Chapter Ten
Ronan
I was just leaving my office when I heard the roar of motorcycles outside. I glanced out the window to the back alley below… and swore under my breath.
I locked up, set the alarm, and headed downstairs to the parking lot, where a couple of Harleys were rolling in.
I recognized the guy on the lead bike. His build, the attitude that emanated off him as thick as the smell of exhaust, and that blond hair in a short ponytail poking out from under his helmet…
They roared right past me, then stopped and backed into a couple of spots in the otherwise empty lot, right next to my car. They shut off the bikes and took off their helmets, and the blond smoothed back his hair like he was fucking James Dean. Just double the size and triple the asshole.
Piper Grayson. Jude’s older brother.
Vice President of the West Coast Kings motorcycle club.
They got off the bikes and sauntered toward me. I stood where I was, the duffel bag with my gun slung over my shoulder.
I had no idea if they were carrying. They weren’t openly wearing their club colors, but the Kings didn’t usually wear them in broad daylight in the city. Piper wore his leather Kings cut underneath a hoodie, and his club brother wore his under a black bomber jacket.
Piper took off his sunglasses as they approached me.
“Ronan,” he said. “Been a while.”
“It has.”
For whatever reason, he smirked. “This is Blazer.”
I looked at the guy who stood just behind him and off to the side, watching me. Blazer. Sounded like a biker’s road name, if I’d ever heard one; really doubted his mama named him that at birth.
Piper wasn’t born Piper either. I’d gone to high school with him, back when he was better known as Jeremy Grayson.
Back when we were both assholes-in-training, one of us destined for the army and the other probably destined for hard time in prison. Instead, I became a security professional, and he became a professional criminal who’d somehow avoided prison. So far.
I nodded at Blazer or whoever the fuck he was. “Ronan Sterling,” I said.
Blazer hooked his right thumb deliberately into his jeans pocket, which pushed his jacket open, exposing the Secretary patch on his vest. Which meant he was one of the Kings’ officers.
Not a casual social call, then.
Big surprise.
I should’ve fucking known that Jude wasn’t gonna leave this to me to handle.
“Jude tells me you’ve got a situation,” Piper said.
“Not one I can’t handle.”
Piper grinned slowly, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and it made the scar down the side of his otherwise handsome face look even more unholy. “Humor me. Jude says this Sanchuk kid is a Sinners hangaround?”
“He’s thirty-six,” I said, deadpan.
“And yet he’s acting like a punk.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“He broke into Summer’s house?”
It was instantaneous, the way my back got up when he dropped her name like that. “You know Summer?”
“We’re friendly,” he said, not really telling me a thing. Had to hand it to him, he had the dead-eye thing down. That look probably made lesser men shit their shorts.
But since I was dead inside myself, it didn’t really do much for me.
“How friendly?” I inquired.
“She doesn’t send me titty pics or anything. If that’s what you’re gettin’ at.”
“I wasn’t getting at anything. Just asking.”
“My brother has concerns,” he informed me. “His job is keeping Dirty and their families safe. He considers Summer part of that family. Which means I’ve got concerns of my own. He’s far the fuck away right now. Put you in charge. He needs my help, I’m here to help.”
Yeah, I got that. Brotherhood and loyalty and all that shit.
But I wasn’t so naive to believe that brotherhood was all this was about. The fact that the Sinners were somehow involved, however indirectly, was what had him here bright and early on a Sunday morning getting up my ass.
“Appreciate it,” I said. “Right now, I’m looking at anyone and everyone in Summer’s world, assessing the situation so I can keep her secure. And Blair Sanchuk didn’t break into her house. He climbed the wall to the balcony off her bedroom. That’s as far as he got before the VPD canine unit tore into him.”
“Fuck, I love dogs,” Piper said.
Blazer smiled. He hadn’t taken off his sunglasses, but he was definitely staring me down this whole time.
“How’s the good ol’ VPD handling things so far?” Piper asked me. “You get that restraining order yet?”
Jesus, did Jude tell him everything?
Yup. Of course he did.
“Not yet,” I said, carefully, wondering how much I was gonna tell him. “We’re waiting for it. I’m hoping Sanchuk will just sign the peace bond so we don’t have to go to court.” If he voluntarily signed it, agreeing to abide by the terms of the restraining order, it ended there, no need to press the matter.
That was our best case scenario.
“He’ll sign it,” Piper said.
I studied him. What the fuck was he planning?
My instinct was to tell him to stay the fuck out of my job. But at the same time…
I wanted Sanchuk to sign that piece of paper.
“You have something in mind?”
“Let’s just say he’ll be instructed on what’s expected of him,” Piper said.
“You can consider it a peace bond of our own,” Blazer added. He gave me a feral smile.
At a glance, “Blazer” looked more like a dude who belonged in a motorcycle ad aimed at coke-snorting stockbrokers who wanted to play biker on the weekend, than an actual biker.
Though the tats on his knuckles that said SHIT HEAD spoke volumes.
“All I ask of you in return,” Piper informed me, “is once the restraining order is in place, if this Sanchuk fuck breaks any of the conditions, you see him around or Summer tells you he’s tried to contact her, you tell me first. Me,” he stressed.
“First…” I repeated. “As in, before the police?”
“Before anyone. I want to know the second it happens, if it happens. Though I don’t think it’ll be too fuckin’ likely. What do you think, Blaze?”
“Not likely,” Blazer agreed. “Not after we have a little afternoon tea with him.”
Afternoon tea?
Yeah, I did not want to know whatever that meant.
Piper took a step toward me, getting a little too in my face for my liking. “You let me deal with it,” he said in a lowered voice, “and it will get dealt with. Case I’m not being clear, that means you don’t tell the cops a thing.”
“No offense, Jeremy,” I said evenly. “But I don’t want any debt to the Kings, and I definitely don’t want Summer having any.”
Piper laughed. Then his hand landed on my shoulder, and he squeezed. Not too hard, but hard enough. “Relax, Sterling. You’re really not that important to me. It’s got jack shit to do with you or her.” He stood back a bit and looked me up and down. “Hear my man Maddox is takin’ care of her right now. Tell him I say hi.”
Then he slapped the side of my face, gently.
I ground my teeth.
… takin’ care of her…
Fuck, I wanted to slug him in the side of his smug face for that. Right on the fucking button. I was fast enough and I packed enough power into a punch that I was pretty damn sure I could land that strike and have him on the ground, out cold, before his club brother knew what happened.
But he knew I wouldn’t. Which was exactly why he was pushing my buttons.
Because he knew he could get away with it.
I didn’t want any war with him, because a war with him meant a war with the Kings. Only an idiot would let himself get baited into that.
He nodded to Blazer, and they took off. Got on their bikes and
roared out of the lot. Blazer flipped me a tattooed middle finger as he rolled past.
I watched them go.
I would never have believed Piper—that this had nothing to do with me or Summer and therefore we owed no debt to the Kings for it—except that in this case, I knew it was true. It had everything to do with Piper looking out for his brother, and a whole lot of shit to do with the Kings and the Sinners that I’d rather not know about.
One thing I did know: now that Blair Sanchuk—God help him—was on the Kings’ radar, he wasn’t likely to show his face again. Call it survival of the fittest, street style.
A lowlife like that was bound to cross the wrong someone, somewhere along the line. And it looked like he’d just crossed that line.
If Piper said he’d be dealt with, he’d be dealt with. And maybe that should’ve made me feel better.
It didn’t.
That gut feeling of mine? The fucking instinctual twitch that I never ignored? It was going off right now, itching at the base of my skull.
Everything about this job felt… off.
It was getting messier by the minute.
More complicated than it should’ve been.
Between the police, the Kings, and the show of protection that Summer now had around her at all times, I should’ve been feeling better about her situation.
But I didn’t.
At least now I was pretty damn sure the restraining order was guaranteed.
I went to my car and put my bag in the trunk, slid into the driver’s seat. Then I pulled out my phone to text Naveen.
Me: Let tail know, watch for Kings. I want to know if he sees them around.
Me: Or any nefarious dudes at all who aren’t Sinners.
Naveen got back to me right away. The man lived with a BlueTooth bud in his ear.
Naveen: Piper?
Me: He’s invested.
Naveen: Great. Watch your back.
Yeah, I’d be doing that.
I pulled out of the lot and headed for my apartment.
I wasn’t afraid of Piper and his club. I’d never crossed them, and I didn’t plan to start. Piper and I weren’t exactly besties, though. Never had been.
I may or may not have stolen his prom date on a dare, once upon a time.
At least I married her, so I was pretty sure he’d let that go long ago.
Piper Grayson would never be patching me into his band of blood brothers and I didn’t want him to, but we had a certain mutual respect. Ish.
With that gnarly instinct still prickling at the base of my skull, though, I called Maddox again while I was driving. Didn’t hurt to check in again.
He didn’t answer.
I couldn’t reach Summer either.
Brody had sent me a screenshot of her schedule for this week, and she didn’t have anything marked down for this morning. But she was probably just in her studio. Or listening to music in her music room. Or doing yoga.
That’s what I told myself, but I didn’t like it.
I stopped off at my apartment to store my gun and pack an overnight bag with some things. Then I packed up the saddlebag on my bike and pulled it out of the garage.
I called Maddox again. This time, I left him a voicemail. “Hey, asshole. Pick up your phone when I call you.”
Then I rolled out of the parking lot and burned it back to Summer’s house.
I didn’t like being out of contact.
I told myself not to worry. She was safe at home. But that prickling feeling was only growing worse.
And it didn’t matter who actually had eyes on her at any given moment; Summer was my client and my responsibility.
I felt that way about all my clients.
At least that’s what I kept telling myself as her pale-blue eyes flashed in my mind.
When I parked my bike alongside Maddox’s in her driveway and burst through the front door—the new lock was in, but it was unlocked—I found Maddox in the living room, power drill in hand.
“What happened? You didn’t answer your phone.”
“I was drilling. And putting out fires here. Didn’t know you called.”
“What fires?”
“Summer came down here crying—”
“What? Why didn’t you call me?”
His eyebrows went up. “I didn’t think it was an all-stations-alert situation. Nothing happened. She just yelled at me about some key—”
I was already heading for the hallway. “Where is she?”
“Upstairs,” he said, following me. “She’s fine.”
“Stay there,” I barked as I jogged up the hall. I took the stairs to her bedroom two-by-two, really hearing myself in my head.
What the fuck.
Since when was my client’s emotional management in my job description?
And yet I was mildly livid that Maddox didn’t call me because she was crying.
I knocked on her door. “Summer?”
She opened the door. She wasn’t crying, but she definitely had been. She was dressed now, makeup on, but her eyes looked pink and a little puffy. She looked fucking sad.
“Ronan,” she breathed.
The tension in my chest loosened at the relief in her voice and her eyes. If I had a heart, it probably would’ve skipped a beat. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She sighed. “I couldn’t find the house key, you know, the one from the coffee can? I got all freaked out thinking someone took it and… I kinda yelled at Maddox. Then I found it, in a dresser drawer. I forgot I put it in there. It was incredibly stupid. Does Maddox think I’m a diva now?”
“It’s alright,” I said.
And who the fuck cares what Maddox thinks.
“I actually forgot they’d just changed the locks. I totally panicked.” Her blue eyes gleamed with tears. “I think… this whole thing is getting to my head.”
“That’s totally natural,” I assured her.
It was. Unfortunately, I’d had other clients who’d been stalked. Threatened.
Attacked.
And I knew.
For weeks, months, even years, an event like this might play out in her head, working its way through her psyche, manifesting in any number of ways. Fear and anxiety and emotional meltdowns.
Strides forward and setbacks.
Her security had been violated, and even though it could’ve been much, much worse… there was a toll it would take, and she’d be paying it.
Victims always did.
She wrapped her arms around herself. “I hate being alone, Ronan. I don’t like being alone and under guard. It freaks me out.”
“That’s understandable. Here.” I placed my hands on her shoulders and gently steered her over to the pretty bench at the foot of her bed… touching her, which I’d told myself I wasn’t gonna do. There was no need to put my hands on her.
But I did.
I wanted to make her feel safe, and I’d do that any way I could.
She sat, and I took my hands back. I sat down next to her. “We can make some changes, to make this work for you. Whatever you need. You need to feel safe and secure in your own home.”
She nodded.
“What do you need, Summer?”
She took a breath. “I need to have my friends over. I want to have a party.”
I would’ve laughed, it sounded so absurd to me. But she was serious.
She looked up at me, and God help me, I was a sucker for those pale-blue eyes.
“Okay,” I told her. “Then we’ll have a party.”
Chapter Eleven
Summer
I thought I was okay. I really did.
But then Ronan left, and anxiety started to slip in through the cracks.
Yesterday, I flipped out over a “lost” key that wasn’t even lost. A key that didn’t even open any doors to my house anymore, since the locks had been changed. I even yelled at Maddox at the peak of my freak-out—and felt like a complete asshole afterwards.
Then Ronan returned.
And holy shit, that was inconvenient.
I’d watched from my bedroom window as he parked and took off his helmet. The bike was big and badass and all-black. And the man riding it? He’d ditched his plain leather jacket in favor of a rugged black leather motorcycle jacket, his dress shoes in favor of boots.
And he looked waaay too hot straddling that machine with his muscular, jean-clad thighs.
I leapt back from the window as he got off; I wasn’t sure if he’d caught me scoping him out.
But when he appeared at my bedroom door, I’d almost flung myself into his arms.
How could someone I’d just met make me feel so damn safe?
Maddox didn’t make me feel that safe. He didn’t make me feel unsafe, either. I didn’t actually think anything was going to happen to me, in my own home, in the middle of the day, with him and his guys here. I knew, technically, I was safe. But I didn’t feel it until Ronan rode his bike into my driveway.
And then I heard him semi-yelling at Maddox downstairs.
Later, when Maddox and his guys left, I’d slipped him a nice, fat joint that I’d personally rolled with my favorite Amaretto-flavored rolling papers, and an apology. At least it didn’t seem like he was gonna carry any kind of grudge. I actually got more of a “he thinks I’m prone to hysteria, but cute” vibe.
After that, I’d been up half the night, at least, unable to sleep. Just feeling restless and uneasy. And jumping at every little noise from outside.
Today, I’d tried to keep my mind occupied with other things. I’d asked a few friends to come over to help me get ready for the party tonight. And I’d remembered to book myself a hair appointment with my amazing stylist. Elle kept insisting there was no discernible damage from the hair-catching-on-fire incident, but I wanted a trim just to be sure.
Then I’d spent the rest of the morning chatting with my bandmates, trying to distract myself. I’d talked to both Ashley and Xander over the phone, and I’d been messaging Matt, commenting on his Instagram posts from the Dirty tour. Matt Brohmer was one of the few rock stars I knew at his level who actually posted his own stuff. Ash and Xander sure as hell didn’t.
Sweet Temptation: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 3) Page 15
