In the years since he’d quit the force, he’d found himself adopting the style he’d become accustomed to in Cali, and the only time he rethought the idea of long hair was like now, when it was hot, or when dealing with the aftermath if he forgot to put it up for a ride. When he focused on the group of people, the woman’s mouth still hanging open, one of the men had closed the distance between them and stood close behind her, arms folded across his chest.
Introductions took only a moment, and Gypsy tried to match the names of the club members from the files Myron had sent.
Vicious, government name Saxon Black, was more than just a member of the Caroline Springs chapter of the Hawks; he was also the missing woman’s defender. Not boyfriend, that distinction belonged to a man called Fang, and why he wasn’t here to pick the traveling Rebel up, Gypsy wasn’t sure. If it had been his woman taken like Nary had been, Gypsy knew he wouldn’t let any stone go unturned. The other man who’d come, Dallas, was harder to figure out. Based on Myron’s info, he’d been a Hawk for a while, but had proven difficult to track within their organization. In person, he didn’t seem quite as impartial as Myron had indicated, and Gypsy wondered if it was because of Nary’s abduction.
The woman, Melissa, was exactly as Mason described her. Tough, smart, smart-mouthed, and compassionate. She was also cute as hell, something Dallas had clearly noticed. Gypsy smirked from his position in the front seat of the vehicle, listening to the professed “not a couple” snark and snipe at each other. This was a tale in the making, for sure.
Less than half an hour after they’d walked out of the airport, he was standing in a meeting room at the club’s compound, doing his best to keep all the names straight. Stoke, Nary’s father was there, and the pain in his face was hard to see. Gypsy was staggering on his feet in exhaustion, but he gave them the info Myron had sent him and found they were all on the same page with how to deal with the flesh trader named Baxter.
Fast, hard, and no mercy.
***
“No girl, no cash. You think because I’m American I’m stupid, Baxter?” Gypsy shook his head in counterfeit distress, pushing to his feet from the low couch. Everything about the room screamed Baxter’s need to put himself in a superior position, and that only echoed the self-important details about the kidnapper’s compound far in the country. His men were strolling the grounds with visible weapons, but Gypsy could read the men’s unease with having so much firepower. If it came down to a fight, they wouldn’t be anything near a match for the Hawks. Now he had to talk Baxter into bringing him the girl so he could communicate the plan. Stoke and Talon both swore she had a steady head on her shoulders, and they were confident if he could tell her what was going down, she’d find a way to help. Fuck, I hope they’re right.
“I’ve got the girl. No worries.” Baxter leaned against the wall, managing to look prissy doing even that. “I want to see the cash.”
“You’ve already seen it.” Gypsy had opened the case at the gate as instructed and aimed it to where a camera could see. They’d already known about the camera, but it was validation for Myron’s info. The Hawks were able to hear everything he did, thanks to some tech the Hawks’ member Beast had handed over. They’d claimed it was undetectable, and so far, they’d been proven right, as Baxter’s man had run a wand over Gypsy, coming up with nothing. “No need to play show and tell again. You want a deal? Then I want. To see. The girl.”
Baxter gestured towards the door and ordered, “Malcolm, go get her.”
No one spoke while they waited for the man to return, Gypsy’s gaze never leaving Baxter’s face. Filth, he thought, I’m in the presence of filth. He didn’t know if he’d ever had to fight such a strong an urge to kill a man. Here sat a wealthy beast, someone who appeared to be any businessman you’d meet on the street, but his trade was flesh. And not willing flesh, either. Other than Nary, which was personal, he seemed to specialize in women who wouldn’t be missed, preying on vulnerable girls for his own, vast profit. Dickweed needs to die.
The door opened, and it was all Gypsy could do to stay seated on the couch. The woman, scarcely more than a girl, walked in. She cringed away at the forced proximity to one of her jailers. Clearly, the man had put his hands on her in a damaging way, and Gypsy casually marked him for death. Her face was bruised and scabbed, and she carried a hell of a scar there that thankfully appeared to predate her abduction. She looked at Gypsy and her chin lifted even as her eyes blinked rapidly, forcing back tears. A fighter, just like her father had said.
It was the work of moments to maneuver the girl near enough for him to lean in, his voice audible only to her as he spoke quickly. Once the Hawks knew he had her within reach, they’d begin executing the plan for extraction, and he didn’t have long to prep her. For an instant, he wasn’t certain his words had registered, but when he pulled back, making another crass remark to keep the illusion of the callous high-dollar purchase going, in her eyes was a glint that told him she wasn’t done fighting. Good girl.
Counting down the seconds, he found his trust in the Hawks was well placed when Talon, Dodge, Stoke, and Vicious came through the door, exactly on time. His focus was on Nary as she was his primary objective, at least until she was back in her father’s arms.
Everything was going perfectly, until she told him there was another woman.
Learning to live
Gypsy gripped the bottle in his hand tightly and lifted the beer to his lips to take a deep pull, swallowing hard to drive the taste of bile from the back of his throat at the memories.
Every time his brain walked through the events six nights ago, it was the same. Successful insertion, the dead men buying his portrayal of an entitled American acquiring a revenge toy for his deviant boss, guiding the girl into a position where she could be protected…and the piercing cry of fear and pain that had him driving his shoulder against a closed door to open a cell filled with the stench of terror.
That woman was Kelsey, the one Nary had told him needed rescuing.
I’m never going to forget it.
Kelsey had looked at him with eyes resigned to whatever fate he brought with him. He hadn’t missed her response to him killing her attacker. Not that he’d intended to kill the man, but the asshole had the unfortunate position of being between Gypsy and the woman. Motherfucker had been on her, moving, hurting her and ignoring her pain. The dead man had been laughing as he straightened his clothes, the wet knob of his stiff dick hidden behind his zipper, but Gypsy knew, he fucking knew the man didn’t give a shit the impression he’d left on the woman was life-long. One twist, a quick movement, and Gypsy had separated spine from skull in an action that felt natural and practiced.
Then Kelsey, the woman possessing beauty of face and form even grime, fatigue, and terror couldn’t hide, had offered her neck to him. Asking without words for him to grant her peace.
He’d remembered the rattle of a gurney’s wheels as they carried his best friend’s still body to the cooler at the back of the morgue.
Kelsey had asked for peace, and he’d given it to her, just not in the way she’d expected. Instead of ending her, he’d promised with everything in him to keep her safe.
And she believed him. Believed in him like no one had, not even Claudia.
Bringing her with them hadn’t been easy. The Hawks were focused on their girl, but Nary had been determined to save Kelsey, too. It had taken only a moment to have a word with Talon, but giving Kelsey a clear path to the outside had been worth that word, the bodies of Baxter’s men moved out of sight so the only thing for her to flinch from were memories. It tore him up to feel her trembling, pressed tightly to his side, one hand wound in the fabric of the shirt he’d placed on her. She’d needed the layers of warmth, so skinny you could see every rib along her side through the thin nightgown she’d worn. Gypsy hadn’t paused to analyze how satisfying it had been to see her in something of his, he’d just done it, and then pulled her close.
With Nary on her other side,
they’d walked from the facility, finally entering the cool night air. Kelsey had frozen in place, and for a moment, Gypsy thought it was from fear. Then she’d whispered, and as she spoke, he knew Nary’d been right when she said Kelsey had been there most of a year. Held in the tiny cell where he’d found her, no window, nothing to comfort her except the woman standing beside her now.
Voice soft, Kelsey had tipped her head up to stare at the stars overhead as she struggled to get the words out, working hard for the few syllables needed to convey her sense of relief. “I-It’s beautiful.”
Once in the van, she’d seemed to run out of steam, her head drooping on her neck as it bobbed with every bounce and sway. Kelsey had crowded closer and closer to him until Gypsy had finally reached over and unfastened her seatbelt, put his hands on her waist, and pulled her into his lap. After remaining stiff and tense for a moment, she had all but collapsed into him, burrowing close as she drew her legs up to her chest and fell asleep. Arms around her, he’d cradled her, and had met Stoke’s relieved but pained eyes over an also-sleeping Nary’s head.
“You saved my girl, brother,” Stoke spoke from behind Gypsy, eerily repeating the words he’d said in the van, drawing Gypsy from his thoughts while keeping him in that moment of feeling Kelsey’s absolute trust. He turned to face Stoke as the man continued, “Saved her mum and me, too. I couldn’t’ve handled it if something happened to her.”
“I’m glad we got them out safely.” So much could have gone wrong, but both men knew better than to delve into the coulda, woulda, shoulda path. “You and your crew, y’all do all right.” Stoke’s chin lift didn’t come with a smile, and Gypsy didn’t blame him. “Gonna be any blowback from this for you?”
“Don’t fuckin’ care if there is.” Voice firm, Stoke didn’t leave any room for argument. “My girl, she’s worth anything.”
“Vicious holding it together?” From everything that had been said, it sounded like the couple’s past had been rocky, but Vicious had been the man on the mission with them, not Fang. It wasn’t Gypsy’s place to question a club’s politics, but having both men in the same chapter sounded like a recipe for disaster. Talon seemed to have a good handle on things, but emotions could cause men to act in stupid ways even when things weren’t tense.
“He is now she’s back where she belongs. Boy’ll pull his head out of his arse or I’ll pull it out for him; it just might not still be attached if I hafta do it.” This time Stoke did chuckle softly, the sound seeming rough with disuse. “Saxon and Nary are…complicated.”
“I get that.” Gypsy paused, because he wasn’t sure if Stoke was the one to ask, but wanted to get it out there sooner rather than later. “I know the plan was for me to head back as soon as I could, but I’d like to stay a bit.” He paused, an unaccustomed caution stealing his words. “Kelsey seems…fragile. I find myself wanting to make certain she’s good.”
“Stay as long as you want or need, brother. You and me, we got a blood debt now. You need anything, I’ll fuckin’ make it happen. You want to watch out over the little one my gal’s got a soft spot for, that just tells me what kinda man you are.” Stoke shoved a hand in Gypsy’s direction, and he reached out to grip it tightly, not resisting when the man used the grip to pull him close. Stoke’s arm closed around Gypsy’s shoulder and he felt the man’s breath hot against the side of his head, heard the catch in his voice as Stoke fought emotion that had been riding close to the surface since they’d pulled the van onto the compound lot, back on Hawk territory, when the man knew his daughter was safe. Words danced on the tip of Gypsy’s tongue, but he held back, waiting for Stoke to get it all out. Harsh and bitter, the words Stoke spoke shattered Gypsy as the rage of a father rolled through the room. “Motherfuckers touched her. Touched my baby. My baby. Starved her. Made her fear any touch. Guts me to see her cringing back from people who love her. You saved my girl, Gypsy. Saved her. Anything you need, brother. Anything. Ask and it’s fuckin’ yours. For life.”
Stoke stepped back, and Gypsy glimpsed shining tracks of wetness on his cheeks.
He kept his voice low, ensuring Stoke was the only listener when he said, “You have to know it wasn’t a hardship, helping good men take back their treasure. And it doesn’t matter what’s happened to her, or to Kelsey, that treasure is not tarnished.” He shook his head. “Those girls are like diamonds, only becoming more beautiful under pressure. Your Nary’s surrounded by so many people who love her. I believe in my heart she’ll come back to herself. That’s not me telling a Hawk their work is done, that’s me trying to reassure her father, a man I’ve come to respect, his baby girl’s going to be okay.” Stoke cleared his throat, and Gypsy held his gaze, hoping the man could feel the sincerity behind his words. “I’m proud of my patch, proud of my club. There’s not a better man than our founder, Mason. No better club than the Rebels. But I believe I’ve met their match in the men of the Hawks.” He reached up and gripped the back of Stoke’s neck, holding tight. “I’m proud to have stood shoulder-to-shoulder with you, old man. Proud to call you brother.”
They stood like that for a moment, and the weight of all the things that could have gone wrong seemed to lift off Gypsy’s shoulders. We did it. Saved the girl. He blinked. Girls.
Laughter drifted out from one of the open windows and Gypsy’s feet itched to take him back inside. He wanted to seek out Kelsey, and once again assure himself she was still okay. This had turned into an hourly occurrence, and he’d given up fighting the urge. He released his grip on Stoke and stepped back, lifting clenched fists on either side of his head to push stiffened fingers through his loose hair. “I’m beat, brother. Gonna check on the girls, then see if I can catch some shuteye.”
“Meant every motherfucking word, brother.” Stoke’s voice was low and quiet.
Gypsy nodded. “Love and respect, man. Straight up.” He turned and walked inside, finding Vicious in the first place he looked, seated on a chair in his room with Nary and Kelsey sleeping in the bed. Without a word, Gypsy joined him and leaned against the wall. He stood vigil for a time and watched the women sleep, muscles tensing every time that slumber turned restless, relaxing a minuscule amount when they would settle again.
The second time his chin dipped and hit his chest, he decided he was past due for sleep. He’d been going full bore since landing in Australia, and the time difference combined with adrenaline crash was catching up with him. If I can manage to get to sleep, I’m gonna be dead to the world. “Gotta see if I can catch some shuteye.” Holding his voice to a whisper, Gypsy didn’t look at Vicious when he spoke. “Don’t hesitate to wake me if she needs me.”
“No worries, brother,” came Vicious’ muttered response. “Rest. You’ve earned every bit of it.”
In his room with the door closed, Gypsy kicked off his boots and stripped off his shirt before he stretched out on top of the bed, arms bunched behind his head as he stared up at the dark ceiling. He forced himself to lie still and clear his mind, and it took a while, but eventually, he drifted off to sleep. Gypsy woke a few hours later, squinting into the darkness as he focused on the slight form standing in his open doorway. His breath caught in his throat for a moment, but after seeing her so often over the past days, the silhouette was familiar, and he didn’t have to wonder who it was. Up on an elbow, he asked, “Nary? Is everything okay?”
“Just checking on Kelsey,” she spoke softly, giving a tiny wave of one hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Vicious loomed behind her, his broad shoulders blocking out more of the hallway light. “Get some rest, mate. All’s good.” The door closed silently, and Gypsy shook his head, confused.
It was only when he shifted to lie on his back and felt the unexpected dip of the mattress behind him that he understood Nary’s words. Everything fell into place and he lifted his arm, stretching it out to the side until his palm touched the top of Kelsey’s head. He caressed her hair for a moment, sliding his hand around the curve of her skull and then slipped his
arm under her neck. Once in place, he slowly flexed his arm and pulled carefully so she rolled towards him.
Even asleep, Kelsey came easily, moving until her belly was flush against his side. Her body fit against him naturally as her head settled into the hollow of his shoulder. Like she was made for me. “Sleep, darlin’. Always safe with me.” His soft-spoken words reiterated the promise he’d given her, the one he restated every day with his actions.
The Hawks were damn good people, and he knew it. As with any MC, they could be boisterous at times, something he’d noted made Kelsey anxious. When there was a big group of members and old ladies, Gypsy had taken to positioning himself so she could slip partially behind him. That let her pick and choose her own time to engage with what must seem an overwhelming maelstrom of sound and movement, especially for someone who’d been living in virtual isolation for so long. At first, she would crowd close to him, but kept from touching him overmuch. Now, the last several times it had happened, he’d felt Kelsey’s fingers latch onto the waistband of his jeans, anchoring herself to him with a tight grip. Keeping me close. Not something he minded at all.
He had been dreading the day coming soon when he’d have to hop on a jet and fly home, his belly churning with the feeling of not wanting to let this woman go. She’d been damaged and bent, but never broken, still fighting every day to find some semblance of normal. When she grabbed onto him like she did, it felt like she was claiming him, holding on as if he was the only thing in her world that made sense. What she didn’t see yet was how he was holding on just as tightly.
Kelsey hummed far back in her throat and turned her head, pressing her cheek against his skin, soft puffs of warm air testifying to how sweet her rest was tonight. “Sleep, darlin’.” He smiled into the darkness, letting slumber reclaim him.
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