by Katie Ashley
“Both really. As a hang-around, Marley wasn’t supposed to know shit about club business, and as a woman, you’re sure as hell not supposed to know.”
“But how can I understand what you’re talking about unless you’re honest with me?”
I held my hands up. “Look, all you need to understand is at the end of the day, I’m so fucking sorry for what happened to Marley.”
She stared at me for a moment, unblinking and unmoving, as if she was shocked that something so sincere could have come from me. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“That day . . . the way you looked at me after you found Marley. I know you blamed me, too.”
“But I was in shock, Bishop. I might’ve thought the Raiders were at fault that day, but not you. And I still don’t think it was your fault.”
“In some ways, no, it wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t the one who shot him, but at the same time, it was because of bad blood between my club and another. If he’d never met up with me, he would still be alive today.”
“It was an accident, Bishop. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” she argued.
“Once again, you’re being naive.”
Anger flashed in her eyes. “Then explain it to me.”
“I should have realized with the direction our club was taking, things could get dangerous at the run. I should never have let him come.”
Sam’s brow lined in confusion. “What do you mean, ‘the direction of your club’?”
At that point, I didn’t see how it could hurt to explain a few things to her. “You know what a one-percent MC is, right?”
“Yeah. A little bit. Like from TV.”
I laughed at where her limited view came from. “So you know that while ninety-nine percent of the clubs out there are full of decent, law-abiding citizens, the other one percent aren’t?” When she nodded, I added, “Well, since the time it was started back in ’sixty-seven, the Raiders have been a one-percent club.”
“Your club does illegal stuff?”
“You could say that.” I motioned the waitress over for another pitcher of beer. “You could also say that because of a lot of bad shit that has gone down in the last couple of years, we’re moving to be legitimate.”
Surprise flashed in Sam’s eyes at my admission. “You are?”
I nodded. “We had it approved by the original chapter when we were in Virginia.”
Samantha appeared almost dumbfounded by my admission. “Just how are you doing that?”
“Can’t tell you that, sugar. I’m already overstepping my bounds enough as it is.”
Sam nibbled her lip before asking, “Did Marley know about you guys going legit?”
I shook my head. “As I said, he was just a hang-around. My brothers could have had me by the balls for telling him club business.” I gave her a pointed stare. “Just like they could for me telling you what I have.”
A nervous laugh escaped her. “Like I’m going to tell anyone.”
“You sure as hell better not. I’d hate to have to kill you.” As soon as I said the words, I grimaced. “Sorry. That was a badly timed joke.”
“It’s okay.” The waitress appeared with a new pitcher and refilled our beers. When we were once again alone, Sam leaned closer to me. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but I need to know for my sake . . . and for Marley’s. What were the reasons behind why he was in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
I exhaled slowly before chugging half of my beer. “Once again, I can’t tell you all the reasons behind why it happened. All I can say is people within our organization—the Raiders—aren’t happy that we don’t want to live as gangbangers anymore, and they took that out on us.”
“I see,” she murmured.
Reaching across the table, I took her hand in mine. “I wish I could be more honest with you, and tell you everything you want to know. But I can’t.”
“I get it—I understand.” At what must’ve been my doubtful expression, she added, “I swear.”
“I’m glad.” I squeezed her hand before releasing it. “And I’m really glad you came to see me, Sam.”
“Me, too.”
“You know, you don’t have to be as alone as you think you are.”
Her eyes widened.
“Even though Marley wasn’t a patched member or even a prospect, the Raiders look out for their own, especially wives and girlfriends. You don’t have to go through Marley’s loss . . . the grief . . . all on your own.”
“Who said I was?”
I shrugged. “No one. It’s just a feeling I have.” When she continued looking skeptically at me, I sighed. “Deep down, I think we’re a lot alike. So I just thought if you were handling things like I was, then you could use a friend to talk to.”
A confused look came over her face. “Why?”
“Because.”
“You’re right about me feeling alone . . . even isolated.” Sam dropped her head to stare at the rim of her beer. “Guess it just wigged me out to hear you offering me a shoulder to cry on, because I just didn’t imagine bikers could ever be so honorable.”
“After what you’ve experienced, I can’t say I blame you for thinking we’re all soulless bastards.”
Her dark eyes jerked up to gaze into mine. “Excuse me?”
“You know, with Marley being killed by bikers.”
She exhaled a long breath. “Right. Yeah, I guess it is easy to paint you all as being bad.”
“The truth is we’re really not, especially not my chapter brothers.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
“Good. And no more being a stranger, okay?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“First way to remedy that is to give me your cell number.”
I wasn’t too surprised when she was a little hesitant. Besides hiding her emotions like me, Sam had this whole aura about her that was like a feral cat—skittish and untrusting. Finally, she took a pen out of her purse and grabbed one of the napkins on the table. After she scribbled down her number, she handed it to me. “I hope that doesn’t end up on some MC bathroom wall to call for a good time,” she teased.
Chuckling, I shook my head at her. “You can rest assured that won’t happen.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said as she rose out of her chair. I think we were both shocked as hell at her next move. As she leaned over me, her long black hair covered me like a shroud, filling my nose with the sweet smell of her perfume. The moment her lips touched my cheek, it felt like an electric shock through my body. Samantha quickly jerked away. “Good-bye, Bishop.”
“Bye, Sam.”
While she practically sprinted out the door, I remained dumbfounded in my chair by both her reaction and mine to the kiss. I didn’t think I could ever remember a time when a woman had given me a chaste kiss. Racking my brain came up with no one outside my family.
A small voice within me railed at me to toss Samantha’s number in the trash. It reasoned that there was something about her that was trouble . . . even dangerous. But as with so many times in my life, I chose to ignore that voice.
TEN
SAMANTHA
I initially thought Bishop was bullshitting me about the Raiders watching out for their own. Frankly, I didn’t want anything they could offer me unless it came in the form of justice for Gavin. But Bishop was constantly surprising me, and I learned very quickly that he was truly a man of his word. Over the next week, he called or texted me every day. At first, it was just to ask how I was and if I needed anything. Then we started talking on the phone for an hour or two a night. We never really discussed anything of substance because in the end, we both had too much to hide. Most of the time, we talked about movies we had enjoyed, or the music we liked to listen to. Sometimes there were stories from our childhood—stories that didn’t reveal too much of who we really were. We seemed to spend a lot of the time laughing, which was something I desperately needed.
Regardless of the subject matter, I started to look forward to our calls mo
re than I should have. When I tried telling myself it was for the case I was building on my own, I knew I was the one doing the bullshitting. Although it went against every fiber of my being, I enjoyed talking with Bishop. He was so much more than the guy I had originally thought he was. He was so much more than a lot of the men I had dated in the past, although I didn’t like admitting that to myself.
After two weeks of texts, phone calls, and two dinners, I was growing antsy for more MC information. More than anything, I was intrigued about what he had told me at the bar about the club going legitimate. I couldn’t imagine how a deal with a drug cartel fit into that picture, but I knew I had to find out. I had even more time at work to stew about it because Peterson kept me chained to a desk. Each time I broached the subject of going back out in the field, he would shake his head sadly. “Not until you get your head on straight, Vargas.”
A month after Gavin’s death found me in totally uncharted territory as I made my way into the gym run by the Raiders. We had just finished dinner out together on Tuesday when Bishop asked, “Remember how you said you wanted to see me box sometime?”
My mind immediately went back to the night I’d met him and one of our first conversations. “Yeah. I sure do.”
“Well, I have a fight scheduled on Saturday night, if you’d like to come.”
Considering where Bishop would be boxing, I figured it might be a great way to get some more information on the club. I also couldn’t ignore the part of me that wanted to spend as much time as I could with Bishop before our time together came to an end. “Sure. I’d love to.”
Bishop gave me his signature cocky grin. “Awesome.”
Tonight was about trying to piece together the truth about the Raiders, whether it was good or bad. At least that was what I told myself. When I got to the door, I found a hulking man guarding it. I couldn’t help being reminded of the first time I had gone to the Raiders’ compound. Before I could tell him who I was, he asked, “You Samantha?”
“Yeah. I am.”
He grinned. “B’s just inside.”
“Thanks.”
After he held the door open for me, I ducked inside. The hallway was relatively quiet, with only a few men milling around. Down the hallway past the double doors, I could hear the roar of the growing crowd.
Unsure of what to do or where to go, I called out tentatively, “Bishop?”
Within seconds, he popped out of one of the rooms. At the sight of me, his face lit up. “Hey, Sam.” He waved me over, and I hurried down the hallway.
“I’m so glad you came,” he said as he gave me a friendly hug. Although the physical contact was brief, I couldn’t ignore the solid way his arms felt around me. His embrace sparked a desire of intimate longing and a feeling of comfort. I wasn’t used to having a man make me feel that way with just the slightest touch. It was completely unnerving.
I smiled at him when I pulled away. “Me, too.” Glancing around the room, I saw we weren’t alone. Another man stood by the massage table, reading over a notebook. I could only imagine that it included gambling figures, which made me question Bishop’s claim of the Raiders going legitimate. I recognized the man as Boone Michaels, the club treasurer, from his file. He glanced up and gave me a quick wave.
For a moment, all I could do was stare at Bishop. He had on the typical shorts that boxers wore. Of course, it wasn’t the shorts that had me mesmerized. It was the first time I had seen him shirtless, so I couldn’t help staring at all the intricately designed tattoos on his broad chest and muscular arms.
When I met Bishop’s gaze, there was an impish gleam in his eyes. “Were you just checking me out?”
Knowing he wanted to get a rise out of me, I casually replied, “Maybe. You’re on display, so I might as well enjoy the view.”
Bishop threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Oh man, I love when you’re sassy with me.”
“And I love being sassy with you.” And it was the truth. I always had fun bantering with him.
As sexual tension crackled in the air between us, I decided I’d better change the subject. “Will your brothers be there tonight?”
While Bishop appeared surprised by my question, he quickly recovered. “Some of the guys from the club might be, but Deacon and Rev are busy tonight.”
“I see.” Some of the hope I had on gathering information on the case faded.
A tall, dark-haired man stuck his head in the door. “It’s time, B.”
“Thanks, Vinnie. Do me a favor and walk Samantha out.”
“Sure.”
Bishop winked at me. “Make sure she gets one of the best seats in the house to see me win.”
Vinnie nodded. “Will do.”
I stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to do. “I guess I shouldn’t say break a leg or something like that.”
With a laugh, Bishop said, “I think ‘good luck’ would be fine. If I needed it.”
I shook my head and smiled. “You’re pretty cocky, aren’t you?”
“Just sure of myself and my abilities.”
Vinnie coughed behind us, and I knew it was time to go. Acting on an impulse, I leaned in and kissed Bishop’s cheek. When I pulled back, he stared at me in surprise. “For luck.”
A genuine smile appeared on his face. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
I then turned and followed Vinnie down the hallway. With the fight about to start, the crowd had gotten even louder. When we entered the gym, the roar was deafening. For a relatively small gym, there was a huge gathering of people. They filled the stands on both sides of the ring.
Vinnie led me down front to where I felt as if I was practically in the ring. Years ago, I’d gone to a fight once with my dad. Although the arena in Miami was ten times the size of this gym, we hadn’t had seats anywhere near as good as where I now sat.
The music pumping over the loudspeakers ceased, and a wiry-looking man entered the ring with a microphone. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to tonight’s fight, between Alex Fuentes and Bishop Malloy.”
When the announcer called Bishop’s name, the crowd erupted in cheers and catcalls. He came into the gym with a beaming smile. He was obviously a crowd favorite. I noticed that several young boys jumped in front of his path with autograph books in their hands. Bishop not only graciously signed them but took the time to talk to each boy. It warmed my heart seeing his compassionate and caring side and added to my growing sense of awareness that he was so much more than just an outlaw biker.
Bishop and his opponent entered the ring and went to their opposite corners. Boone appeared to be giving Bishop a pep talk as he massaged his shoulders. Bishop would nod from time to time.
The moment the match started, I couldn’t take my eyes off Bishop. He really was a force to be reckoned with. While some women might’ve ducked their heads at the punches and jabs, I was used to both seeing them and delivering them in my line of work.
In the eighth round, Bishop delivered a punch to the side of Alex’s head that sent him reeling back. He collapsed onto the mat. While the ref smacked the floor of the ring, Alex struggled to get up, but he couldn’t. The ref grabbed Bishop’s arm and raised it over his head, which sent me and the crowd onto our feet.
Bishop didn’t stay too long in the ring to enjoy his victory. Instead, he ducked under the ropes and came bounding over to me. Even though he was a sweaty mess, I happily dove into his arms. “Congratulations!”
Instead of replying, he just gave me a cocky grin that shot desire straight through me.
I grinned back at him. “What? You’re not going to say I told you so?”
“No need to rub it in.”
I gave him a playful smack on the arm. As we started out of the gym to the back rooms, Bishop draped a sweaty arm across my shoulder. “Did ya like it?”
I bobbed my head enthusiastically. “Although I probably shouldn’t like guys beating each other up, I loved it.”
Bishop laughed. “I�
�m glad to hear it. Of course, I don’t want you to get used to it.”
“Oh?”
“I’m only fighting now for the money for my bike shop. I would have quit a long time ago if it wasn’t for the money.”
My chest tightened a bit. “From the gambling?”
“Yeah.”
“I see.”
Lowering his voice, Bishop said, “We’re working on going legit. It isn’t an overnight process. It’s going to take time in some areas.” When I didn’t immediately respond, Bishop took my hand and squeezed it. “I need you to believe me, Sam. You have my word that I’m telling the truth about this.”
Since I desperately wanted to believe him, I nodded. I knew I would need to dig deeper to see just what areas had been legitimized if I was going to make a case for the Raiders’ innocence.
“We okay?” Bishop asked.
I smiled reassuringly at him. “Yeah. We’re fine.”
When we entered the training room where we’d been before, Boone took a towel and started wiping the sweat from Bishop’s chest and arms. I had to fight the urge to snatch the towel away from him and do it myself.
“You really nailed that one tonight, B. No stitches needed, no busted lip.” He winked at Bishop. “Nothing that will keep the ladies away.”
“I’m not worried about any of that.”
Boone glanced in my direction. “Yeah, I guess you don’t have to worry about that, since she looks at you like she wouldn’t care one way or the other if your face was busted up. Kinda a lovey-dovey look like you’ve been giving her.”
I could have sworn Bishop’s cheeks reddened a little. “It ain’t like that with Sam,” he quickly protested. “How about working on this shoulder?” Bishop asked as he plopped down on the massage table.
Boone took the hint and shut his mouth. As he focused his energy on massaging Bishop’s shoulder, the silence in the room was broken by Boone’s phone ringing. When he glanced down at it, he grimaced. “Shit. It’s Annie.”
With a grin, Bishop said, “You better take it, or your ass will be in hot water.”
“Shut up,” Boone grumbled before he ducked outside into the hallway.
