HALE: Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  “No you won’t,” I counter. “If you thought you could do that, you wouldn’t be here right now, trying to get me to back away from the job.”

  “Why are you getting paid in product?” he demands.

  “None of your business,” I shoot back.

  “You’re putting the club at risk.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know you. I know you don’t think about other people when you act. You just do whatever you want.”

  “If you just came here to insult me,” I say icily, “you already did that yesterday. We’ve already had this conversation, Cam. And if all you have to say to me is more of the same, I think we’re done here.”

  And this time, I’m the one who turns away first, storming back inside even as he calls my name.

  7

  Hale

  Kylie has more fire in her than I thought she would about this. It pisses me the fuck off.

  But still, I have to admire her a little for it.

  I’m still no closer to knowing why the hell she’s so determined to mule for Ironwood. But standing outside with her in the full midday sunlight, at least I can see that she’s telling the truth about not being strung out. She’s thin, yeah, and a little pale. But her eyes are clear and bright. Today her long, caramel-colored hair is pulled back in a messy bun, away from her full lips and high cheekbones. It doesn’t look like she’s got any makeup on, but she’s still fucking beautiful. Just like always.

  It should be a relief that she’s not fucked up on drugs. And it is. But it chaps my ass that she can still get to me like this. Standing there with her eyes flashing at me, her tits rising and falling in anger, I don’t trust her for one goddamn minute. But try to tell my stupid dick that. The more she argues with me, the more the heat between us rises, until pretty soon I don’t know whether to push her up against the wall of the building and wrap her legs around me, or pick her up and toss her over my shoulder caveman-style. My dick wants like hell to take over right now. And it’s probably a good goddamn thing we’re in a public place, or he might get his way.

  When Kylie spins around and stomps back toward the entrance, I have to keep myself from following her — or groaning, as I stare at her fucking luscious ass. She pushes open the door and heads inside the building, and just like that, I’m as hard as a fuckin’ bat. Ready to go off at the first stiff breeze like a teenager.

  Jesus. If this bullshit could get any worse, I can’t see how. Scotty Bauer’s ex-girlfriend is the last person in the world I want in my life right now. She’s fucking everything up. Distracting me. Making my job just that much harder.

  And God help me, seeing the fight in her eyes when she spars with me turns me the hell on.

  Axel has called church for later, but I have hours in front of me with nothing much to do. So I decide take a long ride south into Kentucky to clear my head. I ride hard enough that I have to give the road all my attention, or risk eating asphalt. I ride fast, ripping up the twisties like I’m trying to outrun my thoughts. Which is exactly what the hell I’m doing.

  By the time I get back to Ironwood right before church, I’m sweating and exhausted. I’m just in time to grab a quick beer at the clubhouse and cool off a little. Inside the chapel, I see Tank is already there. I take my place next to him at one of the chairs lining the wall to one side.

  When all of the Ironwood brothers have come in, Rourke closes the chapel door and Axel calls the meeting to order.

  “By now, most of you should know Hale and Tank, from the main charter up in Tanner Springs,” he says, nodding toward us. A few of the men grunt in acknowledgement. “They’re going with us on the meetup with the Dos Santos cartel. Angel sent them down to make sure things are running right with them.”

  “Angel don’t trust us, is that it?” asks a grizzled guy with a salt and pepper beard, frowning.

  “Nothin’ like that,” I reply easily. “He just wants a smooth handoff, is all. Chaco Dos Santos has a good relationship with Angel. We want to assure that good relationship extends to Axel, and Ironwood.”

  There’s some grumbling from the men around the table. But to Axel’s credit, he shuts that shit right down. “Don’t get your fuckin’ panties in a twist,” he barks. “This was an agreement between Angel and me. Chaco and his men need to know our clubs are one and the same. This is the way to do it.”

  I look around the room, to see how Axel’s men react to his authority. I can tell Tank’s doing that, too. A club’s health depends on how solid the leadership is — and how much respect the other patched members have for that leadership. Axel’s the first prez of this chapter. So if his hold on command isn’t solid, the MC isn’t solid, either.

  Next to Axel, Rourke seems to be thinking the same thing. The Ironwood VP is staring down the room, waiting for any men to bitch. But it seems like Axel’s and my words have quieted shit down. I see Yoda nod, then Shooter and Blade. “So, when is the run?” Mal asks.

  “Day after tomorrow,” Axel grunts. “Be here and ready to go by one.”

  Tank and I watch in silence as the club moves through the rest of their business. I observe the men, but most of them seem to accept Axel’s authority without much question. Good sign. I make a mental note to talk to Angel about what I see.

  When Axel finally bangs the gavel, the men file out into the main room. Tank gets up and goes out with them, looking down at me questioningly when I don’t follow.

  “I gotta talk to Axel for a sec,” I tell him. “See ya out there.”

  I approach the head of the table, where Axel and Rourke are deep in conversation. Rourke notices me first, and looks up.

  “I wanna talk to you about the girl you got running scrips,” I say without preamble.

  “What about her?” Axel asks, nodding at a chair.

  “How much do you know about her?” I ask as I ease into it.

  “Enough.” He furrows a brow. “She’s been doing good so far with the little stuff. Mal vouches for her.”

  “Yeah.” I snort. “I know.”

  “You don’t trust Mal’s judgment?” Axel asks sharply.

  “It ain’t that.”

  “Well, what is it?” Rourke interjects.

  I pause, weighing my words. “I don’t trust the girl’s motivation. I don’t know what she’d be getting out of this.”

  “Money and dope.” Rourke shrugs. “Simple.”

  I snort. “Nothing’s simple where that chick is concerned.”

  “What are you saying?” Axel mutters. “You think she’s a narc?”

  “No.” Frustrated, I shake my head. I don’t trust Kylie, but the idea she’d be working with the cops seems laughable. “It ain’t that.”

  “You don’t have a problem with Ironwood gettin’ into the prescription shit, do you?” Rourke asks. “Scrips are good business for us down here. Lots of people in pain, with no insurance. Lots of junkies who don’t want to admit it to themselves. H is still king, man, but Oxy, Codeine, Fentanyl… That’s some serious business. And the cops around here look the other way on that shit.”

  “And that is our business.” Axel’s voice is stone cold. “Ironwood is a separate club, brother. We make our own decisions. You’re here to represent Angel, but you don’t run this club.”

  “I ain’t…”

  “Maybe I haven’t made myself clear.” Axel turns to face me. His eyes narrow to angry slits. “I am the president of this club.”

  Goddamnit. My fists clench at his words, but the last thing I need is to get in a fuckin’ fight with the prez of the Ironwood MC about shit Angel hasn’t sent me here for.

  “So noted,” I say through gritted teeth.

  Rourke leans back, crossing his arms in front of him. “You got anything else, Hale?”

  I turn away. “No,” I mutter.

  “Good.” His voice turns syrupy, with a hard edge that lets me know exactly where I stand. “Then please feel free to go outside and enjoy our hospitality. And our club girls.”<
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  For the second time since I arrived in Ironwood, I’m looking for something to punch as I leave the chapel. But even as pissed as I am, down deep there’s a part of me that has to fuckin’ laugh at myself.

  If I wanted evidence that Axel was a strong leader of his club, I just got it. I overstepped, and I got schooled.

  There ain’t a goddamn thing I can do about Kylie muling scrips for the club. It’s out of my hands.

  Back outside in the main room, I go to the bar to get myself a beer. The shitty mood I’m in follows me there. I know tonight it’s gonna chase me, unless I can drink and fuck it away. So, I decide to do just that.

  Grabbing a bottle of whiskey and three shot glasses from the kid at the bar, I go find Tank and Mal and get to work drowning my anger. Eventually, a parade of club girls comes up to check out the newcomers, just like I knew they wood. Once I’m good and tanked, I choose myself a leggy brunette with big tits and take her off into a corner. She kneels down and unzips me, then proceeds to deep throat me while keeping her eyes locked on mine. She’s good, and she knows it. Normally, it would be a huge turn-on to see her down there, tits bouncing as she takes me deeper into her mouth with every thrust. But tonight, my heart just ain’t in it.

  And when I finally do come, I close my eyes and it’s Kylie’s face I see before I can stop myself.

  Later, when my balls are empty and my bloodstream is practically flammable, I fall into bed in one of the club’s small studio apartments. Just before I drop off, an idea comes to me.

  I can’t stop Kylie from muling for the club. But I can sure as hell try to make sure she doesn’t fuck things up for all of us.

  8

  Kylie

  I show up at the MC’s garage the morning of my first big run, nervous but determined to be brave and strong.

  I agonized over every little detail of my outfit, down to how I should wear my hair. I know it’s ridiculous to worry so much, but I need to prove myself to the MC if I’m going to have a chance of saving my father. I need them to trust me enough to send me on more runs. And I need to look so innocent and unassuming that no cop would ever suspect me capable of doing anything to break the law other than maybe jaywalk once in a while.

  I finally decided on a basic, non-fitted white T-shirt with a 5k fun run logo, and a pair of jeans that are one size too big for me. I pulled my hair back in a simple ponytail, and the only thing close to makeup on my face is a swipe of Chapstick. The end result is that I look about five years younger than I actually am, which is the whole point: old enough to drive, but young enough to be almost invisible to a police officer looking for criminal activity.

  My instructions are to pull into Ironwood Car and Truck Repair and tell whoever greets me that I have an appointment for a tune-up, and that Ranger was the person who helped me over the phone. Then I’m to go into the waiting room and bide my time until Ranger comes out and tells me my truck is ready. After he gives me my keys back, I’m to drive to a location in Dayton that I have plugged into my phone’s GPS, apparently the address of a parking garage downtown. I’ll park on the top level, as far away from other cars as possible. Then I’m to spend an hour shopping, after which I go back to my vehicle and drive home.

  Easy. Simple.

  Doesn’t mean I’m not shaking like a leaf, though.

  The first part goes off without a hitch. I drive to the compound and pull up to the service bay door of the garage. Not for the first time, I feel a stab of guilt that I’m letting them modify my dad’s truck like this, without his consent. But I had to sell my own car a while ago, to pay for bills, and Dad’s not driving anymore, anyway. Besides, short of selling my body for cash, there’s no other way I can think of to get the money we need for his treatments. Morals start to fly out the window when you’re really up against it.

  When I pull inside the garage, I get out and tell the mechanic who comes up that I’m there for a tune-up, as I’ve been instructed to do.

  “Ranger was the one who made the appointment for me,” I chirp, plastering a smile on my face that must look like I’ve got a cattle prod rammed up my ass.

  The man is tall and muscular, with dark red hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Sure thing, sugar,” he half-leers. He holds out a hand, inches from my breasts, and it takes me a second to realize he’s asking for my keys. I drop them in his hand and continue on woodenly to the waiting room.

  On the way, I have to roll my eyes at myself. I’m not fooling anyone here at the garage, I’m sure. Anyone here probably knows exactly what’s going on and what I’m doing. God, Kylie, could you be any more of a freak? Pull it together.

  In the waiting room, I pour myself a cup of bad coffee in a Styrofoam cup and pull out my phone to wait. A few minutes later, heavy footsteps approaching make me look up. I’m expecting it to be Ranger, but that’s not who it is.

  “Nice getup,” Hale rumbles, looking me up and down with a half-sneer. “Very inconspicuous.”

  I purse my lips, not sure if he’s making fun of me. “What are you doing here?”

  Hale takes a seat two chairs down from me. “I’m coming with you on the run.”

  “What? No, you aren’t!” I protest.

  “I am.”

  “Dammit, Hale, no you are not!” God, the last thing I need is him tagging along and making me even more nervous than I already am.

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he continues impassibly, leaning back in his chair. “But either way, I’m comin’ with you.”

  “Why?” I glare at him.

  “Because I don’t trust you,” he retorts.

  “What do you think I’m gonna do?” I ask in disbelief, my voice rising. “Steal the…” I stop abruptly. There’s no one else in the waiting room — not another customer in sight. But still, I lower my voice to a whisper. “Do you think I’m going to steal from the club?” I hiss. “Are you crazy?”

  “I don’t know what you’d do, Kylie,” Hale utters in a low rasp. “That’s the fuckin’ point.”

  I resist the urge to scream in frustration. “Cameron, I am supposed to not be attracting attention,” I point out. “That is the whole point. Don’t you think you’re going to be a little conspicuous, what with all this?” I wave my hand toward his body, indicating his leather cut and the tattoos that cover his skin.

  “With what?” He looks down, frowning.

  “You kind of scream criminal activity, dude.”

  “Dude?” One corner of Hale’s mouth quirks up.

  I sigh. “The point is, you are going to defeat the entire purpose of me dressing like this. No one is going to believe I’m just an innocent young girl on a shopping trip to the city if Mr. Tattooed Biker Man is with me.”

  Hale thinks for a second. “So I’m your bad boy brother,” he suggests. “We’re both shopping for birthday gifts for our sainted mother.”

  I snort. “That is a ridiculous story.”

  “Well,” he says, standing. “It’ll have to do. Because I ain’t about to let you do this on your own.”

  “Does Axel know your plan? Because seriously, Cam, it’s not like you can come with me on every single run I do for the club,” I scoff. “And besides, this was supposed to be about me proving myself. I can’t do that if you’re along.”

  “Don’t care.”

  I realize he is not going to take no for an answer. Great. Just great. So now, not only do I have to spend the next few hours in the cab of my dad’s truck with a man who hates my guts. I don’t even get to look forward to an hour of shopping therapy by myself — which was arguably the only positive point in this trip.

  Instead of continuing to argue with the human equivalent of a brick wall, I turn back to my phone and pointedly ignore him. Hale stands there looking at me for a few seconds, then blows out his breath in a huff and stalks off, probably to go have a cigarette.

  My muscles unclench a bit with him out of the room, but I’m still tense and irritated. I grab my Styrofoam cup and take a sip of
the coffee, but it’s cold now, and so bad that I grimace and set it back down.

  About twenty minutes later, Hale comes back in, swinging my key ring around one finger. “Come on. It’s ready. Let’s head out,” he barks.

  Shooting him an ugly look, I stand and follow him out into the lot, where my truck is now parked and ready to go. I head toward my driver’s seat door, but almost run into Hale as he stops in front of it. “Can I have my keys, please?” I ask impatiently.

  “You’re not driving,” he tells me.

  “Like hell I’m not! It’s my freaking car!” I actually stomp my foot, much to my dismay. Unfortunately, he notices it, too. His lip twitches.

  “I don’t do being a passenger.” He opens the door and gets in before I can stop him. “You coming, or are you gonna report me for theft?”

  “Dammit, Hale,” I fume, stalking around to the other side and flinging open the door. “I do not remember you being this much of a jerk in high school.”

  “I don’t remember you bein’ this much of a pain in the ass, but here we are,” he says mildly. He turns the key in the ignition and throws it into gear, the truck shooting forward before I have a chance to put my seatbelt on.

  “Hey, careful!” I cry. “I know this thing isn’t much, but it’s all I have.”

  “Sorry,” he mutters. “Shoulda asked the guys in the garage to take a look at your transmission. It’s pretty rough.”

  I ignore his remark and start to tell Hale the address we’re going to in Dayton, but he waves me off. “Yeah. Got it.” I’m irritated at being dismissed like some unimportant kid, so I decide if he can ignore me, I can ignore him, too. We sit in silence for most of the way there. At some point, Hale turns on the radio and switches it from the station it’s on to some classic rock station — without asking me, of course. His rudeness just adds to my irritation, but I’m not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s getting to me. So, I just stare out the window or at my phone screen, and pretend I’m in the car with someone who isn’t a complete jackhole.