by Rie Warren
After the broads cleared out, I peered at Boomer. “Who the hell’s that?” I aimed my bottle at the new dude’s broad-shouldered back.
“Oh, him? Hunter. Transfer from the Tampa Bay Outlaws.” Boomer leaned his elbows on the bar. “You remember their charter dissolved?”
“RICO again. Yeah.”
“Good thing we run a tight ship ’round here, right, bro?”
If only he knew . . .
“I don’t like the new ones.” Especially not with the investigation going down that no one seemed to know dick about.
“Quelle surprise.”
“Are you trying out French on me? Because what I think you need is le petit mort.”
“Screw you,” he pivoted on his stool to watch a pool game in progress.
“No. I meant that’s what you should be doing.”
“Fuck off about me, and don’t worry about the new member. Hunter’s solid. He’s been here six weeks, you’ve just had your head up Ashe’s ass most of that time, you didn’t notice.”
I’d had my mouth, fingers, and tongue on Ashe’s soft, sexy ass to be perfectly correct. The thought made me instantly hard.
Clearing my throat, I casually said, “She just asked me to move in with her.”
“No shit?” His deep voice boomed. He grabbed my hand in his big paw. “Fuckin’ A, brother. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”
“You won’t miss me?”
“Hell no. And take those scrawny squirrel-wannabes with you.”
“They’re cats.”
“Fur stoles is what they are. Or yowling bottom-of-the-pond bait.”
“You really are evil.”
“Yeah.” Boomer smiled. It lit up his whole face, taking handsome to the next level.
“You’ll be okay in the house alone?”
“Who says I’m gonna be alone?”
“Your calloused hand from many a lonely night’s workout.”
He knocked me upside the head then took me in a loving brother-to-brother headlock. “It’s cool. Better than cool. Man, you deserve her and don’t you forget that.”
“Thanks, Boom.” If he hadn’t held me in a chokehold, I might’ve shed a few tears. As it was, I shoved him off me.
“So I’ll save some boxes from our orders so you can pack your shit. When are you flying the nest?”
I flipped him both middle fingers.
“I’m happy for you, Brodie. You and Cat both. Mom and Dad would’ve loved this.” Boomer stood up and looked at me as if pride swelled his chest the same way love for Ashe filled mine.
“All right. I get it. That’s enough now. I’m gonna start PMSing in a minute if you don’t stop the love-fest.”
“Want me to pick up tampons on my way home?” he asked.
“Fuck off, jerkwad.”
He ruffled my hair. “I’m outta here. See you at the house later, princess.”
Boomer moved out range before I had a chance to tackle him to the ground.
“Dickweed,” I mumbled.
“So I take it I just missed Boomer?” Tuck pulled a stool back to accommodate his generous belly.
“How’d you guess?” Motioning to the new guy, Hunter, I ordered more drinks.
“Juvenile insults about him usually follow one of your conversations.”
“Okay, Grampa-know-it-all.” I one-arm hugged Tucker.
“I do know something you don’t, son.”
I planted an elbow on the bar. “If this is another Socrates versus Aristotle meets David Lee Roth versus Sammy Hagar debate, I’m outta here too. You do my head in with that old dude, hair band bullshit. You dropped way too much acid in the sixties.”
“It was the seventies.” He tweaked his question mark of a mustache.
“Same diff.”
“Not at all. You see—”
“Tuuucker . . .” I drew out his name in exasperation. I was not up for a round from the master of headfucker games. “Spill the shit already. What do you know?”
I hoped for him to let slip something about the mole in our midst. Or the sellout, drug dealer, arms dealer . . . who knew?
“You weren’t here earlier.” Folding his arms across his broad chest, he gave me the Cheshire cat grin.
“And?”
“Boomer had his eye on that little honey.”
That little honey he pointed to was the same tight package with electric blue streaked hair who’d captured Boom’s attention a few weeks ago. Guess I’d just found out whose panties he wanted to get into.
She was on fire at the dartboards, riffing with the guys as she made bull’s-eyes one after the other.
“She ain’t his type,” I said.
“What makes you think that?”
“Looks like she’s got at least half a brain to go with her D cups.”
Tuck chuckled. “Yeah. Nevertheless, your bro almost chewed off Probie’s arm when he accidentally brushed against her earlier.”
Sitting upright, I zeroed in on the woman in question. She had a nice full laugh, lots of curves in all the right places in a perfect little package. Ink covered her arms and the back of her neck, and when she turned to lash out another cutting remark at one of her competitors, she was unmistakably edgy. A handful. Beautiful. She had moxie, my dad would’ve said.
“Well, that’s interesting,” I commented.
“She didn’t think so. Almost pulled a move on Boomer with her poolstick like your Ashe. I thought she was gonna bust his nads with it.”
“What’d Boomer do?”
“Damnedest thing.” Tuck chortled into his beer. “He grabbed the other end of the cue, pulled her to him. He touched her cheek with his fingers, and let her go with a laugh.”
“Hey, isn’t she that new girl over at Stone’s?”
“That’s the one. The newest wrench. Goes by the name of Rayce.”
“I amend my earlier answer. She looks like just the type to get to Boomer.”
Tuck slapped my back. “That’s what I thought.”
Half an hour later, I nursed a tall glass of water, taking stock of the club and wondering who was doing the dirty deeds. I kept the Hunter dude from the Tampa Bay Outlaws in my sights. Outlaws. Wouldn’t that would be fitting if he were the culprit in question? With his hard eyes and big brawn he looked like he’d just as soon gut you with his big fucking buck knife as sit down and have a conversation with you.
I was busy keeping my radar focused on Hunter when Rayce leaned onto the bar beside me. I shifted my interest to the woman since Boomer seemed so intrigued by her.
“What’re you lookin’ at?” Her large hazel eyes contrasted with the dark hair, and her attitude was rough as road rash.
Boomer was in serious fucking deep trouble with this one. I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. I had my own vixen to deal with, and Ashe carried a gun, handcuffs, and a nightstick, so that was saying a lot.
“Just tryin’ to figure out what my brother Boomer sees in you.” I took another drink of water, amusement curling my lips.
“I wouldn’t strain too hard, baby.” Rayce’s husky laugh could probably give Cialis a run for its money in boner-inducing material.
Good thing I was well and truly taken.
She tossed her multicolor hair back. She was definitely cherry-young, but she wasn’t no cherry. “I’m not lookin’ for an old man. And Boomer? He’s so old, his eyesight’s probably going bad.”
Oh yeah. I slapped the bar. Fuck yeah. I hoped Rayce made Boomer shit-miserable and then really fucking happy. The woman had spark. I couldn’t wait to tell Boom. In fact, soon as Rayce headed back to the dartboard with her drink in hand, I tapped on my phone:
Met your girlfriend.
Who? Boomer replied.
Someone called Rayce. Good luck with that, buddy.
F.U. was his goodnight message to me.
I laughed all the fucking way home.
Chapter Fifteen
Alive
LIFE ROLLED ON. A week later, late Augus
t, I moved in with Ashe. She’d put some of her furniture in storage so I could have a few things from my folks. Cara kept Twatson—the gray tabby cat I had to call Watson in her presence—from getting underfoot too much while the house shuffle got into full gear. I left Shitlock with Boomer. Couldn’t let him get the house all to himself completely scot-free.
I expected to feel sad or guilty walking down the hallway from my old room and peering into my parents’ bedroom one last time before I left with my final load. Instead I felt lighter. I breathed easier. I wasn’t just moving out. I was moving on.
Cara and Ashe never gave me a chance to feel like a guest in their home. I was sucked into daily life immediately. The second all my shit was unpacked and put away, Ashe threw open the deck doors, ordered me to fire up the barbeque, and set me to grilling some steaks. She manned the kitchen, I took care of the Angus beef, and Cara made it her own personal goal to torment me with the peppiest pop music she could find on her iPod.
From then on, it never stopped. This living thing.
I learned a lot about Ashe over those first couple of weeks, details she probably didn’t know I paid attention to. She pocketed the wrong set of keys almost every time she left the house, dashing back inside to switch mine for hers. She never knew where her phone charger was, but when it came to her career she was even more organized than Cat, who could recite any parts order by heart. Folders from her cases spilled across the kitchen table, filled with colored tabs only she knew the system for.
Cara started back at school, and apparently this year it was big-time. Third grade big-time. Ashe worked insane hours, but she always had a moment to help with the homework. Before we got any adult time at night, Ashe usually spent a good hour chatting with Cara about her day and her friends. She’d sit and braid her daughter’s hair, laughing at stupid mindless crap on TV because Cara liked to watch all those pop singer contests that made my ears bleed.
Later, after Cara went to bed, I’d massage Ashe’s back and shoulders while I talked shit about the Retribution boys, and she talked shit about her coworkers. I’d even gotten her to call the chief Sipowicz, if just at home. Our own private joke.
I loved it all.
We worked on our bikes side by side, went on runs together. Ashe smiled at me sometimes when she thought I didn’t know, but I always did. I didn’t make a big deal out of it even though it made my heart big enough to burst out of my chest. She usually thought I was asleep at night before whispering a last I love you against my chest or neck or shoulder. She inevitably found out I wasn’t in snooze-ville when I rolled her over with a growled whisper of my own just so I could listen to her laugh. The laugh that slipped into a sigh as I moved, slowly, down her body.
One Saturday at the end of August, she surprised me, telling me Cara was at a friend’s for the day and to make sure my Harley was ready. We cruised out of Mt. Pleasant, Ashe’s grin setting my skin alight no less than the hot summer sun. An hour later, she signaled me to follow her off the main road and down a dusty dirt track. The path ended in a small stretch of white sandy beach way out in the boondocks on the Intracoastal Waterway.
The tangy smell of sea and brine filled my nose. The horizon stretched out in front of us as the waterway coursed a weaving pattern between tall grassy outcroppings on little land masses. The small cove created by marsh grasses and tight knit southern pines was completely private and it didn’t look like anyone was around for miles.
Ashe unpacked the bags on her bike, bringing out towels, a blanket, and a small cooler of food.
“What’s this all about?” I asked.
Shoving off her boots and skimming down her shorts, she swayed up to me. Her shirt disappeared next until she was left in a very tiny, very sexy, very revealing white bikini.
And my mouth went dry.
Looping her hands behind my neck, she pressed her warm body against mine. “To say I’m sorry for making you work so hard when I really wanted the exact same thing you did.”
“Which was?”
She tugged my T-shirt up and off, and started on the buttons of my jeans. “A life full of love with someone to share it with.”
I kissed her, driving my tongue against hers, as she fumbled with my pants. I stepped out of them and she ran her fingertips along my cock.
“I am so glad I forgot to tell you to bring a bathing suit, Brodie.”
Sweeping her off her feet, I toyed with the bikini top barely holding her tits inside. Her nipples were already sharp and showing beneath the nearly transparent material.
“Woman, looks like you won’t be needin’ this either.”
I slipped the knot at the top of her bikini free, sailing the fabric into the air. Carrying her into the warm, salty water, I plunged my hand into the bottoms and between her legs.
Her laughter dipped into a greedy moan, the water splashing around us. We wrestled in the water and made love in the gentle waves then messed around on the sandy beach for hours.
It was one of the best days I could remember, but still it didn’t compare with the simplest pleasure of banging into the house after a day at work, knowing she was inside, and calling out, “Hey, babe! I’m home.”
****
Despite our easy transition into finally having strings very fucking attached, I continued to bug Ashe about the Retribution case. Was it the whole club she was looking into? One or two people? Was it someone old? Someone new? Drugs? Money? Rackets? Guns?
Ashe point-blank refused to discuss it. She closed me down with her palm raised at me. Given the hand by my woman, my old lady, my babe . . . the lead detective in an investigation against my MC.
I knew she couldn’t involve me.
I knew she would not let my club swing in the breeze if there was any way she could help it.
I also knew I was getting to the end of my rope with this waiting around for her to make an arrest BS.
I couldn’t tell Boomer, Cat, Tuck, or anyone else what was going on. I popped TUMS instead. I went to work, made an effort to get my hands good and dirty with oil and grease and bike parts. I kept my ear to the ground at Chrome and Steele and at Retribution. Hell, I thought about installing fucking nanny cams in the clubhouse’s bunkrooms.
I heard nothing and learned nothing. I kept my eyes on the recent patch, that Hunter guy. The investigation had started roughly around the time he’d joined us. Maybe he was the one, and I should just take him out.
Nosing into his past with some helpful online background snooping, what I found was even more disturbing.
I told Ashe my findings later that evening. “There is no Hunter Sexton. I looked. I searched everywhere. He’s a freakin’ ghost in the machine. How the hell can that be possible?”
“Shut it down, Brodie.”
“But he looks mean as fuck. Even worse than Boomer. Totally capable of pulling off illegal activities. Not to mention his last MC went down in flames.”
“Not discussing this with you,” she scooped up an armload of files and loaded them into her briefcase, not once meeting my eyes.
“What about Dirk?” I asked in desperation.
Ashe laughed it off. “We both know he’s all bully and bluff. He’s too stupid to tie his own shoelaces, let alone mastermind something of this magnitude.”
“But there has to be something I can—”
“Brodie, you are going to compromise my investigation. Do you want me to nail the culprit or not?”
“Yes.” I gritted out between clenched teeth, my fists balled at my sides.
“Then Shut. It. Down. Now.” She closed her briefcase with a loud snap of finality. “I know it’s hard on you, and maybe I shouldn’t have told you. You cannot get involved. You do not want your name, or Boomer’s, tied to this. If you touch it, you become a suspect.” Her gaze locked on mine with total determination. “Do you understand me? I want you hands-off. I want you safe. I want you out of the way so I can finish my job and take the motherfuckers all the way down.”
“I want
you safe too.”
“And I am. I promise you. It’s not just Davies and me. We have a whole team. You cannot know anymore than you already do.” Clasping my face, she drew my lips to hers. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” I groaned.
Ashe stepped into my arms, and I closed her in my embrace.
“Thank you. Now, Cara is asleep, I just checked. I’ve had a long day. You’ve had a long day.” Kissing my jaw up to my lips, she whispered, “Take me to bed and be rough with me. I need to lose control, and you’re the only one I can do it with.”
That was something I could do, and it was a million times better than sitting around feeling useless while shit with my club spun out of control.
****
During the first week of September Boomer stuck his head inside my office while I happened to be sitting at my desk, taking a load off. He smirked at me. I closed my laptop.
“Before you even ask, not surfing porn. Don’t need to anymore.” No. I’d been busy running through all the Retribution and Chrome and Steele financial reports, looking for my own big break in the case. A horrifying thought struck me. What if it was Tuck?
“No porn. Got it. Just wanted to let you know Gigi Stone called. Leelee’s in labor.”
“Holy shit.” I planted my elbows on the desk. “That’s awesome news. ETBA?”
“ETBA?”
“Estimated Time of Baby Arrival.”
“I don’t know. That’s woman’s stuff. Does it look like I grew a uterus overnight?” His black eyebrows furrowed.
“Maybe so. Since you haven’t gotten laid in about ten years.”
“You don’t know who I’ve fucked or how or how often. Besides, I’m working an angle.” His shy grin said everything. He was seriously into someone, most likely that Rayce.
Rather than razz him, I asked, “What else do you know about Leelee?”
“Her water broke about an hour ago. Josh busted ass to MUSC downtown.”
“Nick knows it’s happenin’?”
“I’m pretty sure Uncle Wicky is on the on-call list, yeah.”
