History of mental health issues, personality type, childhood experiences, social support, and the nature of the traumatic event were all factors in diagnosing PTSD. Lily leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms over her head. Her gaze caught Lang’s phone numbers. She’d nearly forgotten he wrote them down.
Maya’s case intrigued her, both professionally and personally. She wanted to help. Meeting once or twice a week wouldn’t resolve Maya’s issues. Ongoing therapy would. Especially outside of school. Lily believed in regimented schedules for high-risk kids. A mixture of educational and physical fitness pursuits were necessary. And art or writing exercises often provided an outlet. Given Maya’s talent, she wanted to persuade Lang to sign her up for art classes after school.
Not to mention her own need to be closer to Lang. Three weeks hadn’t cured her growing curiosity or the need to kiss him again. Her nights were filled with memories of that single, most incredible kiss she’d ever experienced. She’d met several respectable men since her night out with Tina, ones her father would likely approve of, but she found herself comparing them to Lang. She didn’t feel with any of them the on-fire chemistry that was so striking between her and Lang. She loved his brutal honesty and on-the-edge life. A lose-lose situation, since she’d never met anyone like him before and probably never would again.
She reached for the tablet on her desk, then tore off the sheet with his phone numbers. Once she dialed that number, nothing would be the same. Lily never failed to meet her commitments: she either powered forward like a defensive tackle or disengaged completely. A tactic her father had taught her. That’s why she weighed everything very carefully before she acted. She fished her cell phone out of her purse.
Chapter 9
Strength in numbers: the most basic rule of survival in the MC world. But membership in the Sons of Odin was at an all-time low. With the law breathing down their necks and now Jess’s arrest, Lang needed to work doubly hard to attract quality Prospects. As he’d planned, Vincent and Merck were unanimously voted in as full Brothers.
After dropping Maya at school, he had a one-on-one meeting with the current sergeant-at-arms, the member responsible for ensuring the bylaws of the charter were kept. It hadn’t gone well. Lang learned that under Jess’s relaxed watch, several members had been moonlighting for the Mexican cartel, providing transportation over the border for girls and drugs destined for Texas and Arizona—activities the club strictly prohibited. Under normal circumstances, such a serious violation required a beatdown and immediate dismissal. Drugs drew heat like shit attracts flies. But these weren’t normal times. Profit margins were shrinking. Beyond the success of the club’s popular bar, the books didn’t line up. Another issue Lang intended to remedy by appointing new officers, men he trusted implicitly.
His thoughts returned to the present. Heartache had finally convinced Vincent to become a Prospect. Now Vince stood there admiring his cut, the vest with the three patches representing his new family—his new life. “Sons of Odin” was stitched in black thread on the top rocker. The logo patch in the center showed Thor’s hammer on a sea of silver. The bottom rocker read “Texas Born.” Vincent slipped it on, a grin on his chiseled face.
“Finally,” he said. “Don’t know why I waited so fucking long.”
Lang embraced him, slapping his back with approval. “I am my Brother’s keeper,” Lang offered.
“My Brother’s keeper,” his friend repeated, a sacred oath beyond the one he’d already taken.
“Walk with me,” Lang said, opening the side door of the clubhouse.
He stepped into the afternoon heat. A chain-link fence surrounded the club compound, leaving only the bar accessible to the public. Lang sat on one of the benches near the beach.
Now that Vincent had been voted in, it was time to ask him to serve as an officer. Lang needed to surround himself with men who believed in the same things he did. One of which was that the Sons of Odin succeeded because they didn’t play the drug market.
“I’m proud of you,” Lang told him. “And you know how I feel about Jessie. Love him. But things gotta change.”
Vincent lit a cigarette and nodded. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”
“I can’t turn a blind eye while a couple Brothers jeopardize the club. What a man does on his own time, as long as no representation of the club is made, I can live with. But Sampson and Moco are guilty as fuck, wearing their rags to impress the cartel—to intimidate buyers.”
“Heroin,” Vincent said.
“I didn’t know. Jess hid it from me.”
“Motherfucker,” Vincent cursed. “All those late night phone calls and runs—fuck, I should have guessed something shady was going down.”
“Let it go for now,” Lang ordered. “We can’t afford to act too swiftly, might splinter what’s left of the membership. I’m going to arrange a meeting with Felipe this weekend. He’s at some resort in Port A scouting new pussy all week.” Lang despised the cartel’s Corpus representative.
“Alone?”
Lang nodded. “Call it a meet and greet. There’s no reason to worry, Felipe knows me well enough. The last shipment of AKs reached him on time at a serious discount. He owes me one.”
“Think he’ll resist?”
“I’m praying Sampson and Moco didn’t fuck it up so bad there’s no way out. The cartel doesn’t like change if they’re making a profit. Sampson knows his way around Matamoros too well. And with his connections to the federales, pretty sure Felipe won’t appreciate the loss.”
“Strip Moco’s patches. He’s the senior member—give him to the cartel.”
Lang rested his hand on Vincent’s shoulder. “Right or wrong, we protect our own.”
“He violated our trust.”
Lang grinned. “Listen to the Prospect.”
“I’ve been around a long time.”
“Three years.”
“I’ve seen a lot shit and held my tongue. Jumped when told to. And now…” He swallowed, fisting the bottom of his leather vest. “This is a game changer.”
“Agreed,” Lang said. “Be patient. Forcing them out quietly is the wisest choice. That’s where you come in. I need a treasurer I can trust. Funds aren’t lining up. I’m not worried about Valhalla, it carries itself.”
“Treasurer?”
“Not the glamorous title you’d hoped for?”
“No,” Vincent said. “You know my talent for numbers.”
“You work at a fucking bank.”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “I’m tired of accounting.”
“Leave the suit at home,” Lang advised. “Is that a yes?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. I also want you to sponsor Dog Tag as a Prospect. We need new blood inside.”
Dog Tag had retired from the Navy a year ago, and still wore his tags, earning the nickname. He’d started attending club events and had been invited to hang around to get to know the Brothers. Lang had identified him as potential membership material right away. The process wasn’t easy. All preconceived notions about the Life had to be left at the door. The training was as intensive as boot camp times a hundred. Prospects did as they were told, and if they hesitated, got a beating or worse.
“Check on the girls for me while I’m gone.” Lang’s sisters were always on his mind. Fourteen, twelve, and six—his house reminded him of a zoo. “Rosa knows I’m going to be gone overnight.”
Without kids of his own, he’d never understood before what it felt like to be responsible for someone so innocent and young. Now he did, nights occupied by ear-piercing screams and laughter, messy bedrooms, arguments about homework, who got to pick what movie to watch, training bras—he rolled his eyes on that one. Girls were more difficult to raise than Prospects.
His sisters belonged to him now. And regardless of what the common belief of his charter was—that the Brotherhood came before everything else—Lang couldn’t bring himself to agree. He’d kill anyone who tried to hurt his family.
The back door to the clubhouse swung open. “Hey!” Sampson called.
Lang and Vincent gazed at him.
“The party started a half hour ago. Get your asses inside.”
Lang stood. “Ready?”
His best friend smiled, oblivious to what waited. The beat-in would last a few minutes. Similar to hazing, all Prospects faced it once they patched out. It was a final test of discipline before being welcomed as a full Brother. They had to stand still while they got their ass kicked. Lang cracked his knuckles and crossed the yard.
His cell vibrated and he gestured for Vincent to go on. Lang didn’t recognize the number, but he answered. “Hello?”
“Lang?”
That raspy voice sent shivers down his spine. “Lily?”
“I’m glad I caught you.”
Lang thought of their awkward meeting that morning. He was resigned to respecting her as Maya’s counselor and nothing more, but the sound of her voice scrambled his brain. He’d assumed the worst about her before, thinking her too self-righteous and even a little uppity. But damned if she didn’t keep coming back for more. Leaving his numbers had been sort of a test. The fact that she’d called him so quickly showed him how close to the edge she stood—the same as him—fighting against what couldn’t be resisted.
“Is Maya okay?”
“Just fine,” she assured him. “Our session went well. She’s bright and articulate, and quite the gifted artist.”
Lang grinned. “The sketchbook?”
“Yes. I see a natural affinity for her family. A great sign. Most teenagers in her position isolate themselves. Maya loves you and her sisters. So I’m very encouraged. I think discussing her case over dinner would be beneficial for both of us.”
Lang could feel his heart pounding. Just the idea of spending time with Lily turned him on. “Tomorrow night?”
“Sure,” she said. “There’s a couple great restaurants on the South Side. Do you like sushi?”
He chuckled. “Not into seaweed and fish eggs, Counselor. How about real seafood or steaks?” He pictured Lily’s delicate features, her fine brows arched in frustration.
“All right. Do you have a favorite spot we could meet at? Say seven o’clock?”
“Sure I can’t give you a ride on my bike?”
“Only if you promise to let me ride on the back of that beautiful red machine you told me about.”
Lang knew she meant his grandfather’s 1948 Panhead. Now his heart came to a standstill. He liked when she talked dirty—especially when it involved motorcycles. Tempted to pull the bike out of the display case, he knew it was too much too soon. “Maybe this winter, if you’re a good girl.”
She laughed.
“There’s a great place on Padre Island, Larry’s Seafood and Steaks,” he said. “Nice patio overlooking the water, extensive wine list. Meet your expectations?”
“I’ve been known to overindulge in oysters and lobster sometimes.”
“Need directions?” he asked.
“No,” she answered, sounding relaxed. “I have GPS.”
He disconnected and shoved his cell back in his vest pocket. Dinner with Lily. If it made her feel better to pretend this was a business dinner, more power to her. Whatever it took to get her in front of him again. He’d taste those lips before the night ended tomorrow, and maybe more. Blood surged to his groin. Nothing like an afternoon hard-on right when he was about to join his Brothers to celebrate.
“What are you doing to me, Lily?” he asked as he headed for the beach. A short walk might take care of his problem. If it didn’t, the party would go on without him.
Chapter 10
Lily arrived at the restaurant a few minutes past seven. As she approached the double set of stairs leading to the second-story entrance, she noticed a Harley parked to the side of the building. Black with lots of chrome, and a headlamp shaped like a skull, the light strategically placed in the center of the open mouth. It screamed Lang. She shook her head and stepped out of the way as an older couple pushed by.
Similar to the tourist traps on the Jersey Shore, where she’d vacationed as a child, the wood-frame structure had seen better days. The wind-worn paint was chipped, and the faded black sign anchored to the roof, reading LARRY’S SEAFOOD AND STEAKS, needed some care. She slipped her hand up the loose banister as she climbed the steps, suddenly finding herself engulfed by a long line of patrons. The top deck wrapped around both sides of the building, and children were hanging over the railings staring at the water or trying to catch the occasional seagull that perched inches out of reach.
Then she caught a whiff of fried something on the light breeze and her stomach growled. She’d skipped lunch so she could indulge tonight. Dear God, no wonder Lang chose this place. She waited another five minutes to see if a hostess would take her name, but the line didn’t get any shorter. Perhaps there was a waiting list?
Curious to see the back of the building, she followed the deck around the left side, met by a paint-brushed evening sky and shimmering water. Boats were docked at a small pier, people clambering up the pathway to get inside the restaurant. The view alone would be worth the long wait. And just like the kids did, she inched closer to the railing and leaned over, closing her eyes in pure ecstasy as the wind carried the scent of salt water. South Texas possessed undeniable charms—clean air and access to the Gulf of Mexico. Things she’d only read about until she moved here.
Last week Tina had taken her for a sightseeing drive to the island. They’d stopped on the way home and bought fresh shrimp from a street-side vendor, grilled with butter and dill. She’d savored each piece.
“Lilliana?”
She wheeled around. Lang stood a few feet away. Again he surprised her, this time by wearing black jeans, a pec-hugging gray T-shirt, and boots. No patches. She licked her lips in aggravation that he could look so scrumptious to her. She’d been taught to never go grocery shopping hungry, and perhaps meeting with Lang when her body was sex-starved wasn’t a good idea either.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, approaching him slowly.
He looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes? Nothing to worry about. Did you have a hard time finding me?”
“No, just followed my nose. The food smells amazing.”
He smiled. “May not be the fanciest place, but the food is some of the best. Did the tourists chase you off out front?”
“I couldn’t get through the front doors.”
He offered his hand and she tentatively took it. “Our table is over there,” he told her.
Her gaze followed his pointing finger. Separated from the other tables and nestled into a corner was a table with two paper lanterns, overlooking the water. “That’s prime real estate,” she teased.
“Helps knowing the owner for twenty years. A friend of my father’s,” he commented, ushering her toward the table. “I took the liberty of ordering two dozen oysters on the half shell. Ever tried them with malt vinegar?”
He pulled her chair out.
“No, I always suck them right out of the shell.” Oh dear…She chewed on her bottom lip, regretting the unintended sexual innuendo. Raw oysters were still regarded as an aphrodisiac in many parts of the world. No wonder he’d ordered two dozen.
His lips twitched as he sat next to her, his eyes vividly focused on her mouth. “I’d pay to watch that,” he said, sounding amused.
Lily took a sip of water, then unfolded the linen napkin from her place mat and draped it across her thighs. “I’ve been wondering about something all day,” she admitted.
“Ask whatever you want.”
“You’re twenty-something…”
“Twenty-seven,” he clarified.
“And Maya is fourteen. Why such an age difference between you and your sisters?” She met Lang’s blue gaze, the one that seemed to rarely leave her.
“Mom didn’t mean to get pregnant,” he explained with ease. “But she did—at fifteen. Call it family planning. After I arrived, Dad
wanted her to finish high school and attend college.”
“What did your mother do?”
“Became a nurse—RN. She went to night school at Del Mar College.”
“That’s wonderful,” Lily praised honestly. “Few women get the opportunity to finish their educations after teenage pregnancies. I wish more families were supportive of their daughters.”
“Don’t misinterpret what I said, Counselor.” Lang slurped an oyster down before he continued. “My father loved my mother, but he had other motives.”
“Such as?” She sprinkled some salt on her first oyster, then delicately ate it.
“Money.”
“You mean financial security for his family? That’s admirable.”
“No.” Lang shook his head. “Maintaining multiple motorcycles, paying annual membership fees, making monthly runs, and just hanging out at the clubhouse, bars, and attending events is expensive.”
So his father had financially exploited his mother? She didn’t know what to say. And Maya wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps?
“Not all of us think that way,” he explained. “I don’t. I’m perfectly capable of providing for my family. And if I ever choose an old lady, she’ll have options, not demands.”
Good to know. There was hope for Maya after all. But apples didn’t usually fall far from the tree. “Your sister said something a little disturbing this morning.”
“Did she? Maya likes making people squirm. Shock value.”
“Pretty sure she meant it, Lang.”
“Tell me.”
“We briefly discussed her plans for the future.”
Lang took another drink of water. “Let me guess, she wants to be an old lady?” He shrugged. “Fantasy. It’ll never happen as long as I have breath in my body. That kid is going to college whether she knows it or not. It’s the one benefit of not having brothers. I don’t have to worry about the next generation of Andersons joining the charter.”
Relieved and impressed by his determination to nurture his sisters, she relaxed more. In their short exchange, she’d learned so much about him. What kind of man he truly was. From where she sat, he looked better and better. But a hardcore biker with ethics might be as rare as unicorns. They only existed in legend, right? At least she had thought so until now.
Persuasion Page 6
