Kellen's Redemption (Hell Raiders MC)

by Aden Lowe

  Chapter Four

  As Kellen watched, her fury turned to cold resolve. Whatever that call was about, someone's head was going to roll, and soon. He couldn't help but be glad that look wasn't directed his way.

  Kellen sat up, not bothering to cover his nakedness, and waited, watchful, half worried she might turn emotional and start crying or something equally inane. Most other females in his experience would dissolve into tears when pissed to that degree.

  She stood and scooped up her discarded dress and held it up appraisingly. "I don't suppose you have spare clothes here?"

  He shrugged and lay back again. "I don't suppose you'd consider just staying naked? I'm enjoying the view." Acting as a barometer for his truthfulness, his cock stirred.

  Her gaze traveled over his body and the way her tongue slid over her lip made him think she enjoyed looked at him. "I wish I could. Unfortunately, duty calls."

  Just his luck. "Anything I can help with?"

  Something like a frown played across her smooth forehead for a moment, then disappeared to leave an ice princess mask in its place. "Not unless you can resurrect the dead."

  His own frown answered and a dull ache pounded at the back of his skull. "The dead? What happened?"

  Vicki sighed and carried on a short, silent debate with herself. A small gesture of her hands marked her decision. "I don't have all the details yet, but after you picked me up, there was an attack on my mother's house. It seems I'm an orphan now." Something that might have been a tear threatened to roll over her lashes and she blinked it furiously away. In the next heartbeat, steely resolve shut her emotions down. No blubbering grief for his little girl. She intended to do something about it instead of cry.

  Kellen sat up abruptly. "You know who did it?"

  "Not yet. But I need some clothes so I can head back and get things under control."

  "Of course. As long as you don't mind hand-me-downs, I think some of my old clothes are still here."

  She laughed, sounding bitter. "As long as my tits and ass are covered enough that I don't get an indecent exposure ticket, I don't give a damn."

  "Well okay then." Covering those parts up seemed a damn shame to Kellen, but he stood and took her hand. "Let's see what I can dig up." He led her from the room, giving her a good view of his backside and the still-stinging injuries she'd left. Hopefully, seeing those would remind her how good they were together, and ensure she didn't forget to come back for more, because he was a far sight from finished with her.

  The sheet-covered chair slid easily away from the wall to reveal a small door. "This was Ma's junk room. Everything she thought someone might have use for later, she stashed." He lifted the panel away and reached inside the dark space, fumbling for the pull string. A dull click later, dim light revealed a few inches of floor and the edges of stacked boxes. "You'll probably want to wait here. It's a little claustrophobic in there, and there's plenty of spiders per square inch."

  "Yeah, I'm good here." Crawling naked into a spider-infested cubbyhole probably held zero appeal.

  Kellen certainly didn't relish the idea. But she needed clothes and that cubbyhole presented the most likely option. Inside the cramped space, memories surrounded him of the times his grandmother sent him in there to add a new box to the stockpile, or retrieve something. He scanned through the stacks of neatly labeled boxes until he found one marked Tommy- 16-18.

  The boxes all stacked back in their places, he pushed the one ahead and left the closet. "This should have something you can wear."

  She knelt as he lifted the flaps and revealed neatly folded jeans. "Who's Tommy?" The first pair of jeans looked like they would fit somewhat.

  He grinned a little. "That would be me." He moved the jeans aside to reveal t-shirts underneath. "Damn, I'd forgot about this one." He unfolded a concert shirt, faded and ragged and clearly a favorite. "I used to sneak and wear it because Ma didn't like it." He continued removing items from the box, the smell of the naphtha soap Ma had used for laundry surrounding him.

  Finally, Vicki found a new-looking polo shirt near the bottom of the box that she thought would work. She had no option but to go commando since her lingerie lay in an unwearable mess in his bed, so she just pulled the jeans on right there. They were a bit snug in the ass, but she said she could live with it. The polo shirt fit just right, so at least everything was covered. A pair of his old sneakers completed the ensemble.

  "Okay, I'm decent, I think. Will you take me back to my mother's house? I need to start dealing with this mess."

  He hesitated a second, but thought better of it. She likely wouldn't welcome his opinion, or his interference. "Yeah, give me a minute." He headed back into the bedroom for his own clothes. "Hey, your phone is going crazy again."

  She rushed in and snatched the phone up, and listened for a moment. Whatever the news was brought a shuddery breath from her. "Okay, I understand. I'll be there in a couple hours." Ending the call, she glanced at Kellen, then turned away. "I need to get back as soon as possible."

  He slipped his cut on and put the lamp out. "Okay, I'm ready, just have to lock up." He gave everything a once-over as he followed her to the door, and out. At least the porch had protected his bike from the worst of the morning dew, so the seat was relatively dry. He climbed on and started the engine, and waited for Vicki to swing onto the pillion seat.

  When the bike started to roll, she leaned in to put her mouth beside his ear. "Just so you know, this isn't over. As soon as I get things settled, I want more of you."

  The words set off a volcano in his lower belly. "Good. Because I'm nowhere near finished with you." He maneuvered them off the porch and through the weeds clogging the lane. Back on the road, the temptation to prolong the ride struck. He attributed the reluctance to leave her to lust. Stubborn refusal to let something so meaningless control his actions led him to push the bike to dangerous speeds on the narrow road.

  Morning traffic on the bridge back across the Ohio River forced him to let off the throttle a little. Even at more reasonable speeds, he pulled up in front of the mansion far too soon.

  Vicki seemed to feel that same reluctance, her hands lingering on his shoulders as she climbed off.

  On impulse, he shut the engine down and climbed off. "Hey." When she turned, he caught her in his arms and leaned down for one more taste of that luscious mouth. "Okay if I come in with you?" Now where the hell had that come from?

  She stared up at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Suit yourself. I doubt there's anything to see."

  "Nothing I want to see anyway. Just thought having someone along might make it a little easier to look at." Surprisingly, that was true. He had no interest in her business or private affairs, but for the moment at least, he considered her his, and the need to protect her kept asserting itself.

  "Okay." She let him keep her hand as she led the way to the front door. Yellow crime scene tape blocked the way, but she pulled it down and opened the door.

  Just inside, a flurry of activity greeted them. An officer inserted himself between them and the action. "This is an active crime scene. You can't be here."

  "I live here. And I'm not leaving." Vicki glared at the uniform.

  The guy shrugged and spoke into the radio mic at his shoulder. "The Officer In Charge will be over in a minute." Declaring an end to the conversation, he turned his back and stood stiffly, as if expecting a confrontation.

  Vicki seemed content to wait, however, and just stood holding Kellen's hand. Finally, a plainclothes cop came over. "Miss…" he flipped through a notepad, "Mihalovich? I'm Detective Jonas Bearing. I understand this comes as a shock, but I need to ask you some questions as soon as possible."

  She looked a bit shell-shocked, but Vicki just nodded. "I can talk now."

  The cop looked Kellen up and down for a few seconds. "Is there someplace we can talk privately?"

  Kellen bristled, but stayed quiet. It was Vicki's call to make.

  She sighed. "For now, I'd like him to stay
with me. If that's okay with you?" A small questioning glance in Kellen's direction.

  "Whatever you need, little girl."

  Detective Bearing glared at him, then nodded. "Sure, for now. Let's step outside, less distraction." He made an 'after you' gesture and waited for them to go first. "So, according to my notes, you left here yesterday evening, Miss Mihalovich?"

  "I did."

  "May I ask why?" His pen poised above the notepad, ready to take down whatever she might say.

  "My friend arrived to pick me up."

  The detective inhaled deeply through his nose, a clear warning his patience had worn thin. "Which friend, and why?"

  Vicki took her own deep breath. "Mr. Kellen here, and because we wanted to go somewhere quiet and fuck each other's brains out."

  A quelling look came from the detective. "No need for vulgarity, Miss Mihalovich."

  "I'm not being vulgar. Just truthful. That is what you want, right?" Her humorless expression gave nothing away, and Kellen was willing to bet the detective's blood pressure was getting close to critical levels.

  "It is. So you left here, and went where?"

  Vicki's brow furrowed for a moment. "I'm not sure what the place is called?" She glanced to Kellen.

  Great. Last thing he needed was cops digging around at home. At least they didn't have jurisdiction, since it was in another state. "Stags Leap, in Kentucky."

  "Why there?"

  Kellen shrugged. "Why not?"

  The questioning proceeded in a similar vein for another twenty minutes, until someone called Detective Bearing away. "I'm sure I'll be speaking with both of you later." He stalked away, his too-loose suit flapping around him.

  Half an hour later, after being sternly warned to stay where they could be reached easily, Kellen and Vicki were finally allowed access to the house. The last of the crime scene technicians packed up their gear and left their mess behind. A number of bodies had evidently been removed earlier, judging by the pools of dried and coagulated blood.

  Kellen followed as Vicki walked silently through the opulent rooms, now littered with everything from broken champagne glasses and spoiled hors d'oeuvres to paper shoe covers. A huge mirror above the buffet table had been tagged with graffiti in black spray paint. Vicki stood before that mirror and looked at the crudely drawn symbol for a long time.

  "That mean something?"

  She shook her head. "No, just odd." Something about the set of her jaw promised she was lying. She recognized that symbol and it meant something to her.

  Oh well. Not really his business. "You can't stay here. Why don't you get some things together and I'll take you to a motel or something?"

  "I'll go to my apartment. I was only ever here when my mother wanted to parade me around." She turned to face him. "Thank you for staying with me. You didn't have to do that."

  "No, I didn't. But I would have had to talk to the cops anyway. Might as well get it over." True, but not the whole thing. He didn't know what motivated him, but leaving her to deal with the aftermath alone had never entered his thoughts.

  He waited while she closed everything up and turned off anything that had been left on, and saw her safely inside her car. When she pulled out of the big driveway, he finally swung onto his bike and headed back for home. He had no intention of allowing the distance she'd thrown between them to remain. The phone would have to bring that wall down.

  Chapter Five

  The ride back to Stags Leap seemed longer than ever, and by the time he pulled up to the Hell Raiders clubhouse, Kellen's mood had gone seriously foul. He parked in his usual spot and stalked away from the bike, anger making his muscles twitch. Whoever made that hit—and he had no doubt it was a hit—on Vicki's house officially went straight to the top of his shit list. Not only had it cost him a whole day, but it took time he'd planned to spend getting Vicki out of his system.

  Rather than head into the clubhouse, he started around the side of the house, making his way mostly by memory in the twilight. A couple of the guys had set up a place to work out in the old barn at the back of the house, and if he'd ever needed a good workout, it was that moment.

  He slid the big door open and found the switch for the shop light someone had suspended from the tier poles. All the ancient dust and grime nearly absorbed the cold fluorescent glare, allowing only a dim portion of the light through. Considering the circumstances the Raiders often found themselves in, the clouds of dust and scant illumination offered the perfect conditions for working out and sparring.

  Shirt and cut came off to drape over a rail just inside the door, and Kellen advanced on the heavy bag they'd suspended from a reinforced pole off to one side. He pulled the leather gloves from his back pocket and slid them on to keep from tearing up his hands, and went after the bag with a vengeance. The ropes that kept it suspended creaked in protest under his blows.

  Sweat poured off him and ran down his torso, and still he continued. The heavy muscles of his arms and shoulders began to tremble under the exertion. His hands had long since gone numb from the repeated impact and his shoulders burned from the force when he finally stopped the assault on the bag. Still full of pent up aggression, he couldn't stop.

  He moved on to the wooden practice dummy Crank used to practice some of his crazy martial arts shit. Essentially an upright post with four limbs protruding at odd angles to represent arms and legs, the thing seemed fairly simple. He took a couple of light test blows to satisfy himself the thing wouldn't fall.

  Okay, then. Moving in close, he tried one of the short kicks he'd seen Crank use so effectively in a close-quarters fight. The post cracked against his shin-bone with excruciating force and took his breath away.

  Fuck! He forced air into his lungs in an attempt to just breathe through the agony.

  Laughter erupted behind him and Crank strolled into the light. "Man, if you wanted to learn wing chun, you should'a just asked. But if you're working off a mad, you'd be better off to get a shower and go find some pussy. It'll work a lot better."

  "Fuck you." Kellen swallowed his anger and stalked away. A series of sharp thwacks came in rapid succession as Crank started to put the dummy through its paces. The sounds only emphasized Kellen's need to get away from the barn.

  He slammed through the back door of the clubhouse, and headed straight for the shower. The hot water carried the sweat away, but did nothing for Kellen's anger, or for the raging hard-on brought on by errant thoughts of what he wanted to do with Vicki. Since he'd touched and tasted, if anything, he wanted her worse than ever.

  Those possibilities carried him away as he propped his left palm against the shower wall at head height, and let his right hand slide over his cock. Images of the exquisite body beneath those immaculate clothes flashed through his mind. All to no use. He wasn't getting off without the real thing, it seemed.

  In an even worse mood, he finished the shower, toweled off, and stomped naked down the hall to his room, hard-on leading the way. He slammed the door behind him, clearly telling the world to stay the fuck out, and flopped onto the bed. That only worked for a few seconds, until the bed in the next room resumed its steady rhythm of pounding against the wall.

  Fuck! He got up to pace back and forth, but the limited size of the room prevented long strides. Frustrated as hell, he barely stopped his fist from going through the wall, and only because he'd prefer not hit a wall-stud and take a trip to the ER with a busted hand. He grabbed his phone. Dozens of pussies were only a phone call away.

  The contact list held absolutely nothing that appealed to him. Roxy, with her penchant for anal, seemed boring. Double-up Dena disgusted him. Even little Lori with her amazing lack of gag reflex didn't interest him.

  The list kept auto-scrolling back to one particular number. But he couldn't call her yet. It was too soon. Kellen never begged a woman, and calling immediately would be the same as asking for a pity-fuck. He wasn't that guy. Not by a long shot. So every time her number came up, he forced his thumb to scroll on pa
st. No damn way. He'd call her in a day or so.

  But if he refused to call Vicki, and none of the others could give what he wanted, what the hell was he supposed to do? Trying to take his mind off the steel beam sitting between his legs, he flipped through the images on his phone, deleting some old ones. The one he'd taken at Vicki's mother's mansion of the odd symbol spray-painted on the mirror. Something about it seemed vaguely familiar.

  Pre-occupied with the graffiti, he dragged on a pair of sweatpants and planted his ass in the chair by the little table. The damn laptop seemed to take hours to start up, but finally he had the image downloaded. With the help of the larger screen, he managed to sketch something that might have resembled the would-be artist's intentions. At least, he hoped it did. Curiosity drove him to track it down and find out what it meant and who left it.

  The lines on the notepad stared back at him, revealing absolutely nothing. An attempt at a web search turned up nothing. The only option was to call in an expert. If she would see him, after the way he'd left things when they parted last time.

  The phone's contact list gave up the right number and she actually answered. "Chica, I need a favor, if you have a few minutes."

  "Kellen. Wow. I didn't expect to ever hear from you again." The faint Latino accent failed to have the normal impact on him.

  "I know. I'm sorry. I wouldn't be calling now, except I came across something you might be interested in."

  Dr. Elena Rojas, cryptography specialist for some agency he didn't remember the name of, had warmed Kellen's bed for a short time nearly two years earlier. And hopefully she wouldn't hold a grudge. "What is it?" Her cautious tone meant curiosity battled with her anger at him. Good.

  "I really don't know. It was spray-painted on a mirror at a murder scene. It looks somehow familiar, but I can't place it." The words murder scene should seal the deal.

  "Do you have an image you can send me?"

  "I do. Where should I send it?"

  She rattled off an email address from one of the anonymous email services. Good, it wouldn't go through her work system.