Shadow's Surrender: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 14)

by Chiah Wilder

  “I’m not sure if he’d want to go.” The thought of her friends possibly judging and ostracizing him tugged at her heart.

  “Ask him, then you’ll have your answer. He has to know your world, right?”

  “Right,” she replied with a bit of hesitation. “But … there’s something I haven’t told you about Shadow. He’s … uh, a member of the Insurgents.”

  Kiara blinked several times. “The outlaw biker gang?” Scarlett nodded. “What the hell? Are you crazy?”

  “I think I am, but his club isn’t a part of my life, you know?” As a matter of fact, Shadow rarely talked about the club, and he never introduced her to any of his friends or brought her to the clubhouse.

  “It’s totally a part of his life—it is his life. Check out some of the documentaries about outlaw clubs on YouTube—pretty scary stuff.”

  “I’ve watched a ton of them. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t freak me out,” Scarlett said. “I guess it’s because I know him.”

  Kiara nodded. “I get that, but be careful. Anyway, you should still think about asking him to Daisy’s pool party.”

  “We’ll see.” She put her empty glass down on the table. “I wish Shadow would open up more. I think something bad happened in his past, but every time I get close to asking him, he changes the subject. I think it has something to do with the death of his parents.”

  “He’s an orphan?”

  “He told me his parents are both dead. I know he doesn’t have good memories of his father, but he adored his mother. I can tell by the way he talks about her and the look he gets in his eyes—so full of love and adoration. What I’m not sure about is how they died. I’ve pieced together that he was younger when his dad died and in high school when he lost his mother. I wish he trusted me enough to share his past.”

  “Maybe it’s too painful for him and he’d rather not talk about it,” her friend said.

  “I know, but it’s eating at him, and I know he’d feel better if shared it with me.”

  “Give him some time.”

  Scarlett smiled. “You know me—I want everything right now.”

  “Some things never change.” Her friend joked. “So when’s the dining room set coming in?”

  “Not for another month. It’s all handcrafted so that in itself is definitely worth the wait.” Scarlett rose to her feet and collected the empty glasses. “Do you want some more sangria?”

  “I’m good, thanks. Do you feel like going out to eat?”

  “Totally. I haven’t finished unpacking the kitchen, and I’m not in the mood to cook. Where do you want to go? I’m up for everything but barbecue.”

  “What about Little Pepina’s? I’m craving shrimp fettuccine Alfredo.”

  “That does sound good—I’m in.”

  Kiara stood up. “I’m going to freshen up.” She ambled toward the guest bathroom.

  Scarlett went into the kitchen to put the cheese and crackers away and wash the glasses. As she was drying them, her phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, darlin’.”

  Her insides fluttered, the butterflies loose and twirling by just the sound of his voice.

  “Hey,” she replied.

  “Whatcha up to?”

  “Kiara is here and we’re going to Little Pepina’s for dinner. What about you?”

  “Not much—just got back from a ride with Smokey and some other brothers.”

  “Where did you guys go?”

  “Ghost Pass. We had some chow at the roadhouse on the top of the mountain.”

  Shivers ran up her back as she listened to him talk. I don’t think I’d recover if he broke my heart. “You’ll have to take me there.”

  “We’ll go, but it’s a hairpin ride for sure. We can take the highway, but then, that’s no fun.” His soft, deep chuckle hit her right between the legs, and she bit the left corner of her lower lip as she shifted from one foot to the other.

  “Are you ready? I’m starving,” Kiara said as she walked into the family room.

  Holding her finger up, Scarlett mouthed, “One minute.”

  “What time are you gonna be home?” he asked.

  “In about three hours—we like to talk.” She giggled.

  “I’ll be waiting for you in front of your building. You’ve been on my mind all day, baby.”

  “Maybe we can watch a movie. I can make popcorn—I did manage to take some pots out of the boxes.” She giggled again.

  “We can do that, too, but first I’m gonna pleasure you real good. I got an ache that only you can ease.”

  Oh God. “I’ll eat fast—make it two and a half hours.”

  Shadow chuckled.

  “I better go,” she whispered. “Kiara looks like she’s going to die of starvation.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for that.”

  Scarlett heard the smile in his voice.

  “I’ll see you later,” she said. In the background she heard a woman squealing with laugher. “Where are you?”

  “At the clubhouse.”

  “Is there a party going on?”

  “There’s always a party going on.”

  “I don’t know if I like that.” A small frown settled between her brows.

  “My party’s gonna start when I have you in my arms, darlin’.”

  She relaxed against the counter and looked out at the traffic below. “I can’t wait,” she said.

  “Scarlett …” Kiara called.

  “Coming,” she answered. “I better go.”

  “Have a good dinner, babe.”

  She switched off the kitchen light, then picked up her purse from the chair. “Let’s go”

  Kiara bounced over to the front door, and soon the two women were making their way to the restaurant. A thrill of excitement raced through Scarlett at the prospect of seeing Shadow that night. Just thinking of him made her burn with arousal.

  She shook her head to scatter the naughty thoughts of what she would do with him later on. It was too late though, they were already there; he was always on her mind.

  Kiara’s right—I’ve fallen for him. Hard. Too hard.

  It was rash and dangerous, and she wasn’t sure about the depth of Shadow’s feelings for her. Nevertheless, Scarlett was caught up in how good and wonderful it felt to be near him … lost in it, really, and she knew one thing: she never wanted it to end.

  Gasping, she covered her mouth and stopped in her tracks. I’m so in love with him!

  “What’s wrong?” Kiara looked over her shoulder, her hand on the door handle of the restaurant.

  “Uh … I think I forgot my wallet.” Liar!

  Her friend laughed. “No reason to freak out—I can spot you, silly.” She opened the door and walked inside.

  What if he doesn’t love me? He practically told me he couldn’t love anyone. How did you let this happen?

  The love she felt for Shadow was deep and euphoric, but it also made her jittery. It was like falling in love for the very first time, and she wanted to tell him in the worst way, yet she wouldn’t. Scarlett was afraid to hear his answer or, even worse, the silence before the dreaded hemming and hawing as he tried to come up with a reason for not loving her back.

  I’ve got to stop getting ahead of myself. I’m happy and that’s all that counts.

  Poking her head out the door, Kiara said, “Hurry up—they have a table for us.”

  “I’m coming,” Scarlett replied, picking up her pace. The smell of garlic and basil wafted through the open door. Focus on the present and don’t overthink the future.

  At dinner she’d have a glass of Chianti, a plate of pasta, and a good time with her best friend. Then she’d spend the night with Shadow—the man who’d captured her heart.

  Smiling, she reached for a breadstick and nibbled on it as she looked at the menu.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Detective McCue looked up from the file he was reading and lifted his chin at his partner as he walked into the offic
e.

  “It’s hotter than Hades out there,” Ibuado said as he plucked a few tissues from the chevron-designed box on the corner of McCue’s desk. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, then pulled out a few more and ran them over his black matted hair.

  “There’re bottles of tea in the fridge,” the detective said to his partner as he opened a desk drawer and pulled out another file. “Our Jane Doe’s got a name,” he added while thumbing through the papers in the open folder.

  “We got a hit on her fingerprints?” Ibuado asked, walking to the mini-fridge. He bent down and grabbed a bottle of tea, then opened it and downed half the contents before running the cold surface over his forehead, face, and neck.

  “Better now?” McCue asked as he watched in amusement.

  “Yeah. When the hell is this heat going to break?” Ibuado bent down and took out another bottle, then he crossed the room and sank into one of the chairs in front of McCue’s desk.

  “Doesn’t seem like it’s going to any time soon.” He scanned the information from NCIC. “Florence Karas is the name of our Jane Doe.”

  “What did she do to have the honor of being in the criminal database?”

  “She was popped years ago for hooking on Penn Street, but what I find real interesting is that she stripped at Satin Dolls around the same time our cold case victim Carmen Basson worked there.”

  Ibuado tossed the empty bottle into the trash. “Coincidence?”

  “I don’t like coincidences. Our former Jane Doe had a condo in the Belvedere.” The detective nodded at his partner’s low whistle. “Yeah … Where the hell does a stripper, who was also turning tricks, get that kind of money to buy a condo in the one of the ritziest parts of town?”

  “Maybe she had the same sugar daddy as Carmen Basson.”

  “Another coincidence that I don’t like.” McCue pulled out an envelope and waved it in front of him. “A signed search warrant for Florence Karas’s condo.”

  “I just cooled off,” Ibuado said as he rose to his feet.

  “And I just got an AC flush for my car. Now it’s like the damn North Pole in there.” McCue grabbed his notebook. “My gut’s telling me Karas’s murder is somehow related to Basson’s.”

  “Mine too. After we finish with the search, let’s pay a visit to Satin Dolls.”

  “Great minds think alike,” McCue said, walking into the elevator.

  He put on his sunglasses and pushed open the door, sucking in his breath as a blast of scorching heat rolled over him. He slipped off his sports jacket, draped it over his shoulder, and he and his partner made their way to the parking lot.

  For the next three hours, the detectives and several police officers combed through Florence Karas’s condominium, bagging items, shuffling through papers, and rifling through drawers.

  “We found a calendar planner in one of the dresser drawers under a stack of papers and books,” one of the officers said as he handed a magenta-pink book to McCue.

  The detective took it in his gloved hands and thumbed through the pages. From the coroner’s report, he knew the victim had been dead for a couple of days, so he searched the day planner hoping to glean some clues. A couple of days before the body was discovered, he saw a handwritten notation: Shadow at 4:00 p.m.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” he muttered under his breath. He opened a plastic bag and dropped the planner in it, then he sealed it and handed it to one of the techs who whisked it away. The detective then took out his phone and called Carly Leight—one of his favorite prosecutors.

  “Is it hot enough for you, McCue?” Carly joked.

  “Not quite.” He chuckled. “I wanted to let you know that we got a name for our Jane Doe—Florence Karas. I’m at her place now.”

  “Finding anything helpful?” she asked.

  “Yeah. How’s the search warrant for the victim’s phone records going?”

  “It’s in front of Judge Romero right now. I don’t think it’ll be a problem to get it signed. I’ll dash over there and amend Jane Doe to our victim’s name. I’ll call you the minute I have the signed warrant in my hands.”

  “Thanks, Carly—I owe you.”

  “Maybe that drink that you keep promising me?” A soft laugh. “Now let me get off the phone so I can get over to Romero’s chambers.”

  McCue shoved the phone into his pocket. Questions raced through his mind about the connection between Florence Karas and Shadow. Why the hell was he meeting her? Never once in the investigation did her name come up. Why didn’t he ever mention her to me? He doubted that the outlaw biker would be forthcoming with much information, but he’d give it his best shot. The case of Shadow’s mother haunted him, and he was determined to solve it at all costs.

  With a sigh, the detective picked up a box that had been under the bed and began to sift through it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Warren perched on the edge of the leather wingback chair, watching his father’s face morph into a mask of rage. He’d witnessed that more times than he could remember throughout his lifetime. Whenever Warren hadn’t done well on a test, received less than an A in his classes, or won a soccer game, his father’s rage boiled over. It’d seemed that no matter what Warren did, his father wasn’t quite satisfied.

  Now Warren had lost Scarlett to a fucking outlaw biker, and in all fairness, he didn’t blame his father for being livid. Who loses their girlfriend to an Insurgent? A loser, that’s who. It wasn’t that he was in love with Scarlett, but that his pride had been wounded and the dirty lowlife had humiliated him in public and in front of her. Anger streaked through him as he remembered the incident. And the damn bitch just sat there with him. She didn’t even bother to follow me out. Fucking cunt.

  “Why the hell didn’t you propose to her before she got bored of your sorry ass?” His father’s voice sliced through Warren’s thoughts.

  “I was going to, but I didn’t think she was ready.”

  “Ready? What the fuck does that mean?” Red blotches covered his dad’s face like a checkerboard.

  “I felt that we needed to get closer. I was working on it when …” his voice trailed off. There was no need to retell the story of his ultimate shame.

  “Working on it, my ass. You’re the one in charge, not that bitch. You’ve always been weak—just like your mother. Weakness can be sniffed out a mile away, and people don’t respect it—they trample on it. I tried to teach you that, boy.” The desk shook under the force of his father’s fist.

  “I can’t make Scarlett or any other woman fall in love with me,” he said between clenched teeth.

  “What the fuck does love got to do with it? I asked you to be a man for one fucking time in your life and you failed me miserably. We need the Mansfield fortune. I explained that to you and you said you understood. Now you’ve gone and lost her to this”—he waved his hand frenetically in the air—“asshole in a biker gang. I always thought you were a dumbass, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Now I know I was right!”

  When Bruce Huntington yelled, people listened, and Warren was no exception: he felt like he was back in grade school, awaiting punishment from the father he loved but could never please.

  “Can’t you just sell the land to Mr. Mansfield?”

  Bruce slammed back against the chair, a loud, frustrated sigh pushing through his thick lips. “I can, but that’ll barely pay off the loan. What about all this?” Again his hand waved wildly around. “This lifestyle that you and your mom have grown to love. It ain’t cheap to have it, boy. Not. At. All. George and I had it all planned out—you’d marry his daughter, he’d get the land he wanted for a good price, he’d give you an executive job at his real estate firm, and he’d throw in a big bonus for me for arranging to have our two families merge. On paper I still look damn good, but it’s nothing but a damn paper house. The plan was perfect, and now it’s fucked up.”

  “I didn’t do anything. I’ve been wining and dining that frigid bitch for almost a year. I’ve put up with her borin
g talk on politics and literature, and hung out with her friends. Can I help it if she’s a fucking psycho?”

  His dad ran his narrowed eyes over him. “Maybe you don’t fuck so good.”

  Warren clenched his fists and bolted from the chair. “Shut your fucking mouth, old man.”

  Bruce smirked. “Go ahead and slug me. I know you want to do it. Come on, belt me.” He turned his face so his jaw was in perfect view of his son. “You’re mad as hell at me—hit me.”

  Warren’s nostrils flared as he panted, his body rigid as a board. He wanted to smash his father’s face, hear the bones crunch, see the blood flow, and get rid of that damn smug look once and for all.

  Several seconds lapsed and the anger slowly quelled as Warren slinked back down in the chair and sat with his shoulders hunched and his head hung down.

  “I’d have respected you more if you would’ve decked me,” Bruce grumbled. “Does George know about his daughter’s whoring?”

  “I don’t think so.” He kept his eyes fixed on a piece of lint on the Karastan rug.

  “Once he does, he’ll break it up for sure.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Mr. Mansfield roars like a lion a lot, but he’s got a soft spot for Scarlett even though she denies it.”

  Bruce threw his head back and a deep laugh rumbled from his chest. “He’s not going to let his pretty, sweet daughter bring scum of the earth to his home. And Pamela won’t allow that at all.” He chuckled. “You can’t accuse her of having a soft spot. She’s not weak like you or your mother—she’s one of the strong ones, and if I have to make her my ally against George, I will. I’m not losing this deal. You say the fucker’s in the Insurgents?”

  Warren glanced over at a large twelfth-century samurai sword hanging on the wall beside the fireplace. How he wished he had the guts to run that sword through his father’s heart, but he didn’t … he wouldn’t survive one day in prison. His gaze cut over to Bruce’s, and he nodded.

  “That’s tricky, but we can figure it out. Do you know which one of the pieces of shit he is?