Betting It All: A Hellfire Riders MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 11)

by Wilde, Kati

  And that worry is suddenly tearing at me. God. Before he left, I wanted him back again. For another night. For another week.

  But the truth is…I want him a hell of a lot longer than that.

  “Lily.” Jenny’s looking at me with concern again. “You’re all right?”

  “Yeah.” I shoot her a wide grin, shut off the water, then run up to my bedroom to change.

  As soon as I’m alone, I make myself shake off the worry. Because I know Jack’s secret. He cares more than he shows—and he cares about me.

  So it’ll be okay.

  • • •

  Unless I’m wrong.

  At the Barracks, I’ve been nursing a beer for almost an hour. Jack is here, but he’s sitting with the prez and Thorne, our new veep, along with two Blue Coyotes. I know better than to interrupt them. But I’m already rethinking my plan to ask him over. Because he’s facing me, he can see me, but there’s nothing in his dark gaze when he glances my way.

  Maybe it’s just business, though. So I wait, watching a few dancers work the pole before heading over to the pool tables, where I lose a twenty when I sink the eight ball, then another twenty when I go again.

  Shit. My game is completely off. It’s cheaper to stuff dollars into the dancers’ g-strings. I head to the bar and ignore some of the looks I’m getting. A few of the brothers who are on the executive board keep giving me the same once-over that Jenny did. Like they’re surprised I’m still standing.

  Of course I am. A pussy can take a pounding. It’s only balls that can’t.

  The Blue Coyotes are gone so I head back to the table I’m sharing with Gunner and Stone. Now it’ll be real fucking easy. Jack just has to get up, come over. He doesn’t even have to sit down.

  But there’s still nothing when he looks at me. And I can’t go to him in here. I can’t. He has to know it. Stupid Zoomie, she got fucked and now she’s clinging, because she thinks sex with a man who won the use of her pussy in a bet meant something.

  Jesus.

  I last another half hour, then sit in the parking lot like a pathetic dickhole, thinking that maybe Jack believed he couldn’t go to me in there, either. But he’d have seen me leave. He can follow me and there’s no one out here to see us.

  After fifteen minutes I know he’s not coming and ride home.

  I get drunk on a bottle of whiskey while staring at my phone, debating whether to text him, then finally crawl into bed and hug his pillow to my chest. Just that morning, I did the same thing, certain I’d have him back here with me. Certain he gave a shit.

  Instead I fall asleep alone.

  Chapter Eight

  That shitty night turns into the shittiest week on record. A wildfire breaks out in the Deschutes forest over the weekend and I’m immediately called in to drop a helitack team at the front line. When I fly back it’s to pull their bodies out. I’d been working with a few of those guys for years. I’ve attended barbecues with their families, met their wives and kids. Then the wind shifts and the fire spreads and I spend the next few days flying through smoke and fighting to keep hot drafts and wind shears from bringing my bird down.

  By the time the executive board meeting rolls around, I’m one solid, tired ache. I’ve got nothing left.

  Except more hurt. Jack looks at me as I come in, his eyes empty. The ache deepens to tearing pain when he looks away like I’m nothing.

  I don’t know what lens I should be looking through now. If I still had my old one, I’d believe this was what he’d meant to do. Tear me down. Strip away the defenses I’d built up against him so he could rip out my heart.

  Because of course my heart went all in, too. Even though I didn’t mean for it to.

  And I don’t know what to do now. I’ve got two choices: Go ask him if he wants another night, which is the stupid choice. Or I can just let it ride. Put it behind me.

  That would be smartest. I changed my game with him because I thought I saw something. But it was probably just what I wanted to see after Stone and Gunner were clowning around with me. I went into that night looking for a reason to believe he cared.

  I don’t believe it anymore.

  The meeting’s short. Only two items are on the agenda—“Money” and “Hangmen”—and there’s not much new to say about either topic. I don’t hang around after, and Gunner catches up to me on the way out of the conference room.

  “Hey, Zoomie. You heading out to the Barracks with the rest of us?”

  “Yeah.” Though there’s nothing I feel less like doing. “But I’m leaving early.”

  “Don’t you have tomorrow off?”

  “I’ve got funerals to attend.”

  “Shit. I heard what went down. That’s just rough.”

  My throat is a fucking lump. “Yeah, well. Shut up about it.”

  And that’s why I like Gunner so much. He’s a damn clown but he can see when someone’s holding on by a thread. He doesn’t take offense but simply shuts up and walks with me.

  I’m in the lot outside the clubhouse before I realize Jack’s right behind us. His fucking quiet feet. And he’s still with me as Gunner veers off toward his bike. Jack’s blacked-out workhorse is right next to mine.

  Jack’s long stride pulls him up even with me. His voice is low and deep. “You had friends on that team. You all right?”

  “You don’t get to fucking ask me that.”

  Not after I sat in another parking lot last week desperate for him to say a word to me. He doesn’t get to pretend to care now.

  He doesn’t get to say anything to me. And he doesn’t, just stands beside his ride and watches as I swing my leg over my bike’s saddle. This his gaze drops to my hip and his jaw clenches.

  Because of the bruise. The goddamn mark he left on me. It’s almost gone. Pretty soon it’ll be nothing.

  But it still hurts. “Did you mean to teach me the same lesson your parents taught you?”

  His dark gaze snaps up to mine. “What lesson?”

  “Take what you get, Lily,” I tell him. “Don’t ask for more.”

  The skin stretched taut across his cheekbones pales. “No.”

  “Well, you taught it to me anyway—” I break off as he starts for me. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

  But he does, cradling my jaw in his big hands. His eyes aren’t empty now but I don’t trust anything I see. “Lily,” he says hoarsely. “What were you going to ask?”

  Like I’d ever tell him now. “Did you lose? You said you’d lose whether you had me or didn’t. So did you lose?”

  His gaze is suddenly desolate. “Everything.”

  “You were right about that, then. But you were wrong about me. I didn’t win. Instead I just got hurt. Which shouldn’t surprise me. You hurt me for five fucking years before that. I don’t know why I thought anything had changed. Now let me go.”

  He does, watching me, his expression bleak as I start up my bike. I barely hear the low gravel of his voice over the engine.

  “I didn’t want to hurt you, Lily.”

  “Well, your intentions mean shit, don’t they? So what do you want, Jack? You want me? You want more?”

  Face tortured, he closes his eyes. “Another night. Just one. If you’re offering.”

  “I’m not. So you better ask me for it,” I tell him, then pop my ride into gear and make my engine roar.

  • • •

  I’m about to pound back a shot of tequila when I realize Jack might be too fucked up to ask.

  What did he say about killing his dad? I didn’t take what he gave me. And he lost so much. Losing his dad couldn’t have been so bad, but his mother and brother turned their backs on him. Because he broke that rule.

  And now? Everyone he protects doesn’t want to have anything to do with him. His family. The army said he was too fucked up to join but someone decided to make use of him, though they’d never claim him as one of theirs. Even some of the Riders. There’s a couple of brothers who are comfortable with him but the others would rather
keep just enough distance. And Jack’s so used to it that for five years he assumed I was doing the same.

  So even if he wants to ask, God knows if he can. At least not yet. Not until he believes that he won’t lose me—or that I won’t push him away.

  Shit. So that changes the game. Again.

  I lower the shot glass and slide it over to Stone. “I’m heading out!” I shout to him over the music.

  He nods and Gunner bumps my fist. “We’ll hold down the fort.”

  Surrounded by liquor and strippers. Such a rough job.

  On the board meeting nights, Jack often shows for a few hours, but he’s not here. That usually means he’s working late.

  I ride back to town, slowing through the dark streets. He’s left his bike out in front of his auto shop—so he’s here. I roll in and run up the exterior stairs to his apartment. The windows are dark. I’m about to knock when I hear his voice come from below.

  “Lily?”

  He’s at the bottom of the stairs, looking big and dangerous and so damn gorgeous. His shop door is open behind him. Faint yellow light spills through. The rest of the garage is dark so he must have been back in his office.

  “Jack fucking Hayden,” I say and start slowly down the stairs. “Why the hell didn’t you call me last week? You just fucked and ran.”

  He studies me for a long second before his stance shifts, bracing his feet and crossing his arms over his broad chest. So he sees that I’m coming for a fight.

  Not with fists. But it will probably always be a little bit of a fight between us.

  “It was your rule,” he says quietly. “I don’t talk to you about it. You forget it ever happened.”

  “A rule? That’s a bullshit reason. We broke every single rule after I made it. You didn’t tie my hands in round two. And we kissed a hell of a lot.”

  His eyes gleam. “But we used a rubber each time.”

  So the rule about protection was important enough not to break? Yeah. That fits him. And maybe it fits this, too.

  I stop two stairs above him. “Are you protecting me by staying away?”

  “I’m just doing what needs to be done.” His voice roughens. “You don’t want to risk your place in the club by fucking a patchholder.”

  My heart twists. I did tell him that. Then never told him I’d risk it with him.

  I take the next step and my blood freezes as a red dot appears on the side of his auto shop just beyond his head. A laser sight. The dot disappears— No, fuck, fuck, it’s on Jack’s shoulder.

  “Down!”

  I leap for him, slamming into his chest and knocking him back. A pfink! sounds as a bullet hits the side of his shop and we’re scrambling into the garage, low, low, swinging the door closed. Jack hits a switch on the wall and we’re plunged in darkness.

  “Are you hit?” He’s crouching with me, his voice hoarse, his hands all over me. “Are you hit?”

  “No.” Heart pounding, I catch his hands. “I’m all right.”

  My eyes are adjusting to the darkness, to the faint light in the small windows. Jack draws his gun from his shoulder harness, checks the rounds. His gaze is on the door and his face starkly lined by shadows. “Don’t you ever jump in front of a bullet for me.”

  Stung, I clench my jaw. “I have your back.”

  “Then have my back. Don’t be my shield.” He glances at me and knocks his knuckles against his chest. “It’s just fucking meat. So you don’t get hurt for me. All right?”

  No. But I keep quiet because we’re both listening. Nobody’s closing in on the shop yet.

  Quietly he says, “I’m going to see how many there are. You stay low and get into the office. There’s a vest and a .45 in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. Wait for me there.”

  I nod, legs tense as I shift in that direction. “All right.”

  “Shoot any fucker who comes into that office who isn’t a Rider.”

  “I will.”

  “Christ, Lily.” He suddenly pulls me in, his warm mouth against my temple, his left hand tangled in my hair. “You’re so fucking steady. I’ll have you at my back any time. But not as my shield.”

  My throat’s tight. “All right.”

  Then he’s gone, so quiet, disappearing into the shadows of the garage. The shop’s big, with five bays in the main garage. A truck’s hoisted in the nearest one. Keeping low, I make my way past it, back to the office. The door’s open and flanked by two big windows that allow Jack to see into the garage from his desk.

  The filing cabinet drawer slides open smoothly. My heart’s thundering as I pull on the vest and find the pistol, a Glock 37. Ten rounds, nothing in the chamber. I head back to the front of the office, crouching beneath the window.

  A creak from outside. The shop door opening. I’m far in the back, they won’t see me take a quick peek through the window.

  Two shadows move through the garage. I crouch again, waiting. A shot will give away my location and I don’t know what kind of firepower they have, whether they can just shoot through the wall. They have some fancy toys—a laser sight and silencer—and they might have more. So I’ll sit it out until I don’t have any other choice.

  I almost jolt out of position as something clangs nearby. A wrench or some other tool falling to the concrete. My pulse races, but it’s good, it’s good. I have a location to focus on now, I can hear the footsteps.

  A shadow appears at the office window, blocking the faint light from outside. Quietly he moves toward the door—but not quietly enough. I know that’s not Jack. Steadying my aim on the office’s entrance, I slide off the safety.

  A body thuds to the floor, falling halfway through the door.

  Big guy. Tribal tattoos. The enforcer for the Devil’s Hangmen. I stare at him over the barrel of my gun. His eyes are open and staring. Neck broken.

  Jack slips through the door. Silently, he motions me closer. “Stay right behind,” he says quietly. “Creek is with him.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “No. But keep your eyes open.”

  I nod and blink as Jack hits a switch on the office wall. Lights flood the main garage. Stepping over the enforcer’s body, I stay at Jack’s back, our weapons up and ready.

  Creek’s in the third bay, body shielded behind a black Explorer, his pistol leveled at us. Silencer. Laser sight. The enforcer’s weapon didn’t have one. His gaze flicks to me before returning to Jack.

  “You know your choices,” Jack says. “You’ve got just one, and that’s only because you were sloppy outside.”

  With the laser sight, I realize. So Creek let me see it—and probably deliberately missed.

  The other man waits a beat before slowly lowering his gun. Jack doesn’t lower his, so I don’t either. That doesn’t seem to bother Creek. He comes out from behind the Explorer. “Tank?”

  “Dead in my office. Why are you in with them?” When Creek’s gaze shifts to me, Jack tells him, “I trust her more than I trust you. She won’t say a word.”

  Creek looks back to Jack, his eyes narrowing. “Your club took out the Eighty-Eight. The higher ups on both sides are assuming it was someone else. It was too fucking clean to be an MC. But they have you.”

  Jack doesn’t confirm or deny. “Are you looking at the Riders?”

  “Not at you. Not at the Hangmen.”

  “You’re going after one of their connections.”

  This time it’s Creek who doesn’t confirm or deny, but Jack must be right. The Hangmen are too small. Creek must be going after a bigger target and using the Hangmen as an in.

  “Is it the girls?” Jack asks and I realize he means the La Pine girls. The ones we pulled out of the Eighty-Eight’s compound.

  The other man’s gaze sharpens. “There’s more, but that’s part of it. Do you know where they were headed?”

  “No.”

  Creek’s jaw tightens. “If you hear—”

  “I’ll share. You tell your prez to back off.”

  “Croc won’t.�
� He glances in the direction of Jack’s office. “Especially now.”

  Jack shakes his head. “You came here looking for me. I was already gone. He wrecked his ride on the way back.”

  “That’ll only hold Croc off a short time.”

  “We’ll be ready.” Easing back, Jack holsters his gun. “You get his feet.”

  • • •

  I drive the truck. The body’s in the back. Jack takes the enforcer’s bike. There’s only one place to go: Lucifer’s Break. It’s a long curve that narrows beneath a concrete overpass. My dad tried passing a car on that curve and ran into a truck instead. But even before then, every biker heard warnings about that stretch of road. There’s always gravel on the asphalt and if you hit that curve going too fast, a bike’s tires will slide out from under.

  Even knowing the plan, I’m still not ready when I see Jack take the curve—and goes straight, instead. He bails out of his seat the last second, hitting the asphalt and rolling. The enforcer’s bike smashes into the concrete wall.

  Jesus. I’m out of the truck but Jack is already up, pulling off his helmet. The shoulder of his jacket is shredded. Creek rides up behind me, engine rumbling.

  “Let’s be quick,” he says and hands me Tank’s helmet. “You slam this against the concrete wall. We’ll get him laid out.”

  So easy. And only possible because Jack snapped the enforcer’s neck instead of shooting him. But then, he’d probably figured all this out ahead of time. He’d known Creek might not be coming alone.

  All the assholes who keep their distance are right about one thing: Jack is scary. But what they don’t get is that the only reason to be afraid is if you come after him—or the Riders.

  I finish with the helmet. Creek takes it and crouches, strapping it onto the man’s head.

  “You got this from here?” Jack asks.

  “Yeah.”

  We head back to the truck and he pulls off his ruined jacket. Neither of us is wearing a kutte. We left them back at his garage. No need to fuck this up by having someone say they saw a pair of Riders out here around time Tank ran into a wall.