by Helena Maeve
Half a dozen headlights switched on, blindingly bright. Kayla shielded her eyes with a hand.
“Holy shit.” The thug stumbled back, into his buddies. The three of them wore sibling expressions of genuine dread.
Kayla couldn’t figure out why until the hogs were level. Until they went no further. The scent of burnt rubber and hot metal hit her like a physical blow.
Her late night Romeos were already beating a swift retreat, torn-up sneakers eating up the concrete like the Devil himself was hot on their trails. Kayla considered ditching the heels and scrabbling to make her escape barefoot, but with all the broken bottles and used needles sprinkled down the sidewalk, she doubted she’d make it far.
It was a foregone conclusion once the nearest biker doffed his helmet. Kayla recognized him at once.
“You left without sayin’ goodbye,” Booker volleyed, probably his idea of a joke.
Kayla’s stomach plummeted into her shoes. She was outnumbered, six to one. Even if she hadn’t been, she would’ve been hard-pressed to think of a snappy retort that wouldn’t see her dead in a ditch come morning.
Booker furrowed his thick eyebrows. “You all right?”
“Hey, Book, you want us to cut ’em off?” asked another biker. He was a heavyset guy, angry-looking. The light was too low to tell and he looked different wearing his helmet, but Kayla guessed it was the one who’d wanted to see more of her routine.
Booker searched her gaze. “They do anything to you?”
Kayla shook her head. Hassling didn’t count. She’d been dealing with catcalls since she’d turned thirteen. As long as a guy didn’t lay a hand on her, she’d learned it didn’t count—and even then, it depended on the guy.
“You live ‘round here?” Booker wanted to know.
She nodded.
“Shit, sweetheart…you a mute or something?”
“Think you’re makin’ her nervous, Book!”
The men laughed. All but Booker.
Kayla sucked in a deep breath, ribcage expanding against her forearm. “What do you want?” The intensity of his focus was making her queasy. She didn’t know him, but she didn’t need a formal introduction to guess that he was bad news.
Those scars on his face alone told a story.
“Right now? Reckon you could use a ride home. Streets ain’t safe for a woman on her own.”
What would you know about that? When Booker rolled up with his posse, vermin scattered.
“I’m fine,” Kayla answered. “Thanks.”
Booker scowled at the dusty, deserted ribbon of the street, the on-off flicker of streetlights. There were no cars at this hour, no neighbors walking dogs. People didn’t feel safe strolling around after dark in Hackby unless they were looking to score.
“Lot more where those clowns came from… Judging by the state of that lip, you know that better than most.”
Kayla shifted her weight, itching to cover her mouth—Zach’s gift from a few nights back. She didn’t want Booker mistaking her for an easy target.
“Come on,” he pressed. “We’ll drive you, make sure you get home okay. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Kayla believed him. The path of minimal resistance had seen her true before.
Reluctantly, she took the helmet he held out and fastened the straps under her chin. She settled a hand on Booker’s flank, over the leather kutte, then slapped the other down much faster once the engine revved beneath her.
“Ever ridden one of these before?” Booker shot back over his shoulder. His voice was a deep rumble, gravelly without being rough.
“Never.”
“Put your feet on the exhaust,” he told her, leaning back to gesture to the long, silver cylinders on either side of the rear tire. His fingers brushed her bare knee but didn’t linger. “Good girl. You might wanna hang tighter than that.”
She didn’t get the chance to ask why before they pulled away from the curb, six bikes roaring away in unison.
It wasn’t the speed that had her grabbing hold of Booker, but the vibration of the Harley between her legs and the knowledge that if she fell off, there would be nothing to cushion her landing. She hoped Booker couldn’t feel her heart pound riotously against her ribs—that he couldn’t read her exhilaration.
Chapter Two
“Is that your car?” Tamra asked, peering out of the kitchen window. “Looks like your car.”
Spatula in hand, Kayla squinted through the blinds. Sure enough, the black Mercedes idling in the driveway was very much hers. It would’ve been too much to hope it had made its way home alone.
Zach’s silhouette was just about visible behind the windshield, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.
Kayla let the aluminum blinds fall back into place. “Shit… I’ll make you breakfast to go.”
“He can come in,” Tamra offered, already helping herself to the toast. “It’s not like I don’t know you two are—”
“It’s complicated,” Kayla snapped and winced at the vague dismissal. It was everything she’d tried to avoid since she’d started dating again. Kids needed stability, structure—a father figure.
Zach was none of those things, but he was the only man in Kayla’s life who’d been willing to hang around for more than a few days.
Tamra blew her bangs out of her eyes. She liked to wear them long, like a young Cher. She straightened them every morning, fussing in the bathroom for a good hour before she declared herself ready to face the world.
“Go on,” Kayla encouraged. “Don’t wanna miss your bus.” She pressed a bagged lunch into her daughter’s hands and kissed her temple. Anywhere else might ruin all the styling and trigger a minor conniption.
“Bye, Mom.” The front door clicked open. “Hey, Zach.”
Behind the wheel, Zach flicked up a hand in greeting.
Kayla watched from the kitchen window until Tamra disappeared from view in her brown-and-white uniform, then she wrenched open the door.
“What do you want?”
They had few rules in their relationship, but among them was an unequivocal injunction against Zach ever coming to the house. They met at his place or the club. They didn’t play happy families with Tamra. And yet here Zach was, looking haggard and hollow-eyed, still wearing last night’s clothes.
“You left your car,” he said, stepping out. “Thought you might need it.”
Kayla said nothing, annoyance simmering in her gut. You waited a whole night to check on me?
Her silence only served to embolden Zach. He sidled closer in skinny jeans, shifting his weight from one foot to the other with each ponderous step. “So, uh… How did it go?”
“How did what go?”
“You know… With the Hounds.”
“They gave me a ride home. That’s it.”
Zach’s face fell. “But I thought…”
“What, that I fucked him for the greater good?” The morning was cool and bright, but Kayla was boiling in her own flesh. “I can’t believe you came here to badger me with that shit—”
“I came to make sure you were okay,” Zach insisted. He caught her by the elbows, his fingers pale against her dusky skin. “Honey, I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t a last resort. I offered them everything I could—I said I’d take a beating if that’s what it took to make this right…” The despair in his gaze plucked at the cords inside her chest. “You have to go to him.”
“Are you serious?”
“He’ll probably be drunk and half asleep. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner they’ll be out of our hair.”
Kayla pulled free of his grasp, blood pounding in her temples. “And the other twenty K? Who’re you gonna sell for that?”
“No one!” Zach tugged a hand through his hair. “Why do you always do this? I’m trying to make things right and you’re just shitting over everything like it don’t even matter.”
“It matters.”
“Really? ’Cause all I’m hearing is how you feel betra
yed—like you think this is easy for me. You’re my girlfriend, Kay. You think I want to see you with other men?” He held her gaze, so painfully earnest, so defeated.
“Fine,” said Kayla, just to get him to stop looking at her like that.
Zach’s posture eased at once. “I’ll drive you to the clubhouse.”
“What, now?”
He nodded. “This could all be over in an hour. If he even lasts that long… Please.” This time, when he took hold of Kayla’s upper arms, she let him embrace her.
She needed his arms around her, reminding her that she had a home, that she belonged.
“Let me get dressed.” She wasn’t about to make her first trip to the clubhouse in pajama bottoms and a tank top.
* * * *
As long as there had been a Hackby, there had been a Hell Hounds chapter in town. No one seemed to know when they’d first put down roots or where they’d come from. Over the years, law enforcement had grown to tolerate their presence. Local businesses thrived or failed in a shitty economy, thanks to their cash injections.
Kayla had grown up knowing about the club but steering well clear. By the time she might have fallen in with them, only a handful of members remained around the Colonel—the aging, mythical figure who had supposedly run drug dealers out of town once, when dealers had still cared what a bunch of leather daddies had to say.
The years had taken their toll on the Hounds. If not for last night’s run-in, Kayla would’ve said they were firmly on their way out. The two rows of bikes outside the clubhouse argued otherwise.
Zach parked well away from the shiny, cumbersome bikes, juggling the keys of the Mercedes from hand to hand. “Just let me do the talking, all right? I’ll fix it.”
Kayla nodded. She was too tired to fight. He was right. The sooner they were done with this, the sooner they’d have a little breathing room. She’d figure out some way to make up the rest of the money in cash.
A blast of stale liquor fumes hit as soon as she stepped foot through the clubhouse door. A cement square adjacent to a cement lot, the Hell Hounds HQ in Hackby looked like every other two-dollar watering hole Kayla had ever seen. Were it not for the Harley memorabilia on the walls, it might have been the bar where she’d had her first drink—long before turning twenty-one—or her first joint—long before it had been legal.
Heads turned at their approach. Eyes narrowed with ill-disguised hostility.
This was not a place where outsiders were welcome.
One of last night’s visitors materialized into Zach’s path. If not for the hand he thrust square in the center of his chest, Zach might have walked right into him. “You lost, little man?”
As per orders, Kayla clamped her mouth shut.
“We-we’re l-looking for Booker.”
“Let ’em through, Nolan.”
That voice. Kayla suppressed a shiver of apprehension. Booker hadn’t done anything untoward last night. He’d had ample opportunity. He could’ve driven her off the road and passed her around to his boys if he pleased. Instead, he’d given her a ride home and driven off with no mention of the deal.
Just because he’s giving me a little slack don’t mean I’m off the leash.
He motioned to them from a table by the window, his feet propped on the sill. The hem of his hoodie rode up high enough that Kayla spied another tattoo on his belly, this one jagged and intricate. Probably prison ink.
He smirked when he caught Kayla staring.
“What can I do you for, boys and girls?”
“I wanted to apologize, Book,” Zach started. “There was a little misunderstanding, Kayla—”
“What happened to her lip?”
As much as it stung to have Zach talk about her as though she wasn’t present, Booker’s question twisted Kayla’s insides into an even tighter knot. Shame singed her cheeks.
The urge to stomp out of the clubhouse rose inside her like a whirlwind, abating swiftly when she noticed that they had attracted an audience.
A few of Booker’s friends had come in, fanning around the edges of the room in deliberately nonchalant sprawls. All except one were men. All looked like the type to throw themselves headfirst into a brawl, just for the sake of dealing out a few bruises.
Kayla fought to keep her breaths even, to disguise her fear. At least this time she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and not one of her skimpy stage costumes.
For his part, Zach only stared baldly at the locals.
“Do you hit her?” Booker wanted to know.
“Well…yeah. But it’s cool,” Zach added quickly. “She likes it, man.” He chanced a step closer, herky-jerky in his movements the way he got when his ex-wife happened by the Grounds. “She’s one of those…you know,” he added in a whisper. “She likes it rough, if you know what I’m sayin’.”
“Can I break his jaw?” Nolan wondered idly.
Zach spun around, eyes wide, and missed the smirk that pulled at Booker’s full lips. Kayla saw it. She knew where this was going—men posing and posturing at each other until someone threw that first punch. Then she’d end up saddled with Zach’s medical bills as well as his debts.
In a flash of desperation, she stomped all over his orders and took hold of his lapels. “Baby, why don’t you let me take care of this, huh? I can— I’m okay here. Booker and me, we’ll get along all right. You go home and get some sleep, okay?”
He frowned, but Kayla knew how to be persuasive.
“C’mon, babe…” From somewhere deep in her performer’s bag of tricks, she fashioned a galvanizing smile. “Let me take care of us for a change, hmm?”
Ginger-haired Nolan cracking his fist into his open palm helped make up Zach’s mind. “If you think that’s best.” Zach kissed her cheek. “Make sure he doesn’t go back on the deal.” The whisper trickled into her ear like poison, but at least it came with Zach beating back a retreat. “Book, hope I see you around…”
The biker tracked him with a haughty stare. He didn’t return the sentiment.
“Good idea,” Nolan told Kayla. “One more word out of that shithead and I would’ve…” He slammed his fist into his palm. Coming from a smaller man, the gesture might have struck her as a false threat.
“He ain’t worth it,” Booker scoffed. “’Course, if he keeps treading on our goodwill like this, maybe you’ll get your chance…”
Dread churning in her belly, Kayla cleared her throat. “Could we talk?” she asked Booker.
He met her eyes with a knowing smile. “Sure.”
Kayla rested her hands on the table. It was times like these she counted herself lucky to have a nice rack. Even in a reasonably cropped T-shirt, it drew the eye. “Somewhere private?”
Booker made no attempt to disguise the slow descent of his gaze down her body. He must’ve liked what he saw, because he swung his legs down from the windowsill and took her hand.
It’s just work. It’s just another job. With all the mental acrobatics in the world, Kayla still had to force herself not to pull away. She wouldn’t get far. Booker had at least eighty pounds on her, most of it muscle.
He led her down a wall-paneled corridor, his hand a manacle around her wrist. His boots made shuffling noises along the bare cement floor. Kayla wished she’d worn stilettos, like last night. That would sell it better, make it easier to turn him on before the clothes came off.
“What did you say your name was?” Booker asked.
“Kayla.” She hadn’t introduced herself. That job had fallen on Zach.
“Right.”
The room Booker led her to belonged in a roadside motel. It was spartan but not impersonal. The bed had been made, covers tucked under the mattress military-style. Kayla swallowed, her mouth dry. She couldn’t resist scrubbing her palms together once Booker had turned her loose.
“You want something to drink?”
The click of the door behind them echoed in her ears like a gunshot.
“No.”
“You have breakfast already
? There’s a place up the street, serves pretty good waffles…”
“You ask me in here so we could talk about waffles?” Kayla volleyed back.
Booker dropped to the edge of the mattress. “Sister, I didn’t ask you in here at all. You wanted to talk private.” He waved a hand as if to say have at it.
It could have been worse. Booker could’ve wanted to have her out there, with all his buddies watching. He could’ve asked Zach to stick around and witness—that way he could humiliate her boyfriend even as he got off with Kayla.
Don’t be such a pussy.
Kayla reached for the hem of her T-shirt. It caught in her hair as it came off, but she combed back the tangled strands with a hand, stomach doing backflips. Her fingers were big and clumsy with the button on her jeans, but at least the zipper went down easy. She toed off her Converse with her pants already around her knees.
It wasn’t glamorous. It was nothing like being on stage and peeling off layer after carefully selected layer.
“There a reason you’re doin’ this?” Booker wondered.
“Zach’s debts. You said—”
“Zach offered to let me fuck you because Zach’s an asshole… What I don’t get is why you agreed.” He tipped back onto his elbows, sizing her up from a distance. “What’s he got over you?”
“Nothing.”
“He hits you.”
“Sometimes. Takes some coaxing, though. Zach’s not one to roughhouse in bed, if you know what I mean…” Kayla hooked a thumb around a bra strap and slowly tugged it down. “You and your big squishy heart want to make this easy on me? Then stop talking. Let’s settle his debt so I can move on.”
The bra came off with a snap of elastic. Kayla told herself she felt no shame as it fell away. She did this for a living.
“Wait.” Booker crooked a finger in silent invitation.
Kayla allowed herself no choice but obedience. She was wary to approach, heart thumping a dull tattoo somewhere in the region of her throat.
She settled between Booker’s splayed knees, stroking her hands up his thighs. The twitch of muscle beneath her fingers did more to rattle than calm her nerves. She expected Booker to stop her before she reached his belt buckle, but the leather was sliding through the metal clasp and still he didn’t move. Kayla lowered his zipper. For a moment, she thought she might get away with a simple blowjob. Then she slid a hand between Booker’s boxers and the flat of his belly.
