Axle's Brand (Death Chasers MC Series #3)

by C. M. Owens

  My jaw tenses as the sound of a chopper nears, the desert sand stirring in warning. I don’t look to the sky to see how far away it is, because I can’t stop looking at her.

  It’s likely the last time I’ll ever see her.

  If I’d have known I’d fucking feel like this right now, I never would have let her skate her perky little ass into my bedroom. I’d have let Dash talk her into—

  Fuck that. I would have beaten the shit out of Dash if he’d talked her into bunking with him and had her the way I did.

  Then again, she never wanted Dash.

  Just me.

  Figures life finally pays me a debt to make up for the hell it has put me through, only to take it away the second I realize how much I want it. Guys like us don’t get the sunshine and motherfucking rainbows.

  We get the exhaust fumes and oil spills.

  My eyes flick down to her rainbow shoestrings inside her white Converse tennis shoes, almost as if they’re taunting me. She’s all the good things, and I should have known it was too good to last for me.

  The chopper gets louder and louder, and when I feel the first breeze of the blades, I turn and walk away, unable to fucking stand here and watch her leave. I told her goodbye with my body.

  I’ve tasted her tears for hours.

  I can’t stay here and watch her leave, or I might not be able to let her. Or even worse, she might taste my fucking tears.

  Even as they shout my name, I rev my bike and gas it away from them, driving back toward the temporary home I’m stuck in. Back to dealing with this life.

  Back to being me.

  Without Maya.

  Yeah, blow me. I’m allowed a few hours of a motherfucking pity party.

  CHAPTER 32

  MAYA

  “You’re finally here!” Ingrid shouts, squealing as she runs across my room in her five-inch stilettos, and throws her arms around me.

  Weakly, I hug her back. “I’m back,” I say on a sigh.

  She reels back, her brow creasing. “Why does it sound like you hate the idea?”

  “I don’t hate the idea,” I lie.

  My new room isn’t my room at all. It’s a room secured and found for me through Ingrid and Ezekiel while I was away, since, you know, my brother is out for my head.

  “You’re definitely hating the idea,” she argues, frowning. “What’s going on? And stop lying. You know I hate lies, because it’s just delaying the truth from coming out, and procrastination is my biggest pet peeve.”

  I huff out a small laugh, dropping to my chair, exhausted from all the crazy traveling to prevent anyone from back-tracking my pattern and figuring out where I’ve been.

  First there was a chopper to the airport, then I boarded a private plane, then landed in Chicago. Then drove to an entirely too-small airport two states away, and boarded yet another private plane that dropped me off in Maine, then I was driven here.

  It’s been a long day, obviously.

  Now…Ingrid.

  “Can we do this tomorrow?” I ask her.

  “No. Again, that’s just procrastination,” she states immediately, arching her eyebrow in challenge.

  Rolling my eyes, I tell her, “There was a guy. I wasn’t ready to leave, but here I am. Hence the attitude. I’ll be able to smile too well for you to see through it once I get some rest,” I assure her.

  Unfortunately, that doesn’t appease her.

  “A biker who’s part of a made-up MC?” she asks earnestly, not even realizing just how insulting that sounds. It’s a lot different when you see the struggle and the determination. Hell, it’s admirable.

  “A biker. Yep. Can we leave it at that?”

  “Hell no. You never mentioned you were dating one of them,” she says, her grin growing as she gets more comfortable. “So then what happened? All I know is that you said you were coming home, even though you’ve fought us on that for however long now.”

  “They’re in their own war, as you’re aware. Axle decided—”

  “His name is Axle? He couldn’t have been a little more original than that?” she interrupts, mouth twisted in disdain.

  “His name holds sentimental value,” I explain calmly, leaving it at that, and trying not to get irritated. She has no clue she’s bugging me with her condescension toward him. How could she know?

  This was mine. I didn’t share it with them.

  “Fine. Proceed,” she says, gesturing toward me.

  “Anyway, he decided it was unsafe for me and for his guys if I stayed there. Which is true. If their adversaries learned of my identity and my intentions, they could join with Phillip. They’d be eradicated, along with me.”

  I say this as emotionlessly as possible, too drained to feel anything right now.

  But when I stare at my tiny condiment bottles on a shelf, I’m reminded of the tiny condiment bottles I had to leave behind. The bottles we took from the hotel.

  Together.

  I reach over for the pretty—and not-so tiny—bottle of whiskey and pour a generous dose in a glass. Ingrid regards the whiskey like it’s syphilis, because she thinks alcohol is the most disgusting thing in the world.

  “He knows who you are. Do you trust him to keep it quiet now that you’re gone?” she asks.

  I snort derisively. “He threw himself on top of me when there was gunfire. He carried me out of a building that had exploded and washed away all the ashes when I couldn’t bring myself to barely move. He punched a friend because that friend got a little too pushy with me.” I give her a dry look. “I slept beside him every night—really slept beside him. He could have harmed me time after time, yet I was safe enough to actually sleep. How long has it been since you slept all night, Ingrid?”

  She tenses, then I see her eyes glisten.

  “You really cared about him,” she finally says quietly. “Then why the hell did you leave? Or why didn’t you bring him home with you?”

  Smiling bitterly, I answer, “He’d never leave his friends when they’re at their lowest, most vulnerable right now. If one leaves, they could all fall. And he asked me to go home. I understand it. I really do.”

  I drain the glass of whiskey and set it down. Ingrid stops me before I can pour more into it.

  “Did you tell him how you felt?” she asks, genuinely concerned now.

  “Yep,” I tell her flatly, struggling to remove the whiskey bottle from her grip when she takes it from me.

  “Did you love him?” she asks.

  I sigh and glare at the whiskey. “Yep.”

  “And you told him you loved him?”

  “For fuck’s sake, yes. I told him I loved him. Why?”

  “And he sent you home to help keep you safe, and wants nothing in return?” she asks, as though the notion is preposterous.

  “Yes,” I bite out.

  “He’s protective of you, then?”

  “Yes,” I groan.

  “That means he cares,” she tells me like it’s a good thing.

  “I never said he didn’t,” I grumble.

  Her look softens, and she lets me take the bottle of whiskey. I pour the glass and drink it all down again.

  “What’d he say when you told him you loved him?”

  Sighing, I stare at the empty glass in my hand like it holds all the answers. “He didn’t say it back.”

  I look up at her, seeing her eyes glisten more obviously now.

  “Two days later, he decided I should go home,” I add in a strained whisper.

  Ingrid reaches past me, lifting the whiskey, and this time, she pours me a glass. Then, to my utter surprise, she pours one for herself as well.

  “Well, then. I’m wicked confused,” she says as she sips the drink, then makes a face. Then sips again.

  I swear this is the first time I’ve seen her ever drink.

  I hold my glass up, gently clanking it against hers. “Cheers to that,” I mutter.

  CHAPTER 33

  AXLE

  “The repairs to the warehous
e will start next week. Cops had to get involved, since it drew too much attention,” Drex is saying, while I clutch a tiny ketchup bottle in my hand for no fucking reason at all.

  “The cops are just taking in the report and pretending to investigate, though,” Sledge offers.

  My eyes focus on the small condiment, and I try not to think of being back in that hotel room. It seems like yesterday and years ago at the same time that we were locked inside our own little world for two short days.

  “Hershel is starting to talk already. Said Pop was coming after us with all he had once he weakens us a little more. But that’s all he’s given us so far.”

  “We need to find him and strike harder. But more skillfully this time. It feels like we’re constantly playing defense, and are one step behind on offense.”

  “We’re playing their games too much and letting our strengths become our weaknesses. We have to…”

  The words are drowned out as I get lost inside my own head, unaware of who is saying what or what is even being said. It all just sounds like background noise as my mind wanders to Maya.

  The only good memories I had as a child were stolen from me, wiped out by one psychotic woman. A different breed of a psychotic woman gave me new good memories.

  Didn’t realize that would affect me to this extent.

  “Axle!” Drex shouting my name has my head lazily coming up to see all eyes are on me as I clutch the condiment bottle again.

  “What?” I ask, bored with all this.

  “Anything you’d like to add?” Drex asks me.

  It’s been four days since Maya left. Four days I’ve not given a damn about anything else. Four days since I drove back to the warehouse and risked a possible ambush by driving alone, all to retrieve those fucking tiny condiment bottles.

  I know it sounds ridiculous.

  I know it’s pointless.

  I guess it’s as good a time as any to try to get back to me.

  “We’re running so many games to outsmart everyone that we’re getting to the point we’re outsmarting ourselves and losing track of the games we’ve started playing. We need to stop trying to be something we’re not, and we need to remind people who the fuck we are. But we can’t do that alone,” I say as I lean up on the dining room table of our temporary safe house.

  “The guys are scattered right now. It’ll take a few days to bring them back—”

  “I’m not talking about all the guys who could be compromised,” I say in interruption to Jude, my eyes leveling him. “I’m talking about pulling in an Ace who would be worth fifteen men.”

  His jaw tightens, and I expect him to explode. I didn’t understand the intense hatred before toward Sarah. Now I get it. If Maya had been lying to me all along, after getting me to trust her, it would have fucking gutted me.

  But this isn’t the time for grievances.

  “You’re talking about bringing in AJ,” he states flatly, devoid of all emotion.

  He looks around the table, noticing the way everyone is staring at him expectantly. Then his eyes return to mine.

  “You sent your girl home to keep us all safe, even though it’s clear she’s the first thing you’ve ever given a damn about outside this club.” His gaze shifts to Sledge. “You’re still playing like you don’t suspect Liza, kissing her instead of killing her like you want to do, after she betrayed us twice as hard as AJ betrayed me.” He blows out a breath and stares down at the table. “I can put aside my own issues for the sake of the club if everyone else is doing their part. I’m not that fucking selfish or irrational.”

  His gaze lifts and goes to Drex.

  “But only for shit like this. She doesn’t get to be a part of us,” he adds.

  Drex nods once, his lips firm. We’re still waiting on Jude to explode at any moment, since his eerie calm is creeping us out.

  Jude simply leans back in his chair, keeping all his anger inside as his jaw tics and his eyes stay down.

  “Then we’ll see if we can reach her and see if she’ll help us out with this,” Drex tells me. “But what do we offer in return? She seems to mostly just ask for favors, but you never know what that favor might be.”

  “She won’t risk Jude,” I say hesitantly, watching as he stiffens. “Her favors won’t be anything too extreme.”

  Jude cracks his neck to the side, blowing out a steadying breath, like he’s staving off the explosive outburst he wants to release in rebuttal to what I just said. Instead, he stays quiet.

  Much to all our surprise.

  He stays in the room. Also surprising.

  Usually any chat about his ex has him stalking out and finding someone to hurt or drinking himself to blackout oblivion.

  “Where do we start?” Dash asks Drex.

  Drex smirks, leaning up on the table, eyes trained on me. “We’re already stuck in this fucking war with Phillip. No way does he not eventually come for us if he feels like we’re in the way. And I don’t particularly like any fuckwads just coming in and setting up shop without our consent.”

  Rapping my fingers over the table once, I squeeze that fucking condiment bottle a little tighter in my other hand.

  “I say we take out that little fucking junkie bitch just to remind us who we are,” Drex states.

  “That will definitely put us in Phillip’s sights. Are we ready for that?” Jude asks, still strung tight and tense, but finally being helpful.

  “We don’t do it balls-out,” I say with a smirk. “We start subtle.”

  Drex and I hold each other’s gaze for a minute, both of us smirking. It’s been a while since this crew felt like we could handle shit. Things have been spiraling out of control. Somehow, in the midst of all the shitty luck, we forgot who the hell we are.

  “Then we make a loud fucking statement after that,” Drex says, turning his gaze to Sledge.

  Sledge’s grin is dark. “I want that pleasure. If I can’t go through with it, I’ll call one of you. But something tells me it won’t be too hard.”

  I’m the first to stand and walk away from the dining room, going to get ready for bloodshed. Eve and Colleen are outside on the porch, and they both turn to look through the window at me as I head outside, moving toward the shed.

  Hershel is strung up, his body resting on his knees as his arms are lifted above his head. He barely has the energy to peer over at me.

  “If you want water today, you’ll tell me all of Herrin’s allies.”

  His cracked lips start to move, but then he narrows his eyes and looks away.

  “Fine. Tell me tomorrow,” I say with a shrug.

  He whimpers as I exit the shed, and almost walk into Drake.

  “No water for him today,” I say as I eye the bottle in his hand.

  Shrugging, he twists the cap off and starts drinking the water himself, turning to walk back with me toward the house.

  “So Maya is gone gone?” he asks. “Like gone for good?”

  My hand fisting again around the ketchup bottle, I nod. “I don’t want to talk about it, Drake.”

  “Want to talk about why you almost ripped my head off for a tiny mustard thing I wanted to use on my sandwich?”

  “Nope,” I state flatly. “Don’t touch my shit.”

  “Don’t put your shit in the kitchen if your shit is condiments.”

  I barely take a calming breath, knowing I might break him if I hit him too hard.

  “You should probably go get her back before you accidentally kill someone,” he finally says, and I stop walking, standing near the porch the girls have abandoned.

  “You don’t know what’s going on, so you should probably keep your opinion out of it,” I bite out.

  He cocks an eyebrow and smirks at me. “I know you’re not going to land a girl like that again.”

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  “What? You’re not. Maya is pretty damn hot—at least a seven out of ten. You’re maybe a five if you wear a bag over your head. Chances like this don’t come around too ofte
n.”

  I just stare at him blankly as he continues to grin at me.

  “You really do like to piss me off, don’t you?” I ask dryly.

  “I prefer pissing off Drex, but when you’re brooding it’s fun to jab at you.”

  Lifting a hand toward his throat, I take a step forward, then fist my hand, and just level the grinning bastard with a glare.

  “Maya stays gone.”

  With that, I turn and stalk up the steps of the porch.

  “Then I hope you like the hell out of your hand,” he calls to my back. “Because, you know, you’re not pretty like me and don’t have all the unlimited options.”

  I can feel him smiling without seeing it, and know he’s the type to only push your buttons for a reaction. Ignoring Drake is the only way to deal with Drake.

  No one glances my way as I head into my room and slam the door behind me.

  My eyes briefly flick to the bed. The spot Maya told me how she felt. The spot where I didn’t tell her anything in return.

  Carefully, I put the small ketchup down, take a deep breath, and slam my fist through the wall. Sheetrock crumbles around my fist, and I pull back, cracking my neck to the side as my skinned knuckles burn a little.

  Feeling more like myself already.

  Even if myself does feel like shit most of the time.

  Picking up my phone, I dial the girl of the hour, not expecting her to answer. She surprises me by actually picking up.

  “So you sent her home after I told you how important she was?” Sarah drawls. “Lovely. That was our get-out-of-jail free card, Axle. You couldn’t play nice?”

  My free hand turns to a painful fist.

  “Long story short, Herrin almost killed her.”

  “I heard. I hear everything, remember? So why are you calling me?”

  Leaning against the wall, I smirk. “I need a favor.”

  CHAPTER 34

  MAYA

  “Ah! I’ve been wondering when I’d see you!” I glance over as Penelope—Smitty’s wife—comes to the edge of my skating rink, watching me as I glide backwards.