by Evelyn Glass
“I wish…” she began then gasped as she tried not to cry.
He tightened her embrace slightly. “I know. Shhh…I told you before, you can’t protect her from herself. She’d given up. Nothing you could have done would have prevented her from killing herself if she really wanted to.”
“But if she could have gotten some help.”
“You told her you were going to help her, but she did it anyway. I know it’s hard, but you have to let her go and accept you did all you could.”
“I don’t know how. She’s been my best friend, my only friend, for almost ten years.”
“You let her go a little bit at a time.”
She lay still and quiet, thinking. “I want to leave tomorrow.”
He nodded slowly. He knew it was coming but he could feel the disappointment like a bitter taste in his mouth. “I’ll buy you a plane ticket anyplace you want to go.”
She nodded. “Florida. Melissa wanted to go to Florida.”
“Florida it is.”
She lay quiet a moment then rose to kiss him slowly. He was a good man and she wished she had hooked up with the Knights instead of the Saracens. She was certain if she had, Melissa would still be alive. She pulled back from the kiss. He kissed her, but she could sense him holding back.
“I want you,” she whispered, wanting, needing, to feel his touch, wanting to fill that empty place inside, hoping he could remove some of her pain.
He rolled her over and pinned her to the bed with his weight. “Are you sure?” he asked, watching her eyes.
“Yes,” she said softly, drawing his lips down to hers.
They kissed leisurely for many long moments, the blast furnace-like heat of their first two encounters missing, replaced with a glowing warmth that helped ease her pain. He pulled back from her lips, kissing lower, under her jaw and down to her breasts before stopping long enough to take the condom from his nightstand and put it on. Taking her lips again, he moved between her legs and slowly entered her.
He kissed her gently, wrapping her up in his embrace as he took her with slow, easy, strokes. It was exactly what she needed, this tender giving of himself as he kissed her softly and caressed her face, comforting her with the most intimate of human touches. She held him tight, pulling his head down so he wouldn’t see her cry, her eyes closed as she held him.
He almost missed the tears leaking from her eyes as she pulled his head down. She obviously didn’t want him to see her crying so he made no mention of it, holding her until her desperate embrace relaxed. He raised his head and dried her cheeks with his lips, driving into her a bit harder and faster.
She again pulled his head down, the warmth of his breath on her neck comforting somehow, the pleasure of him moving inside her pulling her thoughts from her loss.
She continued to hold his head down as he drove into her harder, then harder still, his breath coming in harsh pants. She released her hold on his head and he looked up as she placed her hands against the headboard, her face twisted in sweet agony as she pushed hard, her back arcing as she gasped then groaned hard and deep. Her face twisting in rapture as she strained through her orgasm was one of the most erotic things he’d ever seen a woman do.
Her orgasm rolled over her, slow and deep as he pounded into her, his arms tight at her side, his hand holding her head as his lips found hers. She threw her arms around him and drew him down tighter as she kissed him deeply, her hand sliding from his back to his head to hold him into the kiss. She moaned as they devoured each other, her orgasm swelling again as his cock plunged into her again and again in never-ending pleasure.
He grunted as he pushed in deep, holding himself there as his climax took him, then exhaled slowly, their lips never parting. They drank their fill from the other’s lips before he slowly pulled back to look into her eyes. He’d taken several women in the month since she walked into the bar and into his life, but none made him feel like she did. He watched her eyes as he began to thrust slowly again, his lips returning to hers.
She watched his eyes, a chill passing through her on seeing the tenderness there, tenderness she’d never saw in a lover’s eyes before. He was a hard fucking beast of a man, a sexual animal, one who could fuck her like nobody before him, but he was proving now he could also be gentle and caring when he wanted to be, and she smiled an instant before his lips took hers.
***
Ironside jerked awake as Whiteshirt’s ringtone played. He rolled to his side, holding Peyton to him, as he reached for the phone.
“Ironside,” he said softly.
“Ironside! Whiteshirt. We’re being hit everywhere! The Saracens, they hit five bars and all three strip clubs.”
“Fuck. How many dead?”
“Seventy-two at last count. Sixty-one customers and employees, the rest brothers and girls.”
“Those fucks,” he snarled quietly. The Saracens were violating the most basic rule: no targeting civilians.
“The police are on the scenes now. We’re going to have to let this play. There’s no way we can cover this up. But there’s more. They left a note at each place. It said ‘Arabian Motel. Turn over Peyton Haase or this is only a taste.’”
Peyton lay quiet, feigning sleep as she listened to Whiteshirt’s voice on the phone. More deaths, more blood on her hands.
“Don’t interfere. Let the cops handle it,” Ironside said. “We can’t stop it anyway, so let’s get them on our side. Show them the note and tell them why it was left, and that Peyton found out her friend was being held at the Arabian and forced to service men. We got her out, along with all the other women.”
“Are you sure that’s wise? They’re going to know the Saracens didn’t just let us waltz in there and take their girls.”
“What else can we do? We’ll come off as good Samaritans, and without bodies, they can’t prove we killed anyone.”
“We could give them Peyton.”
Ironside was silent for a moment. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“Ironside, she isn’t one of us! She’s a Saracen! If one of our girls stabbed us in the back, we’d want her back, too.”
“This isn’t the same thing.”
“It is!”
“It isn’t! Peyton was never a Saracen; she was just trying to get her friend out. She’s leaving town tomorrow.”
“And if the Saracens keeping hitting us?”
“Make no mistake, they’ve declared unrestricted war with this and we’re going to deal with them. As soon as the heat dies down, we’re going to go for their throat, but it has nothing to do with Peyton.”
“Why are you protecting her at the expense of the club? Explain it to me!”
“I’m not protecting her at the expense of the club. I’m carrying through with the deal we made. We agreed to get her out of town if she would feed us information. She did her part. We have to do ours…or does your word mean nothing to you?”
“I never gave her my word,” Whiteshirt growled.
“I gave her mine, and I speak for the club.”
There was a long pause. “I think you’re making another big mistake, but at least she’ll be out of town and I won’t have to worry about that security risk anymore.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“American flight 1652 leaves at noon, and arrives in Orlando at 4:23,” Ironside said, then glanced at the clock in the corner of the computer. “That’s going to be tight, but we should be able to make it.”
“That’s fine,” Peyton said softly. She was torn. She wanted to get away and start fresh somewhere, but at the same time, something happened last night as she made love to Ironside. He’d touched her in a way no lover ever had. She smiled to herself. Made love as opposed to fucking. She’d never thought of it that way before.
Ironside rose and stepped out of his office. “I’m taking Peyton to the airport,” he said, sticking his head into Whiteshirt’s office.
“When?”
“Now. Her flight leaves at noon.�
�
Whiteshirt nodded.
“Good riddance to that bitch,” Honey added under her breath.
She and Whiteshirt had started hooking up after Ironside had washed his hands of her, and though she hadn’t been as mouthy as she had been, it was no secret she hated Peyton’s guts. Perhaps that was why they’d started fucking: their mutual dislike and distrust of Peyton drawing them together.
Ironside backed out, pretending he hadn’t heard Honey’s comment. The club was still smarting from the hit last night, but he had to ask the brothers for one more favor.
“I need a few brothers to ride with me to get Peyton to the airport,” he said to the men gathered in the clubhouse great room. The airport was outside of Saracens’ territory, which should make the trip safe, but the rules had changed last night and he wasn’t taking any chances.
“I’ll ride with you,” Dolch said, standing, five other brothers, then two more, doing the same.
Ironside nodded in gratitude. The club was divided, some blaming Peyton for their troubles, but others, like Dolch, realizing Peyton had put her ass on the line for them.
Peyton picked up her purse and the small gym back they’d purchased that morning to hold the two pairs of shorts and two new shirts, along with a few pairs of underwear they’d bought. Counting the fresh clothes she’d worn out of the store, that gave her three sets of clothes.
They paused by Ironside’s Harley. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, peeling off ten bills and holding them out to her. “Take this to get you started in Orlando.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want your money.”
He took her hand and pressed the cash into it. “Take it. You earned it. Besides, how are you going to survive until you get on your feet?”
Her lips pulled down into a pout as she took the cash and slowly shoved it into her pocket. “Thank you.”
He nodded and began to put on his helmet. She was going to have it rough for a while, but the money would make sure she had a fighting chance.
***
They had to make a big loop, taking I-77 south before turning west on 480. I-71 would be the more direct route, but that would lead them through the heart of Saracens’ territory and he didn’t want to take that risk.
He was working his way to the right, preparing to exit I-77 onto 480, when he saw the group of bikes sitting on the side of the road. There were at least twenty bikes, the riders sitting on them and watching over their shoulders. It didn’t feel right. In fact, it felt completely wrong, and Ironside dipped his bike left and whacked open the throttle and began accelerate. The group of bikes pulled out, crossing traffic without apparent regard for their safety, accelerating hard as they passed.
Ironside flashed past and he could see the Saracens’ patch on their back. They were in deep trouble, outnumbered by at least two to one, and their only option was run.
Peyton had been daydreaming on the back of Ironside’s bike until she felt the Harley accelerate. As they blew past the riders giving chase she glimpsed the Saracens’ patch and her blood ran cold. Ironside hadn’t mentioned the notes and she pretended she hadn’t woken up and didn’t know the Saracens were after her. She twisted in the seat to look behind her, watching the Knights form up on Ironside as they carved through traffic, creating a shield the Saracens would have to punch through to get to him.
They continued south on I-77, riding far faster than the traffic, the Saracens hot on their tail. She held tight to Ironside, terrified of the high speed as he weaved and ducked through traffic. They were rapidly leaving Cleveland behind, the area becoming more and more rural. She didn’t know what Ironside had planned, if he had a plan, so she held on and hoped he was as good a rider as he was a lover.
She grunted as his bike decelerated hard, diving down a cloverleaf. She clamped down on the scream that tried to escape her lips and closed her eyes as the bike heeled so far to the right she was certain they would crash.
As the bike began to rise, she looked behind her again. Three Knights peeled off, going left, abandoning them to their fate. The bulk of the Saracens continued to follow, but a few broke away, giving chase to the three Knights. They roared down the road, Ironside’s Harley giving its all for their escape. She turned and watched behind them as one of the men signaled franticly with his hand, making fast chopping motions in the direction they were traveling.
They crossed a river, probably the Cuyahoga if she had to guess, before Ironside braked hard, his bike swerving on the edge of control before he dove hard right, the bike banging and scraping as he muscled it around the turn before blowing the stop sign at the bottom and making a right to race back under the bridge they’d just crossed. One man peeled off with him, the rest of the Knights continuing straight. She recognized Dolch’s bike, and realized he and Ironside were working to break up the Saracens.
The bulk of them continued on, giving chase to the Knights, with only five or six still on their tail. They had put some distance on their pursuers and were riding terrifyingly fast down the two-lane road. Traffic was sparse enough they had been passing with relative ease until they roared up behind a lumbering RV that was toddling along. Ironside took a peak, dodged back behind the RV as a pickup passed, then darted around in a gap, the elderly man driving gaping at them as they blew past and ducked back in front just as a semi roared past, horn blaring. She turned back and watched as Dolch made a daring pass on the right between the RV and the railing of the bridge, unable to get around on the left in the same gap Ironside used and not wanting to lose contact with his brother.
They roared away, the RV bottling up the Saracens a moment and allowing them to open an even larger gap. She began to relax, but then felt Ironside begin to slow. She looked behind again and saw Dolch was waving them on frantically as he fell farther and farther behind.
Ironside slammed the bike to a stop on the side of road. “Run! Into the woods!”
Peyton jumped from the bike and ran for the trees, dropping her helmet as she did. She stopped just inside the edge of the wood as Dolch skidded to a stop behind Ironside’s bike then leapt from it before the two men ran to where she disappeared.
“Go!” Ironside urged, grabbing her arm and dragging her along as they crashed through the brush.
“What happened?” she panted as they ran, the roar of motorcycles stopping on the road giving her feet wings.
“I must have picked up a nail when I passed the RV,” Dolch snarled. “You should have kept going!”
“I’m not—” two quick gunshots silenced him. “Fuck! There go the bikes!”
“Which is why you shouldn’t have stopped!”
“I’m not leaving you, Dolch, so shut the fuck up!” He pushed Peyton over a log then hauled her to a stop. “If something happens, you run like hell! Got it?” he panted as he turned, crouched behind the log and drew his weapon, Dolch doing the same.
She nodded frantically. “You still have that other gun?”
Ironside reached into his ankle holster, pulled out the small Glock, and handed it to her. “Wait until they’re close, then squeeze.”
She nodded, terrified, listening to the Saracens crashing through the brush. She jumped when Dolch’s weapon barked, a man crying out in pain before the echo died.
“Over here! This way!” men cried and a moment later she could see movement in the trees. She brought her gun up. “Not yet,” Ironside whispered. “Now!” Ironside snarled, opening up.
She held her fire as gunshots rang out beside, then in front of her. She wanted to cower, to crawl under the log and cover her ears, but she forced herself to watch. A man came running from their left, his gun out, firing as he ran. She screamed, and whirled, squeezing the trigger in panic, the Glock barking and jumping in her hand as the man tumbled to the ground.
“You okay?” Ironside gasped. He’d nearly shit himself when Peyton started shooting over his and Dolch’s head.
“Yeah, I think!” she gasped.
“Le
t me see,” he said, taking her gun from her hand, using the lull in gunfire. He ejected the magazine, then slammed it back in. She’d shot at the guy five times, but at least she’d brought him down. “Two left. Make them count.”
She nodded frantically, her eyes wide. Dolch fired. “Out!” he called, tucking the weapon away. She shoved her weapon into his hand. He ejected the magazine then banged it home. “Two,” he grated.
Ironside ejected his magazine then slammed it back. “Four.”
“How many do you think are left?” she whispered.
