His Loyal Rebel

by Debra Kayn

  His MC brothers cut the engines. He approached them, hoping they'd got a bead on Big's head, and stopped the threat toward him. The last thing he needed was to be out of commission because the cops were looking for him.

  "News?" he asked.

  "Only that Big and a guy named Cross paid Twyla a visit at her work." Frank put his feet up on the pegs and stayed on his bike. "We sent a crew of riders out who had no prior records to see if they could grab law enforcement's attention. They ghosted through. Priest talked with the contact at the police department, and he'd heard a cop named Maxwell had put out the call on you, but it was only for one night—the night you were chased."

  "Then it's over?" He stepped backward, ready to grab his duffle and head out.

  "It'll never be over." Rick met his gaze. "We need you, though. I'll have your back until you're comfortable."

  "'Preciate it, brother." He walked into the house, grabbed his duffle, and shut the door. At his Harley, he said, "Twyla's okay?"

  "Yeah." Frank started his motorcycle. "Tucked in at the house. Slick is within earshot."

  Whip started his Harley and followed the others as they wound their way along the deeply rutted trail out to the highway. Slick would know if any motorcycle came around the area where Twyla was staying. He concentrated on that, while the frustration of Big making contact with Twyla after she'd left the cabin simmered inside of him.

  He knew the mind of a biker better than Twyla. She hadn't wanted to believe him, while he would've staked all his money on how Big would react.

  Opening the throttle on the straight road, his thoughts cleared, and his doubts fled. He knew what needed to be done.

  He wasn't going to hide. If the cops weren't looking for him, the only ones who wanted him were Big and Cusclan MC.

  Until he died, he would seek retribution for the murder of his parents. If they wanted to come and get him, he'd stand out on the street corner and wait for them.

  Pitting the cops after him was a pussy move on a war that would eventually end with death.

  The motherfuckers had hurt his family long enough. His sister lived with the trauma Cusclan put her through daily. They owed him for the years he spent in prison paying for a crime that wasn't his, to protect his sister. He looked at his brother-in-law every day and knew the scars that were camouflaged with tattoos.

  Cusclan Motorcycle Club needed to be taken out.

  Turning off the interstate, he slowed, taking the road into Missoula. His senses remained on high alert. Even with two members with him, he felt targeted.

  It was hard to shake off paranoia.

  Rick glanced back at him. Whip lifted two fingers off the handlebar. His brother-in-law understood. They'd both shared a cell at one time. The risk of losing his freedom was his biggest threat.

  If it came down to getting his ass thrown in the slammer again, he'd go out shooting rather than to chance being thrown behind bars again.

  The ride to the clubhouse ended without passing any cops. He needed to check in with Priest and find out how Tarkio failed to stop law enforcement from working with Cusclan. For as long as he could remember, back when his father was riding under the patch, Missoula police backed down from coming after Tarkio, including unnecessarily pulling over any club members for traffic violations.

  Inside, Hammer handed him a bottle. He tipped it back, taking a welcomed swig, and continued to the meeting room. Knocking on the door, he let himself in.

  "Lock it behind you." Priest leaned back in the chair at the table.

  He slid the deadbolt. What they needed to talk about would remain between him and his president.

  Priest slid a pack of smokes toward him. He took a seat, set down the bottle, and grabbed a book of matches off the center of the table.

  "You might've noticed you were left alone on your way here." Priest set an ashtray in front of Whip. "I called in a favor. For now, the police aren't actively looking for you."

  "That's not a guarantee." He exhaled harshly.

  Knowing Cusclan got the upper hand on someone from the police department put doubt in his head that Tarkio could contain the problem and protect him.

  "No, it's not." Priest exhaled slowly. "Those damn guns Cusclan took away from Moroad Motorcycle Club made them twice as powerful."

  "Never thought I'd say it, but I wish the Moroad members were out of prison and could give Cusclan a run for their money to take back the weapons." He took another swig off the bottle. "I imagine the power has shifted on the inside of the prisons. Is there anything we can do to keep Cusclan busy? Maybe contact those in the Montana State pen? Or, have them spread info into Idaho?"

  "I'll see if I can get a visit in with Walker tomorrow."

  Walker was Tarkio's point of contact, doing twenty-five years for murder. He was the eyes, ears, and mouth to the other Tarkio members who found themselves sitting in a cell, doing time.

  Whip stood, knocking the chair backward. "The best thing we can do is blow up the Cusclan clubhouse. At least take half the fuckers out."

  "You need to give yourself—"

  "Time? Jesus Christ, they killed my parents. They would've killed my sister if she hadn't shot them." He threw the bottle of whiskey against the wall. "If Twyla gets hurt, that's in my head, man. That's another person who falls to Cusclan. I'm not going to let that happen."

  "She's tied to Big."

  "Bullshit." He kicked the chair out of his way. "She's young, trying to make it out on her own and got behind on bills. She moved in with him because she was trying to save money."

  "Are you telling me they weren't fuck—?"

  "Yeah, they were. But, Twyla only put up with him for a month before leaving him." His chest tightened.

  Her reasons for being with Big sounded messed up at the time, and it'd taken him a while to remember what it was like when he was younger. Back when his parents were alive, and he was a recent patched in member with Tarkio. He'd done more than his fair share of stupid shit.

  Hell, he thought he was invincible. No one could hurt him, and he'd live forever.

  It'd taken a prison sentence for him to grow up.

  He'd lost the stupidity and came out hard and angry. Two traits he couldn't shake because he'd learned about the real world.

  "You're not going to stay away from her." Priest sighed heavily. "You're too damn much like your dad."

  And, like his dad, he drew a line on the ground when it came to club loyalty. Cusclan had no claim on Twyla. Nothing was stopping him from looking after her.

  He couldn't walk away and leave her to defend herself. The blowback from Cusclan, not gaining hold over Tarkio and claiming the Missoula territory would put her at risk. Big and his MC brothers would look at every possibility of making Tarkio weaker.

  They'd look at going after their wives.

  Girlfriends.

  Businesses.

  Communities.

  Those with any contact with Tarkio were at risk.

  Because he was seen around Twyla, Big could make a statement by hurting her if he found her alone.

  "I'm going to watch her while she's at the house." He faced Priest. "It's the least I can do."

  "I have crews guarding the crops in Northern California and our businesses in Missoula." Priest stood. "I need to get to the prison, while Curley and Roddy are heading to Idaho tonight for the rally with those in Moroad who hadn't got swept up in the sting, plus Ronacks MC, Bantorus Motorcycle Club. I'll call in some of the senior members to patrol her area. That's the most I can afford to do while we're stretched thin."

  The risk was his to take. He wouldn't need any help.

  "Put them on the wives, and make sure my sister is covered with two men." He couldn't be in two places at once, and Rick would be in charge of those remaining behind in Missoula. "I can handle myself."

  Priest dipped his chin. "Stay in contact."

  "Yeah." He walked to the door and let himself out.

  All he had to do was grab a shower, pack a new
bag, and find a way to figure out Twyla's schedule. He couldn't put her on lockdown. All he could do was guard her when she was most at risk.

  Ringtail pulled into the lot and backed his motorcycle into the line of bikes in front of the clubhouse. Whip walked over and held his hand up, stopping him.

  The engine cut out, and Ringtail took off his helmet. "Are you back?"

  "For now." He looked around, making sure they were alone and out of earshot of the others loitering outside. "Why don't you have Twyla's sister ask her to stay at your house for a while?"

  "I brought Angie to my house like you wanted me to." Ringtail flipped his long strand of hair to his back and frowned. "Now you want me to take in her sister? What's wrong with the rental house?"

  "It's a crime-filled neighborhood. Nobody pays attention to any of the activities going on at the houses. Kids run around without supervision. People use the street to cross through the area. Cusclan members can ride in at any time, and nobody is going to be able to tell the difference between them and us, or likely to report any activity," said Whip.

  Not to mention there was a flimsy deadlock on the front door and nothing but the knob lock in the back. The fence, at one time, was for decoration only. There was a shrub blocking half the front window that anyone could hide behind and gain access to her house. It would take him thirty seconds to get into her house. She wouldn't have enough time to call the police or realize what was happening until someone stood in her room, threatening her life.

  Ringtail whistled. "I never noticed."

  "Then, you better open your eyes and learn to pay attention to what goes on around you." Whip looked at Ringtail's bike. "Start with taking that damn roach clip off your handlebar."

  Ringtail reached over and ripped it off, stuffing the clip and feathers into his back pocket. "Listen...I don't think Angie will go for Twyla staying with us."

  "Whatever those two have going on between them, it's not as important as staying alive." Frustrated that others refused to jump when danger was apparent, he gritted his teeth.

  Ringtail wasn't a member when the club almost imploded after Whip's parents were murdered and he was sent to prison. He had a lot to learn.

  "You need to take Twyla into your house," he said, not backing down.

  He should've thought about that when he made Ringtail remove Angie from the rental house. That mistake was on him, leaving her alone. But he hadn't known how short and superficial her relationship was with Big.

  "Why don't you take her in?" Ringtail put his gloves back on.

  "Because I live at the fucking clubhouse." He walked backward to his bike. "Just talk to Angie and make her see the light."

  "Hey...stay at my place." Ringtail scratched his whiskered jaw. "It'll keep those two from going at it."

  He stopped. It wasn't a damn sleepover.

  "It's an old house. Four bedrooms." Ringtail shrugged. "Just until you can get Twyla back into the rental."

  He couldn't expect Twyla to foot the rent on a place she wasn't going to use. Having her around Ringtail would be waving a flag in Big's face, regardless if he stayed with her or not. His thoughts circled. Had he attacked the problem in the wrong way?

  Tarkio never backed down.

  Maybe it was time to put his cards on the table.

  A war was coming, regardless of Twyla being involved.

  Twyla could be the one thing that made Cusclan reckless. Tarkio would get the upper hand.

  "Whip?" said Ringtail.

  He shook his head as everything began to make sense to him. "Hold that thought. Don't do a thing, yet."

  He jogged back into the clubhouse and straight to the meeting room. Squeezing past Wyatt, he stopped at the table.

  "I need to move Twyla into the clubhouse." He gripped the back of the closest chair.

  Priest pointed. "Sit."

  He looked over his shoulder at the door, making sure it was shut. What he needed to talk to Priest about couldn't leave the room.

  He had either figured out how to take out Cusclan Motorcycle Club or get himself killed.

  Chapter 14

  Twyla

  Whip opened a door off the hallway inside the Tarkio Motorcycle Club clubhouse. Twyla planted her feet and refused to walk inside, despite seeing all her belongings piled into the corner of the room and her clothes spread over the bed.

  "Make yourself at home." Whip turned around and faced her. "The bathroom is across the hall and down two doors."

  She glared. His excuse to get her here was a lie.

  Yes, Angie and Ringtail were in the other room, listening to music and drinking with a bunch of other bikers, but her sister hadn't needed her.

  If she knew he'd moved her out of the rental while she was at work, she never would've agreed to follow him to the clubhouse to talk with Angie about a problem with the rental house.

  Her sister wasn't concerned about getting evicted and losing the house. She was halfway to getting looped.

  "Angie's lying." She shoved her keys in her purse. "What really happened? Did she not pay the rent?"

  "The owner's a rat. Don't worry about that. You can stay here." He stepped toward her and grinned. "I live right on the other side of that wall. If you need anything, knock."

  "Why in the world would you think I'd want to live with a bunch of bikers?" She backed away from him. "Move out of my way, and I'll get my things and leave."

  He never budged. "Where will you stay?"

  "I don't know. My car." She pressed her lips together.

  It wasn't as if she hadn't slept in the vehicle before, and he knew that. More than the stress of losing the rental was the confusion over why it was Whip who'd met her after work and informed her of the news instead of her sister.

  Disappointed that Angie disregarded her feelings, once again, and showed no remorse for losing the house, she couldn't grasp why Whip offered her a room at the clubhouse.

  It wasn't a motel. It was a private organization for members only. Male members.

  He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "With Big out there ready to harass you, you're safe here."

  "I'm safe around bikers?" She snorted. "Right. Now, you're the one who is being delusional."

  "I can promise you that nobody here will touch you while you stay in the room." His gaze lowered to her mouth. "It's late. Relax and know you have somewhere to sleep tonight. We'll talk tomorrow, 'kay?"

  Her stomach fluttered at the mention of sleeping here. Why had it seemed as if he was asking her to share his room?

  Tomorrow was a workday. She was on the schedule to work from three in the afternoon until eleven o'clock when the restaurant closed.

  Breaking away from looking at Whip, she took in the building, knowing there was a bathroom with a shower. A door she could lock or at least pile her stuff in front of while she slept to make sure nobody tried to gain entrance.

  She met his gaze again. "Fine."

  His brows relaxed. "Good."

  "One night."

  "You're not going to have time to look for another place to stay." He paused. "You mentioned you work for the next three days. Just stay here until something better comes around."

  Had she told him her schedule? She couldn't remember.

  "Good things don't come knocking. I need to get out there and hunt for a place."

  "Don't worry about it tonight." He stepped around her, brushing against the front of her.

  She shivered at the close contact, reminded of what they'd done together. How he'd touched her. What he'd done with his mouth.

  She backed away, stepping into the room.

  Before she could close the door, Whip turned around in the hallway and faced her again. "Do you want a drink or something to eat?"

  The odd feelings inside of her could be blamed on hunger. She hadn't had anything to eat since starting work that afternoon. There was no way she'd be able to sleep with the music blaring in the other room and about a hundred people hanging out inside and outside the clubhou
se.

  Even having her sister in the other room failed to make her feel safe and secure in her new surroundings.

  Whip was the only one she halfway knew after spending six days with him at the cabin. She knew he'd keep her safe.

  "I could eat," she mumbled, dropping her purse on the floor.

  He hitched his chin. "Come with me, and I'll find you something."

  She followed him out to the big room at the front of the building. At the closest empty table, he pulled out a chair. She sat, but he had already moved across the room.

  He surprised her. She never figured a biker would pull out her chair, but then again, he always did things that showed her he was paying attention to her. Even at the cabin, he made sure she ate and had privacy to use the outhouse between bossing her around.

  Planting her elbows on the surface, she looked around for Angie. She couldn't help being mad at her sister.

  If circumstances were switched, she would've helped her sister. But Angie's sole interests were centered on Ringtail.

  She snarled. Everything always centered around Angie's selfishness. If her sister thought Twyla was getting any sort of attention, she'd do something outrageous to make sure everyone's focus centered on her.

  Angie loved playing the victim. Growing up, Twyla was the easiest person to blame. It used to bother her when her parents believed Angie without even questioning her.

  She slouched against the back of the chair. All she wanted was for her life to straighten out. Her sister could have all the Tarkio bikers at her beck and call if that's what she wanted.

  She only wanted to work, find a place to live, and not have to worry about Big showing up. The next time, she might shoot his damn foot off or something.

  She was tired. Physically, mentally, and her patience left days ago.

  Whip returned to the table and put a plate of food in front of her. She looked at what appeared to be a casserole of some sort and a salad.

  He set down two bottles of salad dressing— French and Catalina.

  Giving her a fork, he sat down beside her. She glanced at him. Apparently, he wasn't going to eat.

  She looked around the room. The others were only drinking.