by Violet Blaze
“Where are Hawkins and Mannon?” I ask, inquiring after the Portland President and the sergeant-at-arms for Seattle.
“In the chapel, waiting for you.”
I grunt in acknowledgement, getting out another cigarette as I go. I could use a strong drink, too. Jesus Christ, what a week.
“Serenity's inside,” Glacier says mildly, like he didn't fuck Jack's seventeen year old daughter a few short days ago. “Janae and Glinda, too.”
Lyric raises her brows as she follows behind us, saying nothing, her eyes taking in everything. Glacier's right, really, because Lyric has seen too much. Letting her walk away—particularly into a position of political power—would just be dumb. But hell if I haven't already admitted to being a dumb shit, right? I could never hurt her. Never.
And for the first time in my life, I think I fully realize what it is to be a man.
With a sharp breath, I toss my cig into an ashtray and turn to face her, pausing on the wet surface of the redwood deck.
“Inside,” I bark at Glacier and he rolls his blue eyes at me, retreating behind the carved wolf's head doors and letting them swing shut behind him.
“What is it?” she asks, alarm in her voice, her short dark hair all mussed up from the helmet. As I watch, she reaches up and runs her fingers through the silken strands. I follow the motion, cupping her gently behind the head.
“I really do love you, Pint-Size. You know that, right? You believe that?”
She pauses for a moment, looking like she's a bit taken aback.
“I …” Another long pause. “I do, yes. I do believe that.”
My lips press into a grim line, but I can't stop myself from leaning down and taking her mouth, sliding my tongue between the gorgeous pink swells of her lips, tasting the wildflower sweetness of her breath.
When I pull away, it's with no small amount of regret.
“You make me want to be a better man,” I tell her as I shake my head and drop my hand, turning and pushing the door open, holding it there with my back as I lean up against it. Lyric looks at me for a long moment and then smiles before walking past, her honeyed scent lingering in the air behind her as I clench my teeth to hold back a growl and slam the door shut.
Fuck if I know what that smile means. Did I win some goddamn points? Will she stay? In my heart of hearts, do I really want her to stay wrapped up in all of this shit? Because even if we get rid of the cartel and the FBI, something else is bound to happen. Some other upstart MC sniffing around our territory, a gang moving into town, another push to rid the world of motorcycle clubs from up top. It'll always be something. Always.
“How are you feeling?” Lyric's asking when I pause next to the TV room and lean into the darkness, broken only by the quiet flickering of the screen. Glinda's stretched out on the couch, wrapped in blankets and holding a mug of something in her hands, Janae sitting near her feet.
“Good to see you back,” I say, drawing the women's attention up to the doorway. I see the respect and gratitude in their eyes, the way Janae moves to make room for Lyric on the couch. They'll accept her if she stays … and they'll hate her if she goes. Exactly as she planned.
Why the hell does she have to be so goddamn clever? I think as my hands curl painfully around the wooden trim bordering the archway.
“Good to be back,” Glinda says in her thick Southern accent, smiling tightly up at me. “Although I feel a little guilty leaving Fauna at the hospital.”
“She's still doing alright?” Lyric asks as I give a little wave and move into the bar area, pausing as I catch Serenity with her fingers around Glacier's arm. He's not looking at her, his face locked down, lips tight as he pulls forward and her hands fall away, a stricken look stretched across her face.
“Saint, please,” she says as he walks toward the door in the back and lets himself through it, letting it slam hard behind him. “Saint …” Serenity sniffles and takes a deep breath, glancing over her shoulder and jumping when she notices me standing there. “Royal,” she says as she sniffles again and scurries away, brushing past me and ducking into the TV room before I can say anything.
I roll my eyes to the ceiling and count to ten.
Fucking hell.
This thing between Saint and Serenity, it's not just going to blow over all easy like, is it?
I have a bad feeling about this one.
When I wake up in the morning, it takes several seconds for me to realize I'm still at the Alpha Wolves Clubhouse, lying propped up on a black leather sofa with Serenity's head in my lap. I yawn and blink myself awake, running my fingers through my hair and adjusting my body with the creak of leather on leather.
The pocket doors on either side of the room are closed, shutting the four of us into this little cocoon of darkness. Faintly, I can hear the chatter of birds outside the shuttered window. Must be early, I think as I gently move the younger girl's head to a pillow and stand up, brushing my hands down the tight leather of my pants and thanking God above that I remembered to stash some tampons in my jacket pocket. Doubt there are any tampon dispensaries in the bathroom here. Although there should be. There should.
I slide the pocket door that leads to the hallway open, peering out and finding it empty. When I leave, I close it again, my boots echoing across the wood floors as I dig my phone from my pocket and turn it back on, praying there aren't a million messages from family and/or Feds and/or reporters on there. Honestly, I've been turning it off a lot lately, so I don't have to look at the damn thing. Almost makes me wish for simpler times, when getting a hold of somebody was a hell of a lot harder.
“Fuck,” I say as I pause in the middle of the hallway and purse my lips. It's almost eight o'clock. So much for my internal alarm clock. I'm going to be late for work. Again. I'm sure Philip will just love that.
I slide the phone back in my pocket and head into the bar area, finding Royal hard at work at one of the tables in the corner, several men I don't recognize clustered around him. Dober's there, too, and so is Mug and his brother, Smoky. And, of course, there's no missing Glacier. He's a beautiful man, but every instinct in my body tells me to stay the hell away from him.
“Good morning,” I say loudly, drawing the men's attention over to me. I know I should feel intimidated. After all, I'm the one invading their territory, but I'll tell you what, I just don't care right now. I have three days—three fucking days—to either get used to this or get the hell out. So I'm rolling with the punches here.
“Pint-Size,” Royal says, standing up and stretching his arms above his head with a groan. His t-shirt rides up, flashing some skin above his jeans, leather vest rustling with the movement. When he drops his arms to his sides, his stubbled mouth twists to the right in a slight smile. “I was just about to come wake you up, love.”
“Sure you were,” I say, not caring that we're flirting in front of his brothers. Last night, when he kissed me, I could taste the desperation. When he told me that I made him want to be a better man, I believed him. I stand there and watch as Royal moves toward me, planting his hands on his hips and gazing down at me with a mixture of tenderness and need. The thought of leaving him kills me inside. But the thought of being nothing and nobody forever … I just can't commit myself to that either. “I need to get to the office,” I whisper and Royal nods.
I notice some of the men behind him; one of them's wearing a President patch on his jacket. Ah. So this is one of the out of town guys then.
I focus my attention back on Royal. I want to ask if they worked out a plan last night, ask what it is, ask how I can help. Ask if he wants me to talk to Agent Shelley. But this isn't the place.
“I'll get you some keys to one of the loaner trucks,” he says with a regretful sigh, like he'd much rather be going with me. “We should be done here in a couple of hours.” A wicked sexy smile works its way across his mouth. “Meet me for lunch? I'd like to eat out.”
I raise a brow at his obvious sexual innuendo, rising to my toes as he leans over and we
kiss, long and deep and soulful, my heart racing in my chest, the rapid thump of my pulse making me lightheaded. I could live a thousand years and never replicate this kiss—any of Royal's kisses. The way he touches me with his mouth, it feels deeper, better, stronger, more. It feels like our souls are touching. If I have a soul mate, it must be him. It has to be.
And yet I'll still walk away from all of this.
There must seriously be something wrong with me.
“Dad is going to batter and fry you,” Kailey says when I park in one of the front spaces and frown my way past the police officers standing outside, barricades up against the frenzied media storm at our gates. When are they going to get tired of this? I wonder a split second before I spot Heather Shelley at the top of the stairs.
“What's she doing here?” I ask, ignoring the look Kailey's giving my outfit. I dressed in a red skirt suit today, much the same style as my others, but at least this one's got color and short sleeves. Underneath the jacket and tucked into the skirt, I have a skimpy black silk chemise with a detailed lace neckline. Paired with the buttoned booties on my feet, I feel like I'm starting to get the hang of dressing in a way that meets the requirements of my job and makes me feel good at the same time.
I wonder if it's too little, too late?
“Oh, her? She's been here since we opened this morning. Had a meeting first thing with Dad.” Kailey watches me and adjusts her earpiece. “Trinidad Mayor's Office, this is Kailey, how can I help you?” My sister turns away and retreats back behind her desk as I clutch the stack of mail she handed me and start up the stairs. My briefcase feels heavy in my right hand, even though all it has in it is my laptop.
“Special Agent Shelley,” I say with a warm smile when I crest the stairs and find her sitting at my desk, her hands steepled together as she returns my smile, looking sharp in another purple suit and a cream colored blouse. She looks better than I do, and I'm not the one that got shot. “I feel like we've done this dance before. What are you doing here?”
“Checking up on you,” she says as she rises to her feet and I glance over her shoulder to find my father's blinds closed. Great. That's not a good sign. The thought of walking in there fills me with dread as I set my laptop on my desk and look over at Heather.
“Checking up on me?” I ask as she studies my face carefully.
“Yes, actually. If you were an agent in the bureau, and had had to discharge your weapon the way you did in the parking lot or at the grow house, there'd be recommended therapy sessions at the very least. It doesn't seem to me that you're taking advantage of anything like that.”
Mia's face, streaked with makeup, stumbling back, falling to the wet pavement.
I blink several times and narrow my eyes.
“What a dirty tactic,” I say as I open my briefcase and remove my computer. I make sure to speak quietly enough that the buzz and chatter around us will drown out our conversation. “And after that chat we just had at the café, I was starting to think I might actually like you.”
“Listen, Lyric, this is nothing personal. I'm not after you. In fact, I like you, too. Truly. You're a strong, independent woman with a good head on her shoulders.” Heather taps her long, thin fingers against my desk as she watches me watching her. “What happened last night?”
“Last night?” I ask, my heart thundering, but my voice and face stoic and calm. “What do you mean?”
“You were at Royal McBride's place before the two of you took off on his bike and disappeared into the compound. Then, you don't show up until late the next morning. Clearly, something's afoot down there. Why else would we be seeing guys arrive from all across the United States, from every known Wolves' chapter in America?”
I don't have to ask how Agent Shelley gets her information. It's not that hard to figure out. This is the FBI we're talking about. When it comes to reach and resources, they're hard to beat. Either she was watching me herself or had somebody else do it.
I take a deep breath.
“It's barely been a day since we last talked,” I say blandly, my head throbbing with a reminder to grab some coffee. I might've slept in late, but I didn't sleep well, sitting up like that, dressed head to toe in leather. Caffeine is definitely in serious order. “Don't I deserve some time to think over your proposition—that is, if I actually have anything useful to give you. Because at this point, Agent Shelley, I'm coming up blank.”
Heather Shelley purses her lips and stands up suddenly, rapping her knuckles on the desk as she shakes her head, turquoise feather earrings swinging with the motion.
“When you've had as much experience as I have in this world, Lyric, you learn quickly that time is always of the essence. There's no room to sit around and debate everything with the longevity of a scholar.” Her words make me think of Monday, of the self-imposed agony of the decision I'm forcing myself to make. She's right, actually, but I can't do anything without Royal agreeing to it. And not because he's the president or because I feel like I need his permission, but because I love him and I see us as perfect equals. “Did you see the news last night? The Villarreal Cartel posted a video of several beheadings, including that of a police officer and a professor known for speaking out against gang violence. Is that the kind of thing you want happening here in Trinidad? Or anywhere else for that matter? Think about it, Lyric, about the difference you could make in the world.”
Agent Shelley takes in a deep breath and smiles at me.
“I can smell violence on the horizon, Miss Rentz. And I'm never wrong about these things. I wish I were, but … think about it. Please. Oh, and Agent Garza is awake. He was happy to receive the flowers you sent.”
I nod as Special Agent Shelley moves past me, walking down the stairs with quiet steps, like she's floating a scant millimeter above them. Graceful, poised, dangerous as hell. I run my hand down my face and head over to the railing to watch her leave.
But then I look back at my desk and wonder. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but what if she's bugged this place? My desk? My father's office? I'll have to be really careful, just in case.
Another deep breath to calm myself. And another.
Slowly, the sound of the office creeps back in, the ringing of phones, the chatter of voices around me. Before I can let myself think too much about it, I head over to my father's office door, knock briskly, and step inside.
“Dad,” I start, because I feel like calling him that might soften the blow of my tardiness, “do you have a minute?”
He's sitting in his chair with one elbow on the desk, his head in his hand as he glances up at me and frowns, blue-gray eyes flashing with irritation.
“Oh? You still work here? I wasn't aware.” My turn to frown as I step inside and close the door behind me, hating the gloom in the office but glad for once that the blinds are closed. The last thing I need is for my colleagues to see me get reamed by daddy dearest.
“I feel like you might be a little more understanding considering the things I've been through this week,” I state flatly, crossing my arms over my chest as I lean against the windows to my right, the blinds crinkling with the motion. “I was kidnapped. I was shot at. I …” Killed people. Those words seem to get stuck in my throat for a moment, but I force myself to be strong and breathe past them. “I shot a girl—to death—in a supermarket parking lot.”
“Yes, all things I'm aware of,” Philip snaps at me, slamming the lid on his laptop. “It's becoming a political nightmare for me. How can the mayor protect the city when he can't protect his own daughter?” I cringe a little; I hadn't seen the headlines. To be honest, I've been avoiding them like the plague. Half of them are about me or the Wolves or the cartel, and I just can't right now. Not when I'm in the thick of it like this. “My biggest supporters are pulling out and my chances of re-election are slim. If I were you, I'd start thinking about getting a new job. And soon. Before your résumé is tainted.”
Philip stands up, looking tired and worn-out. For a second there, I almost feel sorry f
or him. I mean, he did abandon me at family brunch yesterday and true, how dare he think only of himself when it was me that suffered, but … he's still my dad and some small parts of me will always seek his approval and his happiness. Much as I hate to admit it …
“I could call up some of the media outlets, make a few more appearances, give some statements,” I say, feeling myself flipping between daughter mode and deputy mayor mode. Because this is my job here, to get my dad re-elected.
“They'll have you, I'm sure,” he says as he makes his way over to the antique liquor cabinet against the wall, opening it and preparing a neat Scotch for both of us. I'm a little in shock as I take the drink in my hands, watching as my dad opens the blinds that face out toward the street. When I take a few steps closer, I catch glimpses of today's bodyguards sitting off to the right, just outside the parking lot. If Dad notices them, he doesn't say anything. “They'll talk to you,” he repeats, “but they won't want to talk about me.”
There's a long, careful moment where we both sip our drinks and stand in quiet contemplation.
“There's talk,” he says slowly as he swirls his drink around, “of the possibility of you running for my seat.”
“What?” I ask, blinking in shock as I turn to look at him, the wan light in the room turning his face into that of a wrinkled old man, a look that I'm not used to associating with my father. “What are you talking about? I just killed somebody. And they want me to … run for office?”
“The party thinks the media attention would be good for us. And you didn't kill someone, Lyric. Please stop saying that. You utilized your second amendment right and defended yourself against a dangerous criminal. That's exactly the kind of bravado the people need right now.”
I look back out at the street and close my eyes for a moment. This is a lot to take in, not at all something I was expecting.
