by Joanna Wylde
“Jesus!” someone shouted. “Call the cops!”
Great, exactly what I needed.
“Talia, don’t be an idiot,” I told her, thankful that I had more than my fair share of experience dealing with female drama from the strip club. “You can’t fight me and you have no place here.”
“This is my town. Mine. When Marsh gets back—”
“Marsh isn’t coming back,” I said bluntly, reaching for my wallet. Keeping a close eye on her, I opened it and pulled out five hundred-dollar bills, holding them out to her. “Take the money and leave. You’re young—there’s no reason this needs to be your life.”
She snatched the money out of my hand, baring her teeth. “I’m not some fucking whore you can pay off. I’ll make you pay. I’ll make both of you pay! That cunt of yours is nothing, you hear me? Nothing. She can’t do what I do. She’s got a stick up her ass so high that—”
A siren blipped, and we both looked up to see a cop car pulling up to the curb. Talia’s eyes widened, and then she took off running. I stared after her, sighing heavily.
Tinker doesn’t deserve this.
Fuck.
The same cop I’d seen the night before at Tinker’s place got out of the car, looking after Talia as she ran. Then he glanced at me and I shrugged.
“We have a problem here?” he asked, looking over my MC colors nervously. We knew the local police were in bed with the Nighthawks, but I wasn’t a hundred percent sure that they knew about the shift of power. I shook my head.
“She’s pissed that I’m dating someone new,” I said. “Went after my girl inside—Tinker Garrett—and when I hauled her out, she attacked me in the parking lot.”
“That’s true,” someone said, and I looked over to find a gaggle of watchers.
“She went crazy,” a woman said, holding up her phone. “I got the whole thing on video if you want to see it.”
The cop shot me another look, then walked over to the woman, to take a look at the phone. I heard the faint, tinny sounds of the video as he watched. The recording ended, and he glanced back toward me.
“I’ll need to talk to the folks inside, and get a statement from everyone,” he said.
“I’m not interested in pressing charges.”
“We’re not at that point yet,” he replied, eyes darting toward the Reapers patches on my vest. “Let’s go find Tinker and take it from there.”
He gestured for me to precede him into the bar, so I turned and walked back inside, all too aware there was an armed cop at my back. Never a good position. Then I stopped, because Tinker wasn’t at the table, just a stack of bills to cover our dinner.
Fuck.
I turned back to the cop and shrugged. “Mind if I check my phone? Looks like Tinker went somewhere.”
He gave me an assessing look, then nodded his head. I opened my vest so he could see inside, then slowly reached into the inside pocket to pull out my phone. Sure enough, there was a message from Tinker.
Double fuck.
“She’s gone,” I said bluntly. “Caught a ride home because of the drama.”
The cop sighed, swallowing. “Okay, let me talk to a few witnesses in here and we’ll see what they have to say.”
“Talia Jackson was being totally crazy,” one of the waitresses announced. Several other people nodded in agreement. “She just ran up to them and started screaming. Then she tried to attack Tinker, so this guy hauled her outside before she could hurt anyone.”
The cop sighed again, rubbing at his temples. “Okay, and nobody wants to file a complaint or press charges?”
He looked around, but nobody responded.
“All right, I’ll swing by Tinker’s place to make sure she’s okay, seeing as Talia’s gone. If Tinker’s fine, we’ll call it good.”
• • •
I wanted to trail the cop to Tinker’s place, but the last thing I needed was to come off looking like a stalker. Not only that, I wanted to cool down first anyway. She’d asked for time, and hard as it was, I figured I should probably give her some. I decided to ride out to the clubhouse to clear my head, seeing as I really needed to check in with Pic and the boys anyway.
Only took a few minutes to get there. Outside the building I found the usual line of bikes with a prospect out front to keep an eye on them, but these bikes belonged to my brothers from Coeur d’Alene.
“Pic inside?” I asked the prospect. He nodded, and I opened the door to find the men sitting around, laughing and talking. I took in the scene, spotting Picnic, Hunter, and Cord sitting around a table in the back having what looked to be an intense talk. Then Pic spotted me and waved me over.
“How was your date?” he asked, smirking. “Looks like it ended earlier than you planned.”
Rolling my eyes, I pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. Pic slid an unopened beer toward me. Popping the top, I took a drink and then set it down. “That cunt Talia showed up at Jack’s. Tried to attack Tinker, made a hell of a scene.”
Cord raised a brow. “You keep your shit tight?”
“Yeah,” I told him. “Got Talia out of there. Gave her some money and suggested she leave town. She talked to Marsh somehow—they’re out to get us, no question. Marsh made threats, too.”
“Marsh won’t be coming back, not for years,” Hunter said, leaning forward against the table. “I like that Dobie Coales guy—doesn’t blink, doesn’t back down. If he says it’s covered, I tend to believe him.”
“If Marsh gets out somehow, we’ll deal with him,” Cord added grimly. “Fucker sets foot in this town, we’ll put him in the ground. Still can’t believe it got to this. We’re lucky you didn’t take our colors and call it good.”
“Nobody wins if we lose good men who’ve been loyal for years,” Pic said. “And the brothers in prison are counting on us. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, but it’s not like you voted for him.”
“No, he already had the club under control when I finished my term,” Cord said, sighing.
Pic turned to me. “So why are you here and not standing outside Tinker’s window with a boom box?”
“Because I’m stupid, but I’m not that stupid,” I answered, shrugging. “Last time you told me to cool off before going to see her—I didn’t and things fell to shit. Even I can learn. I’ll go talk to her after I finish here.”
“You gonna bring her to the party tomorrow night? London wants to meet her. All the girls do, actually. You’ll be providing our entertainment for the evening.”
“In that case, I’m definitely not bringing her,” I announced, folding my arms and leaning back in my chair. Pic snorted, and I shook my head for emphasis. Then my president frowned.
“Ah fuck,” he said. “You win. We’ll be good, but for the love of God, bring the woman. Otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it. Consider that a direct order from your president, for what it’s worth.”
Raising my beer, I gave him a little salute, then looked to Hunter.
“You taking good care of our Emmy girl?” I asked. Hunter and Picnic’s daughter—Em—had been together for nearly two years now, and while the two men could stand to be in the same room together, I wouldn’t have called them close.
“Em’s gorgeous, like always,” Hunter said, grinning. “I’m a lucky man.”
“She pretty wild in the sack?” I asked, shooting a sly glance toward my president.
Pic stiffened. “Shut your fucking mouth. We’re not having a conversation about my daughter’s sex life. Ever.”
Mission accomplished. I took another healthy swallow of beer, then pulled out my phone to see what time it was.
“Think I’ll go check on Tinker before it gets too late.”
TINKER
GAGE: I’ll be at your place in 20 minutes so we can talk
ME: Tomorrow. Too much drama for one night
GAGE: I’m not going away Tinker. We need to deal with this
ME: Too tired. Grumpy. I have to be up early tomorrow anyway.
GAGE: 20 min
utes
I dropped the phone on the couch, flopping back to stare at the ceiling. God, but I was sick of pushy men. Suddenly the strains of “The Imperial March” burst out of my phone, and I jumped.
You summoned him with your thoughts, I told myself darkly, reaching for the cell. Sure enough, Brandon was calling me, because I hadn’t suffered enough for one night. Some people die from weird, rare diseases. I’m going to die from a pushy-male overdose.
“Yes?” I asked, my voice sharp.
“Just listen to me,” he said. “Okay?”
I considered the request. “If I give you five minutes, once I hang up you don’t call again. Ever. All further communication goes through the lawyers.”
“Five minutes,” he agreed, although I knew him far too well to believe he actually meant it. Whatever. Worst-case scenario, maybe I could get a restraining order. That’d look just great for his campaign, now wouldn’t it? “I’ve been doing more research on your handyman. Did you know his most recent job was managing a strip club? The place was raided repeatedly, and—”
“He convicted of anything?” I asked.
“He’s a gang member,” Brandon insisted. “It doesn’t matter if he’s convicted of anything—we all know he’s guilty.”
“Huh, I’m not an attorney, but even I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works, Brandon. Innocent until proven guilty. Oh, and he already told me about the strip club. Not a huge surprise.”
Brandon fell silent for a moment.
“You knew about the strippers?” he asked, obviously shocked. “This isn’t like you, Tinker. What’s happened to you?”
“Brandon, you don’t know me anymore,” I said pointedly. “I’m not sure you ever did. Are we done?”
“No,” he said quickly. “Don’t hang up. Here’s the thing—I want to announce soon. It would be so much better if you were here.”
“No, it’d be worse, because the last thing you want is me telling all your supporters what a douchebag you are. How much you want to bet those nice people wouldn’t be so quick to back you if they knew you’d decided working was more important than your child dying?”
“It wasn’t like that—you had a miscarriage. I’m sorry, but women have them all the time.”
Did he just actually say that?
“Did you say what I think you said?” I asked sharply. For a man so good at reading juries, he wasn’t real bright.
“I’m sorry,” he replied quickly. “I didn’t mean it. I’m under a lot of pressure and—”
Whatever he said next, I didn’t hear it because I’d already cut off the call. I pulled a couch cushion over my lap, hugging it close.
He wasn’t going to make me cry again.
Not ever.
No matter how bad it hurt.
I’d survived my marriage, I’d survived losing Tricia, and when my mom passed, I made it through that, too. Brandon didn’t get to hurt me—not ever again. I was still sitting there brooding when Gage knocked on the door. Leaning my head back, I stared at the ceiling, wondering if he’d go away if I just ignored him.
No, probably not. He was almost as pushy as Brandon.
Of course, Gage hadn’t heartlessly abandoned me on the worst day of my life, so I guess he had that going for him. Biting back a hysterical laugh, I walked over to the door and opened it. Sure enough, a very determined-looking biker stood on my front porch.
“We’ll talk outside,” I said firmly, determined to stand my ground. When he didn’t move out of the way, I ducked under his arm, moving past him to lean against the porch rail.
“I’m sorry about Talia,” he said, studying me carefully. “Wish you’d waited for me, though.”
“I’d had enough drama,” I told him, shrugging, the memory of all those eyes watching me twisting my stomach. “And it’s not like we’re a couple.”
“My dick was inside you three hours ago,” he replied, eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what that makes us, but it’s fair to say we’ve moved past landlord and tenant. Usually when I take a girl out, I like to make sure she gets back home again safe. Hard to do when she disappears on me.”
“No,” I said shortly, making a snap decision.
“No?” he asked.
“Just . . . no,” I repeated. “I had fun, but the thing with Talia? That’s a deal breaker. I can’t have a crazy woman randomly attacking me all the time.”
“I gave her money and told her to get out of town,” he said, silently acknowledging the point.
“Oh, and I’m sure she’ll just go happily, because criminally insane people always listen to reason.”
Gage cocked his head. “You trying to start a fight? Because I can think of better ways to work off energy.”
“God, are all men so completely clueless?” I mused. “Brandon’s on my case tonight, too.”
“That fucker’s bothering you again?” he asked, freezing. “I’ll take care of him.”
I snorted. “You know, that’s kind of the problem.”
“What?”
“You’re too much like him.”
“What the fuck?” Gage asked, stepping toward me. He caught my shoulders, forcing me to turn toward him. “I am nothing like your ex-husband.”
“You’re both pushy as hell,” I snapped back at him. “He’s trying to protect me from you, did you know that? He’s been investigating you. Says you’re a criminal and that your club is a gang. Is that true, Gage? Don’t bother answering—you’re too good of a liar for me to believe you anyway.”
“Stop it,” he snarled, pulling me into his body. Then his fingers were in my hair, jerking my head back, forcing me to look at him.
“Stop what?” I asked with a sneer. “Telling the truth? Stop being afraid your crazy-ass girlfriend is going to gut me? Or did you want me to stop thinking for myself and do whatever you say, because I have to admit, I’m over it. If I wanted a man who gives me orders, I’d just go back to Brandon. At least I don’t have to worry about him getting arrested all the time.”
Gage’s dark eyes flashed. His jaw tightened, and for an instant I wondered if I’d gone too far.
“Oh, I wouldn’t count on that,” he said. “His hands aren’t exactly squeaky-clean.”
I stilled, his eyes boring through mine as I processed what I’d just heard.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“You heard what I said.”
My thoughts raced as the implications hit me. Those fancy suits of his . . . he always said his family had money, but when we’d first gotten married, he’d only been able to afford a small ring. And the ring was important to him—he liked the idea of his wife wearing a rock. That’s why he kept upgrading it.
He’d been calling me, desperate to get back together.
My lawyer couldn’t seem to get the financial paperwork from his lawyer.
“Oh shit,” I said, eyes widening. “Oh shit . . . how long?”
“Years,” he replied. “At least, according to my sources. We’re still looking into it.”
“How is he getting away with it?” I asked, shaking my head slowly. Then I had a new thought. “Wait. What about our house?”
“What about it?”
“Did he pay for it with . . . you know.”
“No idea,” Gage said. “And no idea how long he’s been dirty. All I know is the word’s out—Brandon Graham is for sale.”
“But he’s a crusader,” I said, still not quite believing him. “I mean, he’s prosecuted motorcycle gangs like yours. He really believes in this stuff. A whole bunch of bikers went to jail—he won. And what about that serial-killer guy? He’s a hero, at least that’s how they see him in Seattle.”
“I said he was dishonest, not stupid,” he said. “A man like that with political aspirations? He’s not going to throw the big cases. It’s the littler ones. Going soft on a DUI, pleading people out with time served and probation. If he was obvious about it, they’d have caught him by now. Once he announces his campaign they’ll be looking clo
ser. He can’t afford a loose end like you.”
I leaned into him, dropping my forehead against his chest. All of a sudden the pieces fell together, and I felt like a moron—I’d just been too busy building my business to notice.
“I’m an idiot,” I said miserably. Gage’s hand started rubbing my back slowly as I tried to process everything.
“No, you just don’t think like a criminal.”
I sighed, then looked back up at him. “And you do?”
Gage held my gaze steadily.
“Remember my promise not to lie?” he asked. I nodded, feeling sick to my stomach. “I’ve committed crimes. Some of them I’d do again, given the chance. Others I’m ashamed of. But I’ve never put an innocent man in prison because he wouldn’t pay me off.”
I swallowed, feeling sick to my stomach.
“Brandon’s done that? I mean, it’s one thing to let a guilty man go, but to set someone up . . . ?”
“Yeah, seriously,” Gage said sadly. “It’s happened to men I know, and it happens more than you’d like to think. Bikers are easy targets—we scare juries. Your ex has used that in the past, at least according to my sources. Those high-profile club cases helped put him on the map. I didn’t make the connection at first. My brothers put it together for me.”
“How long have you known?”
“Not long,” he said, wrapping his arms around me, hugging me close. It felt good. Warm. Safe.
“I don’t think I’m ever getting married again,” I muttered, wishing I could just close my eyes and make it all go away. Travel back in time, go to a different college. Marry some nice guy who sold insurance for a living. “Who’d have thought he could get even worse? I mean, for real—what else is he hiding?”
Gage gave a soft laugh.
“Does it matter?” he asked. “You’ll be free of him soon. If your lawyer can’t pull it off for you, ours will. He’s a fucking shark.”
I shivered and he pulled me closer.
His phone gave a chime in his pocket. A loud one. Then it started buzzing.
“You better check that,” I said, trying to pull away. “It’s late—usually people don’t get in touch this late unless it’s an emergency.”
