“She sold you?”
My voice was rising.
“Babe, I told you she wasn’t a great mom.”
Not a great mom?
“She sold you.”
“Her man had some money troubles.”
“I don’t care.”
“These troubles involved the Russian mob.”
Holy shit.
The Allen Circles of Hell.
Yikes.
But even so . . .
“I don’t care.”
“It was good, baby,” he murmured. “We wanted the break from her. Tab needed it. Dad paid for it. He didn’t mind.”
“But . . . your mother sold custody of her children to their father.”
“I don’t remember how it went,” he muttered. “But I think Dad ended up not havin’ to pay seein’ as Mom’s old man got dead . . . or something.”
Apparently, there were so many of them, he couldn’t even fully remember one of his Circles of Hell.
“Oh my God.”
“Before that went down, Tyra beat the snot out of her in the forecourt.”
I stared down at him and caught his grin in the moonlight when I did.
“Wearing her heels and one of her tight skirts,” he added.
A mental image immediately formed, and I didn’t even know what his mother looked like.
Still, the image was priceless.
“No shit?” I breathed.
“I wasn’t there, but think the story goes that it took two, three brothers to pull her off.”
I smiled. “Go, Tyra.”
He fell silent.
It didn’t feel good.
My smile died.
“Rush?” I called, even though I was mostly laying on him, my hips to the side, my chest to his.
“I hope she calls me.”
I rubbed his stubbled jaw with the backs of my fingers. “I hope she does too.”
“You know, it’s been a wild ride, especially the last decade, but before that too. Big ups. Serious downs. Tyra getting stuck not counting, considering that’s in a league all its own, the worst for me was givin’ up on my mom ever bein’ a real mom.”
I hated that for him.
Really hated it.
If there was ever a son who deserved a fantastic mother, it was Rush.
Well, and Diesel.
But also totally Rush.
“Yeah,” I whispered, ducking in to touch my lips to his throat.
He kept my head there by turning it and tucking it under his chin, my cheek to his collarbone.
“I was seventeen when I met Ty-Ty. Wish she’d have come earlier,” he muttered.
“Yeah,” I whispered again, shoving my arm under him to hold him to me.
“At least we got her.”
“She loves you as if you were her own, you know,” I told him.
He said nothing for a second.
Then he said, “Yeah.”
I lifted my head to look down at him. “You’re a good son, honey, with all that, still trying to look out for your mom.”
He slid his knuckles across my cheekbone, watching them go.
Then his eyes came to mine and he repeated without much believability, “Yeah.”
“You can only do what you can do. You reached out. Now it’s her choice.”
“Swallow my own medicine?” he asked.
“Sorry,” I said softly.
“But you’re right.”
I didn’t reply.
“Still, call her again, she doesn’t get in touch, go up to Boulder and haul her ass down here kicking and screaming if I have to.”
And he’d totally do that. I knew it.
“A good son,” I told him. “Even if being that requires kidnapping.”
He smiled up at me and it appeared genuine.
And he again said, “Yeah.”
Rush held my hair back in both hands, and even if he only had moonlight, I suspected he was watching my mouth take his cock as he fucked my face.
He was standing at the side of the bed.
I was on all fours on it.
He pulled out, growled, “Pussy,” and slid his hands out of my hair, along my jaw before they fell away.
I switched positions, knees at the edge of the bed, hands in it.
While I was doing this, I heard foil tear.
A couple seconds later, he was inside.
God, I loved having his big dick inside.
My head went back.
He reached out and caught my hair in a gentle grip.
Totally never cutting my hair.
Ever.
He fucked me and he kept fucking me, and then more, and I took it and I loved it until he jerked back on my hair, curled over me, went at my clit and I came for him.
And I loved that more.
He let my hair go, pressed between my shoulders until I went down off my hands and he kept at me until he came for me.
I loved that too.
He glided inside, running his fingertips over my ass until he pulled out.
He pressed me to my side, righted me in bed, tossed the sheet over me and went to the bathroom.
He came back, got under the sheet with me, curled into my back and rounded me with an arm, pulling me close.
“Clara,” he murmured.
I smiled into the pillow.
“Rhodes,” I whispered.
He pulled me closer.
“Sleep, Rebel.”
“’Night, Rush.”
“Goodnight, baby.”
I closed my eyes and, held to the warmth of Rush in all the ways he gave that to me after the single best night of my entire life, I fell asleep.
Balance
Rebel
The next morning, Rush and I walked into the parlor at Essence’s.
And there we saw a burly man with dark hair and glasses sitting in a chair with a cat on his lap, one on the arm of his chair, one batting at a stray thread at the ragged hem of his jeans and one on the back of the chair, paws at his shoulder, kneading his tee.
“Yo, Roscoe,” Rush greeted.
“Yo,” the brother called Roscoe I had not yet seen replied, then his eyes came to me, before they dropped to my legs.
Even though we spent most of the night talking and fucking, we had to get up early so I could get to my place to scan and email my notes to Meryl and Rush could get on with his day, which might possibly include kidnapping his mother if she didn’t reply soon to the second voicemail he’d left her that morning.
So I’d had a shower. Blew out my hair. And with the way things were going, I’d carefully selected an outfit.
A short, faded-out, tight, black jean skirt. A sloppy plaid shirt over a Ramones tee. A fall of chains and pendants, short and long, at my neck. Hair down and messy. Big hoops in my ears that could be seen through the strands. High-heeled bootie sandals, toes peeking out. Enough makeup, it kinda hid I had about two hours of sleep.
And red lipstick.
It might seem OTT, but a smart girl only got caught out once, and I liked to think I was smart (most of the time), so that shit was not happening to me again.
“Yo,” Rush barked, and him repeating that, but mostly how he did, had me jumping and turning my head to look at him.
My biker did not look super pleased.
“Wanna scrape your eyes off my woman’s legs before I do it for you?” he rumbled his non-suggestion.
Hmm . . .
Interesting.
So he didn’t mind me thinking his brothers were hot.
But he did mind one of them looking at my legs.
Before I met Rush, if someone had asked me philosophically how I’d feel about being involved with an alpha possessive guy, in all honesty, I’d have said it was A-OK with me. I mean, if he didn’t take it to the limit, how sexy was that?
Now that I had indication I had that, it would seem I’d been correct in my opinion.
“Dude, she has good legs,” Roscoe replied.
�
��I know,” Rush bit out.
“Well, I got eyes, I can’t not see them,” Roscoe returned.
“You can not stare at them, or I’ll dig those eyes out and shove them down your throat,” Rush retorted.
Right.
That was taking it to the limit.
So I was also wrong in my opinion.
It was still sexy.
“Where’s Boz?” I butted in so they didn’t come to blows.
“He’s allergic to macramé . . . and cats,” Roscoe said. “He was a mess. There isn’t enough Claritin in the country to sort his shit. So I took over.”
Ah.
Okay.
“Where’s Essence?” I asked.
“My guess. Sleepin’ it off,” Roscoe answered, and it was then I noticed his fingers were scratching the cat in his lap’s ruff.
How sweet.
His gaze swung to Rush. “Apparently they had a nonstop party.”
This did not make me happy.
However, I was impressed.
“Boz can party through a severe allergic reaction?” I asked.
“Boz could party through Armageddon,” Roscoe told me and again looked to Rush. “I got her. And chill. Not gonna make no moves, brother. Yeesh.”
Bikers said “yeesh?”
I didn’t get a chance to ask.
Rush was issuing orders.
“I gotta go. Rebel’s gotta go to her place and do some shit on her computer. You’re walkin’ over there with her.” Roscoe started to get up, but Rush muttered, “Give us a minute to say goodbye.”
Roscoe nodded and settled back into his impression of a biker Bond villain.
Rush took my hand and led me to the front door.
Then he took my body in his arms, tight to his, and kissed me.
He used that full minute he told Roscoe he had, and then some.
Nice.
“If I can’t swing around for lunch or something, I’ll be back around five thirty to pick you up for dinner,” he said after he broke it off.
This worked for me. I could get a nap in and then have my whole wardrobe to select from to meet his sister that night.
“Cool,” I replied.
“You need anything, Roscoe’s on guard duty, not run duty. Get him to call Dutch, Jag or Chill.”
I nodded.
His arms around me got tighter.
“Last night was awesome,” he said quietly.
That’s right.
He just put that right out there.
I melted into him. “Yeah.”
His eyes fell to my mouth then his lips fell there, and we made out some more in Essence’s foyer.
All too soon, he broke it off, touched his lips to my cheekbone, gave me a squeeze and let me go.
After that, he took off.
I stared at the closed door, grinning like an idiot.
Then I went to the parlor to get Roscoe.
I had dinner with the little sister ahead of me and dark under my eyes.
Once I sent my notes, it was naptime.
Rush
Two hours later, Rush stood in the September sun next to Hop outside his mother’s work in Boulder and put the phone to his ear.
It rang.
It went to voicemail.
He disconnected.
Hit her contact again.
It rang.
Went to voicemail.
He made a noise in his throat, disconnected, and hit her contact again.
It went to voicemail two more times before she picked up, snapping, “What?”
“Mom, it’s Rush.”
“I know.”
That was when he stood in the September sun, taking in a deep breath, knowing she knew it was him calling after years of not speaking to him, not seeing him, and she answered the phone like that.
His father was the best father a man could have. Rush loved him. Respected him. They disagreed, and they disagreed about important shit. But Rush admired his dad, and he had no problem at all with people telling him he looked like his father, and also acted like him.
The one thing his dad gave him that wasn’t the greatest was his explosive temper.
After Tack got Tyra, he learned to put a clamp on that.
At least with Tyra.
But that hold leaked out into life.
Rush had seen that. Learned from it.
It didn’t mean, for them both, that disposition didn’t run latent, and with the right stimulus it could be unleashed.
So he took the time he needed to lock it down before he again spoke.
“I’m outside your work,” he told Naomi. “You’re not here.”
“You’re right. I’m not there,” she agreed nastily. “You call me for the first time in, oh, I don’t know, about a fuckin’ decade to tell me somethin’ I know?”
The phone worked both ways.
He did not share that.
“Mom, left you two messages. I know Dad tried to get hold of you so you know what’s goin’ down. I’m here to take you to Denver.”
“Well, I’m not goin’ to Denver so you wasted the gas.”
“Mom—”
“Piss off, Rush.”
Rush stood still.
Not unusually for his mother, she started ranting.
“God, you’re so much like your father. Think you’re some kinda white knight in an MC cut. Well let me tell you, man, you are not. You’re an outlaw, born and bred. Newsflash, Rush, a law-abiding citizen doesn’t kick the shit outta some dealer who’s invading his patch,” she spat that last word like she hated the taste. “That’s still a crime and the type of crime that is, is spelled like felony.”
Rush had to force himself to speak.
“I’m not calling to debate what the brothers do. I’m calling to find out where you are because women are getting dead and I don’t want you to be one of them.”
“Yeah. I heard. And in case you twisted that shit in your brain to think it’s something else, let me tell you, it’s not. That’s on your father. All this shit is on your father. That psycho Valenzuela’s dead snatch. Reb biting it. Natalie in a body bag. Chew run amuck. He did that. The almighty Tack created that. It’s all on him. Like Black getting dead was on him. Like Crank biting it in the most hostile kinda takeover you can get is on him.”
“None of that shit’s on Dad,” he growled.
“Swallowed the blue pill, did you, Rush?” she taunted.
He had to keep it together.
“This is not getting you safe and I’m here to make sure you’re safe, Mom.”
“You don’t give a fuck about me, man. Don’t try to feed me that shit. You’re here because you’re your father’s dog and he said go, and you panted all the way down here, hopin’ to get your treat.”
Rush stopped staring blankly at the street in order to drop his head and stare blankly at his boots, focusing on breathing in.
Deep.
But his mother wasn’t done injecting her venom.
“So, let me tell you where I’m at with this, Rush. I don’t give a fuck shit’s layin’ heavy on Chaos. You want the truth, I hope they all get their throats slit. Bleed Chaos all over the streets. Make it dead. Like Natalie. Like Black. That’s where I’m at, man. Fuck your father. Fuck his Club. And you here to do his bidding, not reaching out to me, not lookin’ after your mom when she needed you, not for years, Rush, fuck you.”
She disconnected and he was left breathing heavily.
He dropped the phone from his ear and concentrated just on breathing.
“Let me guess, that bitch didn’t invite us over for tea before we got her ass safe,” Hop bit out.
Rush couldn’t look at him.
“Rush,” Hop called.
Rush stood completely still, just breathing.
He felt Hop get closer.
“Brother,” Hop said quietly.
“She said she hopes Chaos gets our throats slit. Bleed out all over the streets,” he told his boots.
The w
all of rage that came from Hop and slammed into Rush might have knocked him over if he wasn’t focusing everything on standing there rather than finding a baseball bat and destroying something.
Anything.
If he had it in him to notice, he’d have sensed Hop retreating.
But he didn’t notice until he heard Hop talking.
“Yeah, Tack. We’re in Boulder. Naomi isn’t at work. Rush called her. All I got from him after their chat is that she told him she hopes we all get our throats cut, bleed out on the streets. I’m not givin’ that gash another second of my time. Wouldn’t have done it in the first fuckin’ place, but I’m here for Rush and Tabby. That shit comes outta her mouth, I’m out, my brother. And Chaos should be out. You want her protected, call a marker with Pope. She’s ceased to exist for Chaos.”
Slowly, when he could manage it without flying apart, Rush turned his head to Hop.
He had his neck bent, looking at his own boots, phone held to his ear.
Hop glanced at Rush then looked again to his boots.
“He’s pissed as shit, Tack, but he’s holding it.” Hop was silent a second before he started nodding. “Yeah, I’ll get him home.” Another moment of silence then, “Right. Later.”
He lifted his head, dropped his phone and looked again to Rush.
“We’re heading back,” Hop declared. “You gotta pursue this, come back with another brother. I’m sorry, Rush. But I’m done.”
“Hang a minute,” Rush grunted.
Then he looked at his phone. Hit the screen and put it to his ear.
It rang.
He got voicemail.
Then he spoke.
“Any love I had for you, and newsflash,” he bit, “there was still love, Mom. You killed it. You. Bonus info, reaching out goes both ways. After you sold me and Tab to Dad then spread that fucked-up brand of love you have for Tab instead of telling us we lost a grandparent not long after she lost her fuckin’ fiancé, you didn’t reach out either. Now, if you survive this, and this shit is serious and the threat is very real so that not happening is a possibility, you’re still dead to me. Forever. No turning back. I’ll have kids, and you won’t know them, like you don’t know Playboy. I’ll make a woman mine . . . a woman, Mom, who is not a fucking thing like you, and you’ll never meet her. I have no idea who shoved that stick so far up your ass it tore through your heart, makin’ you unable to give love, and not worthy of anyone lovin’ you. My advice, not that you give a shit, pull that stick out. Not for me. I’m gone for you. But in the years you have left, you’ll need somebody. Not someone to use. Not someone to abuse. Someone who cares enough to make sure you eat your Jell-O at the old folks’ home. Let go of the hate, Mom, before it buries you. And get outta Colorado. If you got it in you to do one thing for me and Tabby, save us from you bein’ delivered to Chaos under a sheet.”
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