchers. If Penny and Jim want to see me, they can come visit me up at Stanford.

  EPIC

  Three Weeks Later

  El Paso isn’t exactly a dream city to visit, but I’m fuckin’ thrilled when we roll up in our rented cage. I’m getting antsy being stuck behind the wheel of so many goddamn sedans in the last few months. Seems like every time I turn around, I’m having to put my bike in the garage and roll around in some bullshit family car. But this time, it’s worth it.

  This time, we’re finally catching this Luc bastard.

  Our car rolls up the long, winding driveway to a private residence. There was a gate, but it was easily disabled. Now there’s nothing stopping me and Locke from getting this fucker.

  I’m still pissed about the girls. Not just Becka, though the thought of her burns in my mind like the sun. Nope. I met a few of the chicks that we rescued and sent back with the club. Some went home. One or two were street honeys with nowhere else to go and are currently having fun being club butt. All of them were branded and abused, and all of them had stories. Shit, Becka being a virgin was the only thing that saved her from being railed. Repeatedly. It’s that mental image that really fucks with me, and it’s what fuels me.

  That’s why I was so stoked when Hashtag’s call finally came in. Luc had been found in El Paso. Now he’s ours and he’s not getting away.

  I turn off the lights halfway up the drive and coast the rest of the way. The house comes into sight. It’s a Southwestern rancher with lots of windows open, despite the late hour, pouring light out into the night like the guy has nothing to hide from the world.

  Dumbass.

  I park the car and look over at Locke. “You ready to do this?”

  “Been ready for weeks,” he says in a flat voice. His face is hard, and I wonder what he’s thinking.

  More specifically, I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am. But now seems like a shit time to ask. We just get out of the car and head in to do our business.

  It’s quick. The guy’s watching TV, and outside, there’re a couple of girls splashing in the pool. Not many people, despite the fact that it’s a Saturday night and this is a rich, perverted fuck who likes to party. Doesn’t matter. That just makes it easier. We don’t even use our guns. While the girls are partying, Locke grabs a pillow and holds it over Luc’s face while I hold him down so he can’t struggle. Easy enough. There’s no torture, because that ain’t us. We’re doing the world a favor, I think. Get this shitstain out of society and dismantle his little chain of slavegirl shops on the down low.

  Save a few dozen Beckas from a similar situation.

  We get back to the car and roll down the driveway again and it’s still silent. No one’s coming after us. No one even noticed we came in. Heck, they’ll probably think the old fart just got too decrepit for all the booze and drugs and his heart fucked off or something. It doesn’t bother me.

  What does bother me is how empty it fucking feels. Like we’ve accomplished nothing.

  Just like the last three weeks have felt empty.

  Just like I imagine the next three and the three after that will feel.

  We avenged Becka, but it still doesn’t matter, because she’s gone. We tossed her away like she meant nothing. And it eats at me. It eats and eats at me because I know it’s for her own good and I know she deserves better than us and I still don’t care because I want her.

  And Locke and I haven’t talked about it. We haven’t mentioned her, and I’ve been stewing, because I know, I know she has to be on his mind, too. Because he looks just as fucking miserable as I feel.

  I’m sick of it.

  I veer the car off the road, taking the first exit I find.

  “What is it?” Locke pulls out his gun, glancing behind us. “We got a tail?”

  “No. We need to talk.” I jerk the car into a fast food restaurant parking lot and slam it into park. He’s looking at me like I’m crazy. Maybe I am. I just don’t care anymore. “I’m thinking we made a mistake.”

  His brows draw together. He lowers his gun to his thigh. “Mistake? With that old fuck?”

  “No—with Becka. We shouldn’t have let her go. We should have claimed her as ours. Made her property. Done things right.”

  Pain flashes in his eyes. “She deserves better than us.”

  “Then we need to be that much more awesome, man.” I thump my fist onto the steering wheel of the shitty-ass sedan, wishing I could punch more than this faux-leather. “We need to kick ass so we can get our kick-ass girl back. Because I hate that we let her go.”

  “We’re club, man. She deserves better.”

  “Here’s the thing. I know that, and you know that. But I don’t think she cares. And if being with two shitbirds like us makes her happy, and it makes us happy, then why are we fighting it?”

  Locke looks uncertain for the first time since I’ve met him. He rubs his jaw and stares out the window. “Because I don’t want her to regret it. To feel like she’s tied to us if she doesn’t want to be here. With us.” He glances over at me w
ithout making eye contact. “The same goes for you, you know. If you want to bail, it’s still early enough that it wouldn’t be weird. You could tell the others we aren’t a good match up. See if Handlebar wants a ride partner.”

  I squint at him. Well, fuck.

  I’m kind of slow to pick up on subtle things sometimes. I should have seen this earlier. Locke’s worried about not being a good enough partner. Not just to Becka, but to me. And I bet it all goes back to that jackass that was his first partner and dicked him over. I think it hurt him more than he let on, and now it’s making him second-guess everything.

  I grab the back of his neck. “You crazy motherfucker. You think I want out? I fucking let you jerk me off. That’s like a fucking wedding band or some shit where I’m concerned. I’m not letting just any hands touch my nuts.”

  He snorts, but the shadows on his hard mouth ease up just a little.

  “Here’s my thing, bro.” I squeeze the back of his neck again. He’s warm, and it feels good. We’ve been kind of drifting apart for the last few weeks, and I blame it on the fact that we lost our glue. Becka made everything feel perfect. No second-guessing. When it’s just me and Locke, we don’t know what to do with ourselves. “I miss her. Hell, I love her. I know we’re not perfect, but I think we can be good together. Just like you and me are good together.”

  He nods slowly, hearing me.

  “And I think we need her. Like, I’m pretty sure if we kiss right now, it’ll be pretty good, but it won’t be great because she’s not here to participate. She won’t get all hot and bothered and demanding, and that’s half the fuckin’ fun, you know? Tell me if I’m wrong in that.”

  Locke’s gaze slides to my mouth, and then his eyes meet mine. “Not wrong,” he admits in a gruff voice. “Ain’t the same now that we’ve had her with us.”

  Exactly. “So the way I look at it, we’ve got two choices. We go on like we have been and continue to be miserable bastards every waking moment, or we trot over to Lucky’s doorstep and tell Becka how we feel.”

  “Gem’s not gonna like it.”

  “No, he probably won’t at first, but he’ll come around. We’re Butchers. He knows we’ll treat her right. And we can keep her out of club shit. She doesn’t have to be involved. She just has to wear our patches and sleep between us at night.”

  He rubs his jaw, still thinking things over. “What if we have to choose?” he asks me.

  “Choose?”

  “Between Becka and the Butchers?” His gaze is steady as he looks at me.

  I think for a moment. “I know which one I’d choose,” I say, and tell him.

  And I’m relieved as hell a moment later when I find that we’re on the same page.

  11

  BECKA

  One Week Later

  I stare at my textbook hatefully, wondering if it’s too early to drop my Chemical Kinetics class. It’s not that it’s a bad class—it’s that it bores me to tears. I hate being there every moment, and I hate every minute that I spend on homework.

  Then again, it’s not just Chemical Kinetics. It’s all my classes.

  I’m back at college and back to work…and I’m just not feeling it. I’m not feeling any of this.

  “I’m heading out,” my roomie Enid says. “There’s a midnight showing of Rocky Horror that I’m heading out to with the debate team. You wanna join in?”

  I shake my head and tap my pencil on my homework. “I really need to catch up on this.”

  She shrugs and shoulders her backpack. “Call me if you change your mind. I probably won’t be back until late.”

  “All right.” I won’t change my mind. I like Enid, but she’s bugging me, too. She’s so enthusiastically entrenched in the college experience, determined to soak up every moment of academia during the day and spending her nights with other students doing the same. I would have been envious of her last year, when I was struggling to take a full load of classes and maintain my grades so I could continue in my scholarship. It barely left enough time for sleep, much less socializing.

  Now? Post-cabin?

  I’m just grateful she’s leaving so I can have some time to myself. I pull away from my desk and flop down on my hard twin bed on my side of the room. I stare up at the ceiling, wishing I could concentrate.

  Actually, that’s not it. I’m wishing I was somewhere else. Someone else. Maybe then I’d be the person that Epic and Locke would be interested in keeping. Because with every day that passes, I don’t recover from the sense of loss that I’m feeling. It’s been almost a month now, and I’m still aching with missing them. Missing Epic’s crazy smile that’s always at the ready, Locke’s slower, more hesitant one, like he’s afraid of scaring people off if he looks like he’s enjoying himself. I miss their touches, their stupid jokes, the endless rounds of cards we played. I miss the truth or dare. I miss the feeling of completion I had when I was in their arms.

  It hurts to realize that I can’t have them. That I came this close and I still wasn’t good enough.

  I haven’t heard a peep about them since, either. Penny texts me nonstop, but hers are more motherly than chatty. I know she’s pregnant and feeling the need to smother me with affection, but I’d rather hear what Epic and Locke are up to than her tell me that I need to get a full eight hours of sleep and three square. I’ve been taking care of myself since I was first shipped off to boarding school. Her long-distance devotion is sweet, but it’s not the same as being the center of two guys’ attention. I hug my pillow close and try to convince myself that more crying doesn’t do any good. It doesn’t fix the hole in my heart.

  The door opens and I sit up, startled.

  Enid pokes her head back in. “Hey, just warning you that I called campus security. There’s a couple of scary-looking dudes hanging out in the parking lot downstairs and they look kind of dangerous. You might wanna stay inside until they’re chased off.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  She gives me a thumbs up and disappears again.

  I hug my pillow and think about Locke and Epic. Enid would probably think they looked dangerous, too. Well, maybe not Epic with his Bieber hair, though he’s still got plenty of muscles to spare. But Locke for sure. He can look downright menacing when he’s in a bad mood.

  And then I’m an awful person because I hope his mood has been bad every day. I hope he misses me like I miss him and Epic. At least he still gets Epic at his side. I have no one.

  Feeling mopey, I sit up and go to the window, peering out the blinds of our second-story dorm room, looking for the pair of ‘scary’ guys. There’re two motorcycles parked with their riders on them, and I can barely make out a pair of patch-covered vests in the twilight.

  My heart starts to thump.

  No way.

  I squint out the blinds, trying to make out their faces, but I’m too far away. There’s no reason to send someone up here from the Butchers to see me, is there? But I stare at the pair, trying to determine if one is darker-skinned with black hair and if one has fake blond hair that he hates. I’m too far away to tell.

  I have to find out for myself, though. I have to know. My hammering heart is already hoping against hope that it’s the guys. That they came for me. That they didn’t push me aside like yesterday’s news.

  I jump out of bed and shove on a pair of discarded sweatpants. I’m wearing a slobby off-the-shoulder top that exposes my bra straps, but I don’t care. My hair’s a messy, streaky-red bun and I’m not wearing a lick of make-up. Still don’t care. I race out of the dorm room and into the hall. If it’s them, I don’t want them leaving before I get a chance to say hello.

  I thunder down the stairs and race out onto the grounds. There’s a nice green lawn separating the dorm hall from the parking lot, and I sprint across it, ignoring the looks some of the other students are giving me, because as I approach, I can make out details, like a patch with a knife-wielding jester on the back of each leather vest.

  They’re Bedlam Butchers.

&n
bsp; They also have their backs to me, but I recognize the shoulders and arms. I recognize the arrogant stance of the one with dark roots and blond ends. I know the protective stance of the other with darker hair.

  It’s Locke and Epic.

  They’re here.

  I screech to a halt, suddenly choked by indecision. What do I say? Do I vomit out all the hurt and anger I’ve been carrying around for the last month or play it cool? Maybe they’re not here to see me specifically, but maybe Jim sent them to keep watch over me in case more shit goes down. The thought that they might not be here because they want me feels like a slap in the face, and the greeting I want to call out ends up choking out of my throat, unintelligible.

  Both men turn, and I freeze in place. It’s them, both wearing sunglasses and looking fierce and dangerous and gorgeous, and I feel like I’m melting inside. It’s the first time I’ve seen them in their club vests and on bikes, and I didn’t think it was possible for them to become more attractive. Seems like I was wrong on that. Both look sexy as hell.

  There’s a campus map in Epic’s gloved hands, and he glances over at Locke, then crumples the map and tosses it away. “Looks like we came to the right place.”

  Locke takes one look at me and swings his leg over his bike, getting off of it.

  “What are you doing here?” I blurt out.

  “Well, first I’m gonna give you a hug and a kiss,” Locke says, voice gruff. “Then I figure Epic’s going to do the same and will probably grab your ass a little. And from there, it depends on you, I guess.”

  Hope surges in my breast, and I fling myself forward, right into his open arms.

  Locke hugs me tight, holding me so close that I feel all the anxiety and misery of the last few weeks melting away. He rubs a hand up and down my back when I hold him for a bit longer than I probably should, but he doesn’t push me away.

  “Don’t hog her, bro,” Epic says at his side. “I’ve been missing her, too.”