Free

by Kristen Ashley

  He already knew that the first time his dad met Rebel.

  He still liked getting the words.

  “We need time,” Rush told him.

  “Chew’s on the run, he has nowhere to turn, and he’s made it clear he doesn’t have money. He needs to gather his resources. Sucks, but I reckon he’ll give us that.”

  “It isn’t over,” Rush pointed out.

  “No, but we’re at the end of that tunnel, Rush. I feel it. That fucker was long, and it got tight along the way, but we’re gonna get there. Intact. Save Black, but at least we got his sons so he’s with us. We reach the end, it’s all sunshine and we got a future that’s bright.”

  “You did that,” Rush said.

  “Nope.” Tack shook his head. “No war worth winnin’ is won by one man alone. We did it. And soon it’ll be done. Then it’ll be time for the next chapter. And when it is, like I’ve done, I want my son to be the scribe.”

  “I’m in.”

  Rush watched his father close his eyes, look away, and Rush forced himself to breathe steady.

  That meant everything to him.

  He’d done all of this.

  For Rush.

  His dad opened his eyes and looked back.

  “I knew you would be.”

  Through the thick stubble he was growing for his girl, Cole “Rush” Allen smiled at his dad.

  Through the ragged goatee he kept for his woman, Kane “Tack” Allen smiled back.

  “I can’t believe you called in a pizza order on the way here,” Rebel grumbled, wandering back into her living room after she said goodbye to Diesel and Maddox, who made moves to take off practically before Rush got his boot over the threshold.

  Seemed it was time to celebrate their fun day.

  Since Rush already knew what made it fun, he didn’t hold them back.

  Rush was sitting on her sofa that was shaped like a kidney and had a dizzying pattern of burnt orange against a backdrop of olive.

  This rested in front of a coffee table with a triangular glass top, the points of the triangle curved, and it had a space-age, blond wood base of two pieces that seemed to defy the laws of physics holding up the top.

  Copious throw pillows that did not match the couch. Lime green chairs with thin metal legs that looked good but did not ask you to sit down and stay awhile, but get up and get the fuck out. Poofs on the floor made of green, gold and blue velvet that did invite you to plant your ass and have a brew. Wild lamps. The wall behind a fireplace filled with fat, rust-colored candles painted a dark cerulean blue. The space behind two inbuilt bookshelves painted lime green. Those bookshelves couched multi-paned windows around a window seat lined and stuffed with cushions the shade of moss.

  The rest of the walls reflected the clash of colors, but they were painted white.

  It had a certain style stamped all over it.

  And that style was sheer insanity.

  She plopped down beside him on her kidney couch.

  “I was hungry, and I didn’t wanna wait for you to cook,” he told her.

  “I’m never gonna cook for you,” she muttered.

  She was totally going to have ample opportunity to cook for him.

  Just not that night.

  “Babe.”

  “What?” she asked, glaring at the coffee table.

  “Babe,” he repeated.

  She looked at him. “What?”

  “This situation gets done, my dad wants me to take over the Club.”

  Her lips parted and her eyes got big.

  He loved it that she got how massive that was.

  “Really?” she breathed.

  Yeah, she got how massive it was.

  “Yep.”

  “Isn’t that, like . . . huge?” she asked.

  “Considering we had the sit down a few months after Playboy was born, when Dad explained to me why he and Ty-Ty were changing their paperwork so Tab and Shy’d raise Ride and Cut if something happened to them, instead of Hop and Lanie doin’ it, so I didn’t get that honor, it’s the biggest thing he’s ever asked of me or could ask of me.”

  “How long has your dad been in charge?”

  “Over two decades.”

  Her hand came out to rest on his abs as she whispered through a smile, “Wow, honey.”

  “That vote comes, Rebel, I’m gonna do it.”

  “Of course you are.”

  Jesus, that came easy.

  He stared at her.

  “A lotta pressure for a guy your age, but you’re like, twenty-nine going on one hundred and fifty,” she stated. “Your inner child has a white beard and carries a staff. He’s totally Gandalf the White. Except hotter.”

  He had to laugh, then he had to stop because she had to get what he was saying.

  “This works with us, you’re gonna have to put up with that.”

  “Put up with what?”

  “I’m gonna hafta be on top of the business. I’m gonna hafta be on top of everything that has to do with the Club. A brother’s got a beef, I’m gonna need to get involved. We got four other charters, we’re the mother charter, they fuck up, got a question, a dispute, that’ll be on me too. And we’re growin’. We’re thinkin’ Pueblo, Durango, Telluride, Aspen, Steamboat Springs. Not all at once, but all of that eventually. That’s not just new stores and garages. Brothers run those shops. That’s new recruits and new charters.”

  “And?” she asked when he quit talking.

  “That’s a lot of responsibility, baby.”

  “Is your father just going to hand you the books and say ‘have at it,’ then go grab a Big Mac?”

  His lips twitched. “No.”

  “So, I don’t see the problem.”

  She didn’t see the problem.

  “Come here,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to her full lips.

  “I’m not starting anything before pizza gets here. I’m hungry too and I’m a chick. We don’t consider cold pizza a delicacy like dudes do.”

  “Babe, I said come here.”

  She gave him a look.

  “You know, it’s a serious bummer you’re still hot when you’re being bossy,” she groused.

  But she came there.

  He wrapped his arms around her, twisted her back so it was to his lap, bent over her and took her mouth.

  It got hot and heavy and stayed that way until his phone rang.

  He broke their kiss and kept their positions even as he reached behind him to get his phone out of his back pocket.

  He didn’t know the number.

  The way shit was swirling, he still took the call.

  “Yeah?”

  “Sir, this is your pizza delivery. I’m at, um . . . a hippie garden gnome in a tie-dyed shirt holding a sign that says, Keep on the grass, but I think I’m lost.”

  He looked at Rebel. “Do all paths in Essence’s jungle lead to your cottage?”

  “Not even close.”

  “Gnome that says keep on the grass,” he told her.

  “He hooked a left when he should have gone straight on.” She started to push up. “I’ll get him.”

  He twisted her and planted her in the seat. “I’ll find him.”

  He pushed up and moved to the door with her calling behind him, “You’ve got ten minutes then I’m sending up a flare.”

  He grinned, lifting his hand behind him and walked out to find the pizza guy.

  She had beer, plates, napkins, forks, knives, a tub of fresh grated parmesan cheese and a shaker of crushed pepper on her futuristic coffee table when he returned.

  He dumped the pizza on the table and unceremoniously ripped open the bag of mozzarella sticks sitting on the top.

  “Moz sticks,” she breathed. “You weren’t for real, now you’re the man of my dreams.”

  This she gave him before she tore open the top of the little tub of marinara, tossed it to the glass and grabbed a stick.

  Rush sat his ass down.

  Rebel slid to the floor in front of the coffee
table, apparently the better to be more in line with the food as she shoveled it in, and she handed him a beer.

  Rush lifted the bottle to take a swig.

  “So, apparently Benito is free-wheeling. Sixx caught him on tape takin’ it at both ends from two working men,” she shared.

  Rush choked on his beer.

  Rebel looked up at him. “You okay?”

  “What?” he wheezed out.

  “I thought he was a bigot,” she thankfully told him instead of repeating herself. Then she unfortunately went on, “But it seems I was wrong. Who’s your daddy will never be the same.”

  Any appetite Rush had, and he’d been starving, vanished.

  “You’re shitting me,” he said.

  She shook her head at him, biting into a marinara-covered mozzarella stick.

  Holy fuck.

  She chewed, swallowed, then totally double dipped, stating, “They assure me I don’t have to worry about him anymore. He’s leaving town.”

  “That’s the word,” Rush confirmed, and it went without saying he was glad for that just for it to finally be done, but also he didn’t have to dick with the complication that Valenzuela wanted down his girl’s pants.

  Though him taking it at both ends . . .

  Maybe Rush had been wrong about that.

  She grinned up at him, the rest of her stick held up in front of her. “One down.”

  He looked at the food on the table but didn’t move. “Yeah.”

  “Why aren’t you eating?” she asked.

  He turned his attention to her. “Babe.”

  She giggled and reached for another stick. “I know. He’s so creepy, it’s gross. Though Mad says the two guys sent in were hot.”

  “Can we stop talking about this?”

  She turned back to him and grinned a closed-lip grin to hide the food she’d shoved in her mouth.

  Then she garbled, “Sure.”

  Rush took another pull of beer to wash the sick taste down his throat.

  It helped.

  “I don’t wanna go to Phoenix.”

  This was quieter, her eyes aimed at the table, half a stick held up in the air.

  He bent to her, putting his hand on her back. “Rebel, baby, look at me.”

  She twisted to face him, and he kept his hand on her back when she did.

  “I want this,” she whispered. “I want you on my couch and I want you rescuing the pizza guy, and I want you to get to know Essence better and I want you to spend time with Amy when she’s not receiving another emotional blow, and I want to play with Playboy even if he tries to undress me and I want to go shopping with Tyra because she has cool clothes and I just want more of,” she tossed out a hand, “this.”

  He noted that she did not say she wanted to get back to her work or her life.

  She wanted more of everything to do with him.

  That felt fucking good.

  And she was not alone.

  “I do too,” he replied quietly.

  “I can’t have that in Phoenix.”

  “We got a week to see how things go.”

  She shook her head. “Mad and D aren’t good for long without Molly. The Benito thing is done. Sixx is gonna leave. They won’t be having any fun. We need to send them home.”

  He put his beer down, grabbed a stick, dunked it and sat back.

  “Rush,” she called.

  He took a bite and looked down at her.

  After he swallowed, he shared, “Priority for me is I want you safe.”

  “I know. But Essence is feeling bad she’s taking the Chaos boys’ time, and I think it messes with her belly dancing mojo to have someone hanging around. She still sees all three of her three children’s fathers. They just don’t live together because she doesn’t want to be tied down. I don’t get how it works, but in hippie-chick world, it works. She loves people, she just likes her alone time. So she told me she’s having security systems put in at the house and out here.”

  “That’s something, sweetheart, it’s just not enough.”

  She got a stubborn look, but she didn’t say anything.

  She turned, slid the sticks off the pizza box and flipped it open, no delay with digging in.

  She tore off a bite, chewed, swallowed and mumbled, “I can hang out with Tyra at the office. Do filing or something. Film the guys. A build. I’ve been thinking about it, looked you guys up on Google today, there’s a lot there. It’s all cool. Now I’ve got something forming in my head.”

  “What?”

  She turned her attention to him. “A documentary. About your builds. The garage. The store. The communal way you run all of that and how simpatico it is. Tyra and Tab were sharing stories at dinner. How Hop was in a band before the Club. How Joker used to watch the brothers when he was younger, wanting to be Chaos for years before he was old enough to be a prospect. How the Club descended from selling grass into deep shit but then cleaning up. It’s really extraordinary.”

  Tyra and Tabby shared a lot.

  It went without saying that meant Rebel was in with them too.

  “It’s not just a Club,” she continued. “It’s not even just a family. It’s a huge business that’s got a crazy-good reputation that’s getting bigger, spreading wider. But it’s fascinating. How you guys came together. How much history you share. How well you fit. How well you work together. How you look out for each other. I could hang, fly on the wall, film. Put something together. Even if it’s just for you and your brothers when it gets done, I’m doing what I love to do. I’m on sacred ground, having a chance to get to know your brothers better, meet the old ladies. And it’d be cool to give that to you all in the end. Kind of like a professional home movie.”

  “I’m not sure all the guys would be down with you filming.”

  His words shared he was thinking about it and her face brightened.

  Fuck.

  “If they’re not, I won’t,” she said fast, then got up on her knees excitedly. “But Rush, this way, I wouldn’t tax your energy. No one would have to look out for me. And you’ll be around, so you probably wouldn’t even have to come and get me after your day. I’ll be where you are. Or where you’d eventually be. And I could have some fun.”

  “Babe, don’t get excited about this,” he advised gently. “Even if I’m down, I’d have to bring it to the brothers and they might not be.”

  “I’ll be cool whatever, Rush. Even if I’m just filing for Tyra, I’ll be cool.”

  He stared into her face and he saw it.

  She wanted to do this.

  She wanted to be close to him, and she wanted to get back into what she did when it wasn’t about filming two people fucking.

  Jesus, shit.

  He was fucked.

  Because seeing that in her face, he could not say no.

  “I’ll talk to the brothers,” he muttered.

  Her slice flew back into the box and then she was all over him, kissing his face, his neck, his mouth.

  He put his hands to her waist and said, “Babe.”

  She planted her hands in his chest and beamed into his face. “This is so awesome!”

  “You’re gonna have to get it past D and Maddox too,” he warned. “There’s still danger and they’re not gonna like that.”

  “They dig you. You won them over with pancakes and not shouting down their middle-of-the-night fucking. If they know I’m on Chaos, and when I’m not I’m with you, they’ll be totally cool.”

  “We’ll see.”

  She smiled at him, came in for a lip touch, pulled away and dropped back to her ass on the floor, reclaiming her slice of pizza.

  “This is fantastic,” she declared as she munched. “We can have Amy over for dinner and check her pulse. I can teach you how to meditate. I can finally cook for you. Wind-down-after-a-day-of-trying-to-find-bad-guy blowjobs whenever you need them. Awesome.”

  The only one of those he was down for was the blowjobs.

  And depending on her skill level, th
e cooking.

  Rush didn’t say that.

  He reached for a slice.

  “Rush,” she said before he sat back in his seat.

  He turned his head and caught the look on her face.

  And suddenly he was down for everything she said.

  She liked him. They were starting something.

  And it was wired in her to take care of the people who meant something to her.

  It’d kill her to be in Phoenix when he was up here not getting enough sleep and coming home to an empty house and an empty bed.

  She needed to be right there, by his side.

  And having that from her did not suck.

  “Thank you, baby,” she whispered.

  He grinned at her, sat back, and tore off a bite of pizza with his teeth, hoping he wouldn’t regret this.

  But his father thought they were in the home stretch and that Chew had retreated to prepare for his final attack.

  Tack was rarely wrong.

  And whatever it would be, they knew it was coming.

  So maybe he wouldn’t regret this.

  Regardless, he’d just made Rebel really fucking happy.

  And he knew already he’d never regret that.

  Proper Procedure

  Rush

  Seven forty, Monday morning . . .

  “Jesus, sis, chill.”

  Diesel’s voice rumbling through the wall, Rush opened his eyes.

  He was in Rebel’s bed, which was essentially a cave tucked under an arch in a room painted yellow and the same lime green that was in the bookshelves in the living room.

  Like everything else Rebel, her bedroom coincided with her name.

  There were no normal pillows, just a stupid amount of toss pillows of varying sizes in patterns of pinks, blues and purples. No comforter, but fluffy blankets and embroidered quilts. The mattress was shoved in, butting against three walls, windows at the head, foot and side. And the arch was decorated in a leafy, flowery garland with some wavy stars and what looked like pink and purple Christmas balls hanging down.

  He didn’t even want to get into the garnet-colored chandelier hanging so low in the tiny open area of the room, he ran into it when he’d first entered.