by Debra Kayn
Desperate to erase his anger, she kissed him back, wrapping her body around him.
His weight pressed her against the wall. She pulled his vest, wanting him to be the strong one and walk away and afraid he'd leave.
He pulled his head back and gazed down at her. "Stache had a pistol aimed at you and Jeremy. If I hadn't been there to stop him..."
Her knees lost their strength, and she sank down against the wall. "What?"
"You jeopardized the freedom of the club, Christina. These men don't think about each other. They only think about themselves. Some of them can't handle another sentence. They'd take out you, their MC brother, and me. Respect has nothing to do with their need to be free," he whispered.
Cam's heartbeat raced against her. She shook her head, wanting to block out what he was telling her. How could anyone not care about someone else's life?
"You killed Half-rack." The accusation pulled from her insides leaving her raw and disgusted.
He stared down into her eyes. "He's not dead."
"What?" She swayed and he pushed her back up against the wall. "Gunner said he was done...gone."
"We needed someone from Moroad back on the inside. Half-rack volunteered. What you saw, he'd planned." Cam blew out his breath and gazed up at the ceiling.
When he looked back at Christina, he once again shut off from his emotions. He showed her no anger, no frustration, and his heartbeat returned to normal.
"Right now, Gunner and Willy are dropping Half-rack off in town. He's got enough coke in his system he'll get a year, three at max, considering his priors." He framed her face with his hands. "This was Half-rack's decision to take the hit for the club."
The relief she wanted knowing Half-rack was alive never came. She panted through the nausea that wreaked havoc with her stomach. Gunner and Cam hurt Half-rack. She'd seen it with her own eyes.
"You were hurting him," she whispered, unable to keep her tears at bay.
Cam leaned his forehead against hers. "It's the only way we could get our message inside the prison for others to see. He'll heal. There won't be many scars, and no one will know what it means, except those who need to know. Far as the guards will think, he had a wild woman on the outside that used her fingernails on him. He's a felon with a prior for selling drugs. All they care about is that he's guilty."
She ducked under his extended arm braced against the wall and walked into the bedroom. He'd given her too much information. She couldn't make sense of why or how.
Cam followed her into the room. "Now you know, but the next time I tell you to stay inside or mind your own business, you won't have to go through this shit."
"Go through this shit?" She shook her head. "You don't even understand what is going on inside my head. You...you shut down, and don't even feel what you're doing to someone else. Half-rack ruined his life for what? The club? You? No one should ever do that."
Cam sat down in the recliner and untied his boots. "I don't expect you to understand."
"You're right, I won't and don't care to understand." She sat down on the bed and looked at him. "Everyone deserves a life where they're not running away and doing shit for other people at the cost of the very freedom they fight so hard to keep."
Cam leaned back and stared at her for the longest time. She refused to glance away. He had to understand how wrong it was to keep playing the system. He could put his energy toward making a decent life for him, Jeremy, and her. She sighed heavily. That's what this was all about. She wanted to stay in his life, and being forced to leave him because of his misplaced values made her heart hurt.
"You and I come from two different worlds." Cam rubbed his knee. "You were born into a loving family and because of something that happened that was out of your control, you lost your world. Think about how it felt to be all alone, filled with enough anger to kill the person who destroyed your family. You adapted, because the circumstances changed, but you still remember a mom and a dad who loved their little girl. That's something you'll never lose, no matter what happens in your life. It's made you who you are."
"Cam—"
"I'm not done." He tapped his chest with his knuckles. "I grew up knowing exactly who I was and what I needed to do to survive. When my dad beat me with a belt and finished with his hands and my mom screamed at him not to leave any bruises where other people could see them, because that was the only thing she gave a damn about. Not me...who was a defenseless kid. She worried more about the school, the neighbors, and their friends questioning their shitty parenting skills. That was the life handed to me. I fought my way through school. The only way I could get something was if I made it happen. I will never let someone put me in the position of being under someone else's control. Not even yours."
She walked over, kneeled at his feet, and put her head on his thigh. She could only offer herself as comfort.
Considering that was the most he'd shared with her about his life, it was no wonder he was angry. He'd never experienced the loving touch of a parent, the guidance of adults in his life. While her life sucked beginning at the age of eighteen, she'd had years to hang on to and want back. The scars and experiences shaped her as an adult, and maybe that's why she clung so hard to Cam. She wanted the strength he gave her, so she could get those first eighteen years of her life back.
She kissed the inside of his thigh. "I'm sor—"
"Don't." He cupped the back of her head. "I've built the MC into something that will protect us all. Nobody can hurt me again."
"I don't want you to hurt," she said.
He chuckled a sad sound that wasn't lost on her. "If I could start over, I wouldn't change a thing. I'd still be sitting in this chair and you'd still know me as prisoner #18794. For how much I wish you hadn't needed to contact me or go through what you went through, it was the first time someone needed something from me."
"You gave it to me," she answered quickly. "You did."
"I'll keep giving it." He inhaled a deep breath and patted her head. "Hop up in bed. It's been a long day."
She stood and crossed the room. When he remained by the chair, she asked, "Aren't you coming to bed?"
He shook his head. "I'm going to talk to Jeremy and then grab a beer and sit out on the porch for a while."
"Do you want me to sit with you?"
He shook his head. "I need time by myself before I lay down with you."
She watched him walk out of the room. His limp more pronounced, his shoulders rounded, and his steps precise. She crawled into bed. Cam couldn't see how he influenced lives. Yes, he selfishly manipulated and even killed men, but he gave. He gave to her, to Jeremy, and the club. He gave at a cost to himself.
Whatever Cam's reasons for allowing Half-rack to volunteer to go back to prison bothered him more than he was willing to admit. She closed her eyes. She hurt for the abused boy who was all alone and the messed up childhood he'd lived through.
She bled for the man who hurt and wouldn't let it show.
Chapter Twenty One
Christina stood on a chair pushed up to the kitchen counter and wiped the edge of the cabinet door. Jeremy stood by the fridge, a glass of milk forgotten in his hand, and looked at Cam. Cam shrugged. Christina's mad cleaning streak the last several days confused him too.
The oak floors shined. The tools were all out in the trailer. Hell, she'd even cleaned the utility room and put his stack of clothes somewhere in the bedroom. He had to ask for a damn pair of clean jeans this morning.
"What are you doing?" Cam sat down at the table, lifted the napkin off the plate, and swooped up the sandwich she'd made him earlier.
Her gaze snapped to his. "Nobody has ever dusted the top of the cabinets or the shelf that's supposed to have spices on it."
"I'm not worried about dust." Cam bit into the sandwich. "Don't care too much about spices, since you do the cooking."
"Are you crazy?" Christina stepped off the chair and held a dirty rag up. "Look at this. There's more where that came from, and all tha
t dust is floating around and getting in your food."
Jeremy grinned and slipped out of the room. Cam finished off half of his lunch. With or without dust on his sandwich, the meal hit the spot.
"I can have one of the Moroad women clean the house if it bothers you," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Christina pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. "It's not the cleaning that's driving me nuts. I need to work."
"You quit, and I don't want you back working for the county." He tore off the crust of his last bite of sandwich. "I'll support you."
"No, you forced me to quit. I couldn't go back anyway. It'd be too embarrassing, considering how I left." She plopped her elbow on the table. "There are other jobs in town. The coffee shop needs someone part time."
"What are you going to say when the owner, who you rented your apartment from, asks you why you left without notice and paid an extra month of rent?" Cam tossed the last bite in his mouth.
"If he asks, I'll tell him I moved in with you."
Cam swallowed. "No."
"Fine, then tell me what I can do?" She stood and scooted in her chair. "Obviously, you're the one that makes decisions regarding how I live my life."
"I thought we were talking. Not throwing attitude." Cam carried his plate to the sink and turned to face her. "Can you dance?"
She threw the dirty rag at his face. "That's not funny."
"It sort of is." He laughed, scooping up the rag and tossing it on the counter.
"I'm serious. I've worked since I was eighteen years old, and I worked hard to become a social worker. You had me thinking you'd kill me if I didn't sign that resignation—"
"I would've," he said.
She clamped her lips together and shook her head. "Forget it. I don't want to go back and rehash this."
Cam went to her and pulled her in for a hug. "I get it."
"No, you don't." She slipped her arms around his waist. "That was the one thing I accomplished myself without anyone's help or support. I was proud of my work. I loved finding safe homes for the kids I worked with and even though I know someone else can do the same job, I need to do something for me. All I do is focus on our relationship, which seems to change every day and confuses me. I'm becoming too dependent on you. I need time for me. I don't want to lose what I've fought so damn hard to do with my life."
"You're a survivor." He smoothed the hair that'd escaped her ponytail off her face. "In your letters, I watched you become stronger."
"Then you understand?"
"No." He grinned when she frowned. "But, I can get you a job."
She pulled away. "Doing what?"
"Come on." He held out his hand and led her upstairs to the spare bedroom.
Inside the room, he shut the door and stepped over to the wall with the window. He removed a framed picture of the town of Federal and set it on the floor. Using the protruding screw, he wiggled the cedar shake board loose and retrieved a bag he stored in the wall.
"What's that?" Christina stood beside him.
"The sweat and blood of Moroad MC." He wondered if his rash decision was premature. On the off chance the Feds could decipher the codes, it could incriminate her when, not if, the chain ever broke down. She had to understand the risks.
"I don't get what you're saying," she said.
"Yeah, I know." He rubbed the back of his neck. "This is all the records of the money earned by the club. It lists the amount coming in, the amount going out."
"Really? In the wall?" Her brows rose. "Moroad MC's bank accounts."
He couldn't miss the interest lighting her eyes.
"Right. Except we don't use banks." He folded his arms, holding the package to his body. "There are no names, no sources, and no information inside this package that will make any sense to you. Hell, a decoder for the FBI would never in his lifetime figure out what it all means, unless he got lucky. That's for the protection of each Moroad member."
"Because the money is dirty." She pursed her lips. "Why are you telling me this?"
"You want a job." He handed her the package. "You manage the money."
She shook her head and pushed the large envelop back at him. "No way."
He tossed the bundled information to the bed and hooked her neck, bringing her close. "Do you really think I'd give you information that would compromise you if the Feds come down on Moroad?"
"Yes?" She flinched when he squeezed her neck.
"No. I can show you how to organize everything without understanding the code. All you need to know is how much money goes in each spot and to keep a tally. There's a separate book for household bills," he said. "Even doing that, the only thing you'll know is how much Moroad MC is worth and right now, that's not much but it's going to get bigger. A lot bigger. It'd help me if you took the books over, because right now that responsibility is on my shoulders. Of course, we'd pay you to do this."
"Let's say the Feds catch you doing something I don't know about and they question me." She moistened her lips. "Will I get in trouble?"
"You were only hired to run our books." He tightened his hold on her. "You wouldn't even be able to tell them the money is real, because you're not going to touch the money. I'll pay you in cash. You can tell them that you worked for me in exchange for room and board."
"I couldn't lie," she said.
"Then work for me and I won't pay you." His lips twitched in amusement. "I'll just slip you money every time you have sex with me."
She slugged his arm. "That's not funny either."
"Not trying to make light of this. It's up to you." He kissed her softly. "Think about it."
She paced in front of him. The hardest part of staying in prison was the empty hours where nothing he did kept his mind busy. He understood her need to work again. He suspected her conflict over taking him up on the offer came from her need to know the difference between right and wrong.
"Can you swear that working for Moroad will not come back to haunt me?" she said, studying him closely. "I understand your need to run your own life, and you've promised me that anything illegal will not happen around me anymore. I just need assurance that what I'm doing is not harming another person."
"Nothing is going to happen. Haven't I told you that I will protect you from everyone and anything that comes down on the MC? Doing the books will be like working at a bank, except you'll be working for a motorcycle club that only wants to remain free," he said. "Plus, you can do it naked if you want."
She shot him a dirty look. "Okay. I'll do it, but not because I can work naked."
He picked her up, kissed her hard, and growled. "How about we celebrate by getting naked and letting me put my cock in you."
She captured his lips, slipping her tongue in his mouth. "I like the sound of that."
He carried her backward, until the back of his legs hit the bed, and he sat with her on his lap. Her breasts pushed against his chest, and his body hardened. He cupped her ass, grinding her against the front of him.
She moaned into his mouth. He moved his hands to the front of her and struggled with the button on her jeans.
"Need to buy you some skirts," he mumbled against her lips.
She leaned back, giving him better access to her jeans. His balls ached. He wanted her now.
"Cam," Jeremy yelled. "Cam!"
"God damn it." He continued working the zipper on Christina's jeans.
She scooted off his lap. He reached out to pull her back, but she was already rebuttoning her jeans and headed toward the door.
"The kid can wait." He stood.
She opened the door. "Up here, Jeremy."
"Fuck," Cam muttered, adjusting his hard cock in his jeans. "He can wait a damn hour."
"Something's wrong. He doesn't usually yell." She stepped out into the hallway.
Cam followed her and found Jeremy running up the stairs. He took in the wide eyes, the sweat rolling down Jeremy's face.
"What's going on?" Cam asked.
&
nbsp; "Sheriff's after me." Jeremy leaned over and braced his hands on his knees. "He flashed his lights behind me as I was going under the viaduct heading back to the house. I tried to outrun him and the motorcycle—he gulped for air—it died, so I took off running. I beat him here cutting through the woods."
The rumble of car tires over gravel wafted into the house growing louder. Cam patted his back, making sure he had no pistol on him, and then removed the knife at his waist. He could kill the kid for bringing the cops out here.
"Why'd you run?" Cam dug out his wallet, doubled checked what driver's license he had on him, and put it back in his pocket.
"My motorcycle license endorsement is fake and I don't want to go to juvie," Jeremy said, stepping closer to Christina.
Damn kid. Cam said, "That license is as real as you can get. Use it. A man never leaves his bike." Cam motioned to the stairs. "Get out there and face the sheriff."
"But—"
Jesus Christ, kid." Cam grabbed the back of Jeremy's shirt and got him moving. "Next time, you man up and do whatever it takes not to bring law enforcement back to the house. Always protect your club."
He walked down the stairs feeling too damn old to be dealing with a scared kid. He couldn't even remember being innocent enough to fear the police.
The sheriff stepped out of his SUV. Cam walked off the porch, followed by Jeremy.
Cam stopped a few feet away. "Afternoon, Sheriff."
Sheriff Colby nodded and raised his gaze to the porch. Cam knew without looking Christina had come outside to find out what happened and caught the sheriff's attention.
"Mr. Farrell." The sheriff tapped the folder he held against his leg. "You're the legal owner of a nineteen seventy eight Harley Davidson—"
"Yeah, that's mine." Cam looked at Jeremy. "I let the...my kid ride it. What's the problem?"
"I'd like to hear that from your son, and see his license and the registration." Sheriff Colby crossed his arms.
What an asshole. Cam turned to Jeremy. "You heard the man, show him what he wants."
Jeremy glanced back and forth between the sheriff and Cam, pulled out his wallet and with shaking hands retrieved the items, and handed everything over to Sheriff Colby.
