by Nikki Groom
“The car, can it be fixed? I mean, I can call a friend to get it on the back of a truck and brought here so I can take a look if you want?” Nate offers, ever the fixer.
“I’ve got it under control, thanks, guys.” I push my glass away from me and stand up. “I have work to do.”
“Not so fast,” Vaughn interrupts, and I close my eyes and take a breath.
“What?” I say impatiently.
“I’m hoping only to be gone for tonight, the meeting is first thing, and if we can strike a deal, we’ll be out of there by lunchtime and home by evening. Will you be okay?”
I prop my hand on my hip, shooting him a penetrating glare. “I think I can manage for one night, Vaughn. Jeez, I’m twenty-four for goodness sakes. I shouldn’t even still live at home with you.”
“But you do, and for the last fourteen years I’ve made it my job to care for you, that won’t stop just because you grew up.”
Nate sits in silence, watching us back and forth, staying out of the discussion as usual, but taking everything in. “Nate,” I say. “What age did you leave home?”
“Let’s not start this, Sadie.” Vaughn rolls his eyes.
“No, come on. I want to know. At what age do normal people fly the nest and start to make it on their own?”
“Sadie—” Vaughn warns, and I hold a finger up to stop him.
“Nate, at what age did you leave home?” I ask, propping my hands on my hips.
He looks between Vaughn and me, then answers. “Eighteen.”
“Was that by choice?”
“Yeah, it wasn’t easy though,” he rubs his thighs with his palms. “Different circumstances, Sadie. I didn’t have a lot of choice. Home wasn’t home, for me.”
Vaughn gives me a smug look, but I don’t care about that at this moment. I round the table and give Nate the biggest hug I can manage, squeezing him tight. “I’m sorry,” I mumble to him hating the thought of him feeling so alone.
“Hey,” he says softly, hugging me back. “It’s all good, I’ve got you guys now, haven’t I?” he says, ruffling my hair. The gesture makes me swallow down a huge lump in my throat. Sometimes he treats me like a kid sister, and every time he does, I’m reminded of the brother I never saw grow up.
I release him and step back, and as I look over to Vaughn, I see him rubbing his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. “Okay, okay, love fest over,” Vaughn says, scraping his chair back to leave the table. “You have work to do, Nate. You too, Sadie.”
“Vaughn?” I call out after him.
“Yes,” he answers in mock annoyance, but not turning.
“I’ll be fine while you’re gone. I’ll most probably be working into next week anyway, so I’m likely to be sitting in the same spot that you left me, in a sea of tootsie roll wrappers and stewing in my own dirt,” I say, trying to make light of the situation. It’s all too heavy around here at the moment.
He turns slowly with an unreadable expression. “As you said, you’re twenty-four years old, Sadie. You’re a grown woman.” He shrugs, giving me a solemn smile before disappearing up the hall. I stand there for a second, feeling alone, conflicted, and confused. I am twenty-four years old. I should be standing on my own two feet and taking responsibility for my actions. I’ve wanted him to step back and let me breathe for a long time.
Until we moved here from San Francisco, it had been easy to let Vaughn take responsibility for me—to justify my reluctance to be independent by telling myself I was scared. It had been that way since I was eleven and we never re-evaluated our relationship, until now. I was scared. I am scared. I’m scared of my past and the way it infiltrates my perception of my future. I’m terrified of the future because of what I’ve become due to my past. It’s a very sharp double-edged sword. But the last thing I want to do is drag Vaughn into something nasty—the person that I discovered within myself last night. He’d be so disappointed. Maybe he’d disown me anyway. Things are changing, regardless of if Vaughn or I want them to. Time is marching forward, and maybe we are moving in different directions—maybe we don’t need each other as much as we thought we did.
Chapter 8
“Right.” I address the table of men in front of me. “Quiet down, guys, let’s get today’s agenda started, Prez...” I hand over to JJ, the president of the Reno Steel Souls, and the man that saved mine and Ruck’s life all those years ago. Although he’s aged since we first met, his shoulder length hair is grayer, and there are lines around his eyes that could tell a thousand stories if they talked, he’s in pretty good shape for his forty-nine years. JJ is a natural born leader—he talks, they listen. He never needs to raise his voice for people to take notice, he just has that way about him.
All eyes point respectfully towards him, and silence ensues around the table. “There’s a few things to discuss today. We’ve been offered first refusal of another bar on 4th. The Locker.” He glances around the table for initial reactions, but the boys give nothing of interest other than bobbing their heads. “I’ve requested the figures for Tex to look over, I think it would be a good investment for us if we can make the numbers work, but I need more information on the trouble that old man Billy Hagan’s got himself in to. He needs money, and he needs it fast which is why he came to us when he first decided to sell up. We can do fast cash, but I’m not walking into a fucking lion’s den. I want every transaction, every contact, every whisper to be checked out. Got it?”
“Prez?” Mo says quietly.
“You know something, Mo?” JJ says, casting all eyes in his direction. Mo is probably the shyest person I’ve ever met, although with his six-foot frame, and black Mohican, you certainly wouldn’t peg him as the bashful type. His eyes dart about, and the nervous tick in his shoulder jumps with more ferocity the longer we all sit and wait for him to speak.
“Kacey at the club said she heard he’d hooked up with a new dealer. New shit, harder, more expensive.”
“Oh yeah?” JJ raises his chin a little, narrowing his eyes. “Well, Mo, my man, you go and give that chick some more of the good stuff and get her to open that sweet mouth of hers some more and let those words loose, okay?” Mo nods hastily, his eyes wide, desperate to fit in, eager to please. “And if she doesn’t know anything else, you send her in to suck some other fucker’s cock and get her to find out for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, in light of Mo’s little bit of news, I want to know if there’s a new dealer in town. I want to know who, how, and where. I don’t want anyone saying a word of this to Billy. He knows we will be looking into things, but I don’t want him panicking and hiding shit, hear me?”
There are mumbles of, ‘Yes, Prez,’ around the table as they all nod in agreement with JJ.
“Okay, Dev, you all set for fight night?” JJ asks Dev, who sits at the opposite end of the table to him. Dev fills the huge wingback chair with his presence more than his physique. He’s pretty lean, and he trains every day for at least four hours, so he’s not just toned, he’s ripped.
“Just another day in paradise, Prez.” He gives a cocky smirk, running his thumb and forefinger casually across the dark stubble on his jaw, but the look in his sharp blue eyes stays ice-cold, as always. Dev is an unknown entity, a cold void of darkness, who fights for both fun and to feed his soul. He doesn’t do emotion or feelings. He does violence and death. But he’s fiercely loyal. Thank fuck for that. I would leave the country, change my name and have surgery to alter my appearance if I knew he was looking for me as an enemy.
“Just don’t fucking lose.” JJ laughs, shaking his head because although we know what an animal Dev is, it doesn’t stop everyone worrying that he’s going to meet his match and get beat one day. But that day hasn’t come yet, and he’s pretty much the undisputed, uncrowned champion of underground fights. In the last two years, he’s made the club more money than the dancing pussy at The Liquor Box.
“That word’s not in my vocabulary,” Dev’s voice turns serious. “Don’t doubt me,
Prez. Don’t ever doubt me,” he warns, causing everyone to nervously sit back from the table.
“Hey, man.” JJ holds his hands up. “I ain’t doubting you. I’m counting on you to bring home the fucking money. We’ve got big bucks riding on you.”
Dev sits forward, resting his elbows on the table in front of him and placing his chin on his tattooed knuckles. “By the end of tomorrow night, you’ll be fucking on a bed of money and kissing my ass, big man.”
“Can’t wait,” JJ says, giving Dev a nod. “Everyone else cool? No issues?”
I look around the table, waiting for someone to ask about the girl, her battered Camaro that’s parked outside, or at least Donny Carden, but they don’t. Maybe Tex told them all to keep their mouths shut. Maybe they can sense it’s not a smart move to ask about it. No one knows about Spice and Dago yet. Ruck and Tex have their lips tight, and they know not to say a word until I tell JJ about it. He won’t be happy. He wouldn’t have given it the green light, as he knows it could start a fucking war, but I knew something had to be done and I’m counting on it to sway the White Wolves the other way and warn them hard enough to back off. The message I’ll be sending back with their guys will be loud and clear, and if they want a war, they’re gonna come off worse than us.
Someone bangs on the door to the office and everyone’s heads snap around. “Yes,” JJ yells. Blake, one of the newer prospects nervously pushes the door open, taking one step in the doorway before stepping back out, unsure if he should cross the threshold uninvited. “What the fuck do you want, Blake?” JJ asks, rolling his eyes and shaking his head with impatience. I know what he’s thinking, the young fella’s gonna have to toughen up a bit if he’s ever gonna get patched in.
“Uh, sorry to disturb you, but there’s a chick kicking up a fuss at the gates.”
“And you can’t deal with an aggro chick?” I ask him, laughing and triggering the same response from the guys around the table.
“Uh, yeah, I can.” He straightens his shoulders and frowns down at me, looking pissed that I’m teasing him, and showing a bit of that fire in his belly. “But she asked for you. She said to tell you that she isn’t leaving until you get your ass out there. She’s pretty fucking feisty.”
This causes the whole table to erupt with laughter. They’re all fucking feisty. They all think they’re owed a living, and they all want to bang a biker thinking they’re old lady material. “Well, does she have a name?” I ask, sitting forward, cocking my head.
“She said to tell you her name is …Raven.”
I try and swallow in a controlled manner so the guys don’t see my reaction. “Fucking women,” I curse. “Tell her I’ll be out in a minute.”
She came back? Is she trying to fuck with me? She caused such a reaction in me yesterday, such a mixture of dark and light, admiration and infuriation, but probably the most poignant feelings of them all was the promise that if she stayed around any longer I knew somehow that she was going to be the equal cause of pleasure and pain like I’d never known before.
“Okay, guys, we’re done for now.” JJ bangs his palm on the table, and everyone jumps up and files out. I’m about to move past him, but he catches me by the wrist. “You wanna tell me about her?” he asks, tilting his head and raising a brow quizzically.
“Nope.” I shake my head and sigh. “Nothin’ to tell.” He accepts my answer and nods, meeting my eyes and exchanging silent words. He won’t push it, but he’s trusting me to come to him if there’s anything going on that might affect the club, and fuck if that doesn’t make me feel bad that I haven’t told him about The Wolves boys yet. I need to get rid of this chick and sort that shit, and soon.
I march through the bar and swing open the heavy metal door to the courtyard. The guys are scattered around but have made themselves busy. Dev’s warming up to work on the punchbag hanging under the cover of a shelter. Tex, Mo, and Ruck are across the yard, working on an old bike, but I feel them watching me as I approach the huge metal gates to the compound. I feel them all watching me.
The girl stands with her arms crossed and studies me through narrowed eyes. “Couldn’t get enough, huh?” I say coldly, squaring my shoulders.
“Are you gonna let me in?” she asks, pushing her chin up and pouting those full red lips.
I laugh. “Nope.”
“You owe me.” She shoves her hands on her hips, drawing my attention to the leather pants she has on, slung very low on her waist and showing part of a tattoo peeking above the waistband which looks like it trails up from her hip bone. “Hey, motherfucker! My eyes are up here,” she says sharply, and I can’t help but grin.
“What do you want?” I ask, meeting her icy stare. Her dark eyes pin mine, and for a second, they soften, until she opens her mouth again.
“You owe me a gun.” She keeps one hand propped on her hip and inspects her nails on the other, before looking back up to me. “And a car.”
I choke out a laugh. “I’m sorry?”
“No need to apologize. Just give me both, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Apologize? I’m not apologizing, sweetheart.” I step forward, so she’s standing in my shadow. My frame towers over her as I place both hands on the chainlink gate between us. Not only does she step forward too, but she places her hands against mine, stretching her arms up, and pushing her ample chest closer to my scrutinizing gaze.
“You held a gun to my head,” she says through gritted teeth. “You made me drive and crash my car, then you took my gun, trussed me up like a fucking rodeo calf and held me against my will.”
I lower my head level with her, fucking incensed by her bravado and turned on by her sass and sheer fucking boldness. “If I held you against your will, what are you doing on the other side of the fence?” I ask quietly, amusement touching the corners of my lips.
“I’m on the other side of the fence because you’re an asshole and won’t let me the fuck in!” Her voice gets steadily louder until she shouts the last words, and I can feel everyone’s eyes on us. The prospect takes a couple of steps back, turning his back to us to hide his laughter. I press my lips together to stop myself laughing with him. To anyone else, this looks like an argument between me and my old lady, except I don’t have an old lady. So it’s just a regular day at the clubhouse. Crazy chicks giving me shit for no good reason. But this chick is different. I want to ruffle her feathers to see what she comes back with. I want to push her buttons in more ways than one to see how she reacts. She’s a challenge, of the most frustrating kind, but I like it.
“You armed?” I ask, stepping back from the fence. She mirrors my actions, stepping back too.
“No, douchewank. You have my fucking gun!”
“Prove it,” I say.
“What?”
“You heard.” I fold my arms and tap my foot impatiently. She scowls at me, then raises her chin in defiance. First, she takes off her jacket, throwing it at the fence with her jaw clenched tight. I don’t know what I was expecting her to do when I asked her to prove it, but watching her now unlace her black shit-kicker boots, I’m struggling to hide the shock on my face. She hurls her boots at the fence, one by one, causing the metal to clang and everyone in the yard to stop what they’re doing to watch.
She raises a challenging brow at me, as she unbuckles her leather pants and my jaw drops.
She’s going to strip right here?
“What the fuck are you doing?” I say, rushing forward to unlock the gate. No fucking way is she taking her clothes off in front of the guys.
“Proving to you that I don’t have the means to blow your fucking nuts off.”
“Alright, alright.” I curse under my breath and swing the large metal gates open. “Get your ass in here,” I growl, grabbing hold of her upper arm and dragging her forward.
“Hey,” she barks, wrenching her arm back out of my grasp. “I don’t need manhandling. All you have to do is speak to me like a proper human being, and our conversations might be a little easier.
”
She grabs her boots and jacket and storms past me, shoving my upper arm with her shoulder. I drop my chin to my chest and rub my temples with my thumb and forefinger.
Women are always trouble.
Always.
She marches up to Ruck, Tex, and Mo and stops in front of them, slips on her boots and stands with her feet shoulder width apart, her hands on her hips like she’s a fucking circus trainer about to give commands to her pet lions.
Does she know nothing about us—who we are? If she did, I doubt she would be bold enough to come in here throwing her weight around. Not that we would do anything to hurt a woman unless she pulled a gun or a knife on one of us and even then it would only be enough force to diffuse a situation. The weird thing is, after seeing her in action last night, I know she’s capable of a whole lot more than the vibe she’s giving out.
“Are you guys mechanics?” she asks, glancing at the tools they have scattered around to fix the bike. The guys glance at each other with a perplexed look on their faces before looking over to me silently questioning what they should say or do next. I made it very clear when we brought her back here last night that no one was to go near her. Which is crazy. I don’t know why, and I can’t explain it, but I don’t want any of them hooking up with her. Maybe the childish mentality that I saw her first. Maybe the fact that I find her as sexy as sin. Maybe because the thought of one of these guys putting a hand anywhere on her tight little body has me wanting to run them through with a knife.
“No, they’re not mechanics,” I answer from behind her. I place my hand gently on her shoulder and tug gently, turning her to face me. “We need to talk,” I say quietly. “In private?”
She looks up at me with those molten brown eyes, her full, cherry red lips part and curve in a thoughtful smile. “No.”
“No?”
“I don’t think being alone together works out all that well for us, do you?”
“I—”
“You invited yourself into my car, held a gun to my head, tied me up, kidnapped me, and then yelled at me to get out when I came around from passing out with concussion from the car crash you caused. So, yeah …I’ll pass on being alone with you, thanks.”
