by Marata Eros
My revulsion kicks into gear. “Anytime, Dagger. You name the time, the place—and we go.”
Dagger's hands ball into fists at his side.
“Children,” Mover says in a droll voice.
Dagger's eyes tighten, but he steps back, then clips my shoulder as he brushes past. He slams the door on the way out.
Dick.
Some clubs have men who are truly brothers. The camaraderie overtakes the petty differences that are always there between human beings and the testosterone-fueled MC life.
Not Chaos Riders.
Of course, because their very purpose is to go against authority and because they have rules only one percent of the population follows, biker clubs are probably the height of dysfunction. But if there's one thing I've always believed in it’s that normal is a setting on the dryer.
I catch Mover's eyes as soon as Dagger is through the door and gone. “We need to talk.”
Mover leans back in a seat that swivels and is comfy for his kingly ass.
“Oh?”
“Yes, I had things to say earlier—”
“I was indisposed.”
I plant my legs apart and cross my arms, teeth clenched. “What is that supposed to mean?”
His lips curl.
Heat flows through me. I'm not one of those guys who gets pissed without a physical outlet. Plenty of shit will happen if I get pissed off enough. Like now. “I know what the fuck the word means, Mover—and I know you weren't taking a growler.”
He pushes with his feet, rolling the chair backward and gaining enough distance between us to stand. “No. But I was cinching a delicate deal, and you know how I detest cell communication.” Walking slowly around the end of the twelve-foot-long table, he drags a trailing fingertip along the surface. “Cell devices—so untrustworthy. So easily compromised.”
In that, we agree.
Of course we would—seeing as I'm a cop and he's FBI. And we're so deep undercover, we can't see daylight.
Mover's eyes find mine. His are a strange color somewhere between gray and blue. Slate. Hard like flint. Cold like steel. Just enough blue to make them glitter in the low light of the room.
“I assume there's been a problem with the merchandise?”
This is the hard part. “Yeah. Bitch didn't show.”
“You can drop the act, Puck. It's just us.”
He can't know Candi is my sister. “This isn't an act. We might have different directors in this little orchestra we're playing in together”—I swing my finger between us—“but our goals are identical.”
He lifts his chin, bare of whiskers. Another novelty of a MC president—no beard. “True.”
“The bitch,” I say with emphasis, “because that's what she is, didn't make the drop.”
Mover stills. “This was the final piece of the elaborate puzzle. The one thing that would nail this bastard to the wall. We may be disallowed from working directly together, that's true, but we wished for the same outcome.”
I just said that. My shoulders sink. Maybe there is some commonality, after all. Maybe I've grossly misjudged Mover because feds and cops don't mix—oil and water. “Yes,” I say, unable to contain my relief. “The perp identified this kid specifically for the man pulling the strings. The one in charge of this sick ring wants this particular boy.”
“Calem Oscar,” Mover says, almost absently, lines of clear disgust marking his face like brands.
Yanking my hair tie from my nape I snap the elastic band between my fingers. “Got to find the woman. She's the key to all this.” My palms dampen.
“I do wish that Vince and I could come to terms finally.” Mover states out-of-the-blue.
“Does he know your role?”
Mover shakes his head. “Not fully—though he's very aware that I'm an undercover law player.” His eyes lock with mine. “That you are.”
I search his face. “You know something.” He just switched gears from Candi to the Road Kill prez.
Mover smiles. “It is an interesting feature you possess, Puck—ascertaining the thoughts of others so quickly.”
Right away, his words spark a memory.
“Puck! Get that whore of a sister to me right now.”
The force of the blow rocks my fourteen-year old face back, blasting blood out of a nose hit too often to heal in between strikes.
Candi is no whore. “I don't know where she is,” I seethe, spitting blood onto the imported marble flooring.
He stares at my face, searching for the lie. I know from experience that my face shows nothing.
I stare back, giving away nothing.
“I can't tell if you're lying anymore, Puck.” He grabs my throat, hauling me close, and I go up on my tiptoes so I don't get strangled right then. “Can you tell if I am?” His mouth makes a cruel sneer.
Yes, I can tell.
Because the truth is so seldom and everything is mostly lies, discerning others’ thoughts becomes basic deductive reasoning.
“Where did you go?” Mover's eyes scrutinize my expression.
My gaze shifts away from his probing look. “Just remembering.” My purpose floods me. “Tell me what you know—for once, I don't want to pretend. I want this to be over.”
“Only if it benefits the end. After all, the woman isn't important. Only the boy. It's he who will see this vile human apprehended. The boy's presence is the key.”
I know this.
I also know Mover isn't aware Candi is deep undercover. That's not the way undercover works, even within the same law entities.
“I have a mole in Road Kill MC. Somehow, they intercepted Dagger for the handoff. He's looking into it.”
Stepping back, I shake my head. “What? Dagger—what—didn't show up?”
This is what I was worried about.
“He showed up and was promptly bludgeoned for his efforts. Woke up a short time later with quite a lump.” Mover raps his knuckles on his head.
“How's Road Kill MC involved?”
“He woke and managed to get to the rendezvous just as a crowd of civilians was flocking around the riders like disgruntled birds. Those dots were simple to connect.”
Great. Witnesses. I grab my chin, rubbing my thumb over the day-old stubble. “It's got to be a territory thing.”
“No doubt they've got the same intel we do, and they're attempting to squelch the child trafficking in their own way, for entirely different reasons.”
“Yeah.” I sigh, tearing my fingers through my hair and retying it with an irritated tuck and pull. “They don't want a load of bullshittery moving in and fouling up their backyard. That's what it's really about.”
Mover's neatly shaped pewter brows sweep low. “And do we?”
“Fuck no,” I reply instantly.
Our eyes meet.
He spreads his arms, the cuffs of his jacket sliding up to reveal cufflinks, the gesture clearly saying, “Exactly.”
So Road Kill MC has Candi.
They have my sister, and they don't know she's FBI. They think she's the mule for this operation.
“I need to go,” I tell Mover. A surge of pounding adrenaline streaks through me like molten lightning, making my feet and hands tingle.
He gives a slight shake of his head. “We need the merchandise at the meeting point. It's a rough handoff without fanfare, but given the circumstances of the botched initial engagement, there's a chance to salvage this if the woman can be located and the boy presented.”
Mover lifts his hand and makes a fist. “We are this”—he puts his index finger and thumb nearly touching—“close to reconciling this, Puck.”
In this moment, he's not a fed, and I'm not a cop anymore. We're just two men wanting the same thing.
Protecting the young.
Chapter 16
Viper
I lightly touch Candice's arm.
She halts.
Letting my instincts fan out, I take in the feel of the room. Pretty hostile.
Storm hal
f-stands from his usual chair, eyes on Candice.
I point at him. “You're already on my shit list. Don't dig it deeper.”
He reluctantly plants his ass again, sullen eyes still glued to her.
Noose is perched against the wall, one boot on the wood paneling, obviously favoring his knee.
Ignoring his hooded eyes, I haul Candice by the arm behind me as I make my way swiftly to where I usually sit at the head.
But I don't sit today. I stand, and Candice stands beside me.
Voices erupt all at once.
Picking up the beat-up gavel, I whack it once on the wooden disc on the table.
The rumble of chatter settles then stops.
“I think I'm speakinʼ for most when I ask: what in the absolute fuck, Vipe?” Noose's charcoal gaze meets mine.
This is where internal fortitude gets tested. I'm going to really fuck with my men now. I know I'll be fucking with me too before the words ever leave my mouth.
“I'm throwing down for Candice,” I announce in a low, clear voice.
Candice tenses at my words, and I don't react.
Noose's boot falls with a thunk, then he slowly walks to me, the barest limp marring his saunter. “Are you fucking insane?” he asks in a loud articulate voice.
“Stand down, King,” I reply, using his last name for the first time.
I'm not sure we won't go.
It's Candice's reaction that's interesting, interrupting the growing tension. “You don't need to do this, Viper,” she says in that calm way of hers I'm coming to love.
Thing is—I do love it. For reasons I can't even make sense of. We fit. We work. And I haven't had that happen but one other time. My gut says she's innocent, and that deep, core-level intuition has never let me down. In fact, listening to my instincts has saved my ass more times than I can count.
The brothers will have to trust me.
“Viper, not this woman. Anybody else—hell, pick the nearest working girl—and we’ll back you,” Wrings says.
Candice centers a hard stare in his direction.
“Nice throw,” she comments to him icily.
A memory springs to the surface of my brain—Wring tossing her into the wall. After I did the same.
Shame melts my guts.
“I can do better than that, cupcake.” Wring winks, unfolding his arms and letting his arms drop. He puts his blade down on the wooden table.
Candice, with a fractured rib and definitely the worse for wear, straightens her spine in a way that's got to hurt. “But I didn't quit.”
His striking bright-blue eyes slim down on her. “No. You didn't.”
“I don't need your protection, Viper,” she says then faces the group of men. I cringe mentally before she goes on with, “I have a role in this. And…” She meets their eyes. Every pair hates on her, especially Storm's. “I can't say what it is.”
“You're nothing but a cunt with purpose,” Storm says.
I step away from Candice and closer to Storm. “Cut the fucking commentary unless you want me to clean your clock again.”
The men look at Storm.
Then their incredulous expressions shift to me.
“Viper take a swing at you?” Lariat asks, his face whipping between us, black eyebrows jerked high in surprise.
Storm crosses his arms, sliding his jaw back and forth. “Yeah.”
“Why?” Wrings asks, shock ringing in his tone.
Storm cocks his head at Wring. “ʼCause you weren't answering your cell, so I got my ass over to Viper's place as soon as I could. Found them in bed together. She's flashing her snatch, and he's protecting her.”
The men look back to me.
I don't say anything. I owe them an explanation I don't want to give. One I can't.
“She must have some kind of golden pussy to make you go back on what you said you'd do,” Wring says, flicking out his switchblade and going after his nails again. His eyes don't stray from my face, despite grooming his nails.
Candice does have a golden pussy. Scratch that—it’s platinum. That and more. It's the more that freaks my shit right out.
All women have vaginas, but not all women have our love. And I don't feel like men have a choice with who they end up loving. The two camps are not the same animal.
“Listen, all of you.” The woman has brass balls. “I have something to finish here.”
Candice looks at me with her golden eyes, and I remember pushing into her and watching those cat-like eyes half closed with pleasure. Something deep and irretrievable shifts inside me, like my fucking heart is falling inside me from a look and a memory.
Nobody to catch it but her.
I suck in a painful breath, realizing the brass tacks of my situation.
And it's pretty simple: I'm in fucking trouble here.
She looks away, finishing her thought aloud. “And you need to let me do what I need to. Trust me. I can't say what the process is, but I need to see this through with Calem and the handoff.”
“They have something on you?” Lariat asks, insightful as always, echoing my earlier suspicions.
“No,” she says, looking at her clasped hands.
“I don't trust this bitch as far as I can throw her,” Snare says.
She lifts her chin. “I've already been thrown. And you're right—I am a bitch.”
Wring smirks.
Candice turns to him and says in a level voice, “You weren't even the twentieth in line, bucko.”
Wring scowls, pausing his relentless nail cleaning as their gazes clash.
I laugh. In the middle of all the tension, a bubble of laughter erupts out of me like a volcano looking to spew lava.
Startled, Candice turns to me and laughs too. Then she gasps, her hand going to the injured rib.
It's difficult not to look at Storm, the cause of the injury.
Instead, I think about her words. Wring and I weren't the first men to throw her.
What is Candice doing where she's been forced to be that fierce? That defensive. Most women would give up faced by three men.
She didn't. What kind of life does Candice Arlington lead?
A dangerous one, my mind instantly supplies.
“I don't have to accept this,” Storm says. “I don't give a shit that I just patched in or not.”
He stands.
I stare down each brother. “Any of you feel froggy enough to jump on my lily pad, do so—or get the fuck out of here. You walk now, you walk forever.”
They all meet my eyes.
Like usual, Noose settles things in his harsh, unadulterated way. “Fuck it, you've never done us wrong, and if you think…” He narrows his eyes to my left, pausing over her name. “Candice has got a hidden motivation other than handing over children to pervs, I'm game.”
Noose feels around on his cut for something then jerks a box of smokes out from his interior pocket, the leather creaking as he settles the cut back into position. Flipping the lid back, he clips his lips around the cig then brings up his lighter. “But—” He cups his hand around the flame, and it blazes at the tip like a sinister tangerine eye. “If she turns out to be playing you, I'll kill her myself.”
His eyes move to hers. “Because if you're playing the prez, then you're playing all of us.” His hand spins a lazy circle at the loosely assembled men. “And that gets you a knot necklace, sweet thing.”
“Amen,” Storm says under his breath.
“I saw what you can do,” Candice says quietly.
He points his cigarette at her. “And I feel like someone ate my kneecap and spit the wad back in the general direction of my leg.”
Candice's exhale is hoarse, her shrug, slight. “You came at me with the rope. I defended myself.”
“Ah-huh.” Noose shoots a perfect ring toward the ceiling.
They glare at each other.
“Now what?” Lariat asks, leaning forward and putting his laced fingers on the tabletop. “We thought Arlington would lead us like pied p
ipers to perv boss, and we'd chase these fuckers out of here.” His dark eyes roam my face. “Now our president has decided to forgo that pleasure for pussy.”
“Property,” I correct. Pussy is like weeds that crop up everywhere. Property's like the peace rose. No comparison.
“You hated when complicated pussy mixed shit up in the club,” Snare reminds me. He looks at the three former Navy SEAL musketeers and nods in their general direction. “Even Trainer couldn't manage to do someone easy.”
“Fucking trend,” Rider says.
“Epidemic,” another says from the peanut gallery.
“You fucking morons all have balls and chains the size of the moon, and for the record—that shit will never happen to me,” Storm says.
“No woman would be with you. You're too broken to fix,” Candice says with terrible precision, waving the red flag before the bull.
He lasers his hazel eyes down on her like a firing squad. “What in the fuck would you know, ya stupid twat?”
“All right,” Wring says, whacking the back of Storm's head.
They stand at the same moment, and the tip of Wring’s blade bites into the tabletop.
Storm's hands curl into fists. “Don't fucking do that ever again.”
Pushing out his chest, Wring plows it into Storm's. “Stop disrespecting Viper's property.”
Wish I could give Wring a raise if there was such a thing as salary in the MC. But there's not. Just loyalty.
Storm swings his heavy arm toward Candice. “She's not his property. She's giving kids up to sick fucks to abuse. Candice Arlington is robbing human beings of their lives.”
I blink. Didn't think Storm had it in him.
“I'm not,” Candice says in a low voice.
Storm's face whips to her. “Then tell us the fucking tale. Otherwise, all you are is some walking vagina that the prez is gone over.”
“Stop talking, Storm,” Noose says in his final way.
“Yes,” I agree. “Every one of you men know what it is to find property. A woman doesn't always get presented to us like a perfect gift with a neat bow on top. And that was certainly the fucking case with all of you.” I swing a finger at the others, all of them with complicated history.
