“We can swim when we get back,” I say, trying to make a point. Christy is not doing as well here as I am. She's having a hell of a lot harder time adjusting. I realize I probably don't make it easy spending so much time with Austin, and vow to myself that I'll take a day sometime this week for just me and her. All day today, we hung out in a group with Kimmi, Mireya, and Tease, exploring this town that's soon to be our home. Some alone time is in order. “It's like flying, Christy,” I whisper, my words getting caught on the wind and fluttering like the strands of loose hair around my face.
“I know,” she says, but she doesn't elaborate. I can't claim she hasn't given it a try. She's been traveling around with the rest of us for the past few months. “But I … it scares me a little bit.”
“Scares you?” Kimmi shouts, touching her hands to either side of her face. “Girl, you picked the wrong lifestyle if a motorcycle scares you.” I watch as Kimmi reaches out her hand, wrapping her fingers around Christy's thin wrist and tugging her forward. “Come on. There's nothing to fear but fear itself.”
Chapter 3
Amy
The wind bites at my face because although I'm wearing the helmet, I refuse to put down the visor. The sunglasses I borrowed from Kimmi keep the worst of it out of my eyes, but I would not be surprised if I ended up accidentally swallowing a bug or two. It doesn't matter though, nothing does, not when the world looks like this.
I speed towards the brightness on the horizon, knowing that Austin is probably grinding his teeth watching me go this fast but unable to stop myself. Pure bliss, I think as I come up on a curve and slow down, leaning into it and trying my best to remember all the things Austin taught me. He's let me drive his bike a few times, but only on dirty old back roads and only, only, only if he's riding behind me. Today, I'm on my own and the absence of his arms around my waist is both a sin and a pleasure. It might not be a big thing to some people, but the fact that I'm here, that I'm controlling this massive hunk of metal between my thighs, that's a big accomplishment for me. It's one of the few things I've ever done on my own. Besides sleeping with Austin, I think with a smile. Or running away to join a motorcycle club.
I relish the feel of the leather jacket on my shoulders, and I don't even care that it says Prospect on the back of it. I belong. Not just in body, but in soul. Recent tragedies aside, Austin Sparks and Triple M have been like a dream for me.
I hit a flat stretch of road and try not to laugh with maniacal pleasure. Certainly that would be very unladylike.
“This is fucking incredible!” I shout into the mic on my helmet, and the words feel so good spilling from my lips that I say it again. “In-fucking-credible.” Laughter tickles my ears as Beck bursts onto the line with a snort.
“Second best thing next to an orgasm, I always say.”
“Shut your damn mouth, Beck, and let her concentrate,” Austin says, and my heart swells at the protective note in his voice. But even though I want him to protect me, I also want to be able to stand on my own two feet. I run my tongue over my lips and pick up speed, feeling like a goddess of the open road. For just the briefest of nanoseconds, I close my eyes and imagine that there are wings on my back, made of dark leather that creaks as they unfold behind me in a wave of blackness.
I flick my eyes back open and shoot past a farmhouse and a field of white flowers that are just barely visible in the waning light of day. I don't really know where I'm going or what I'm doing until I come to the exit that would take me home. I slow to a stop and pause on the side of the road, dragging my friends along with me as I remove my helmet and my sunglasses.
“Everything okay there, darlin'?” Austin asks from beside me. I touch my fingers to my belly, listening to the uneasy roil of my stomach. I'm miles and miles away from home – I'm not positive on the exact distance – but I know that if I were to roll this bike up the ramp, I would be there before night struck me a second time. I look away from the sign for the exit and try to smile at Austin. I find it odd that I'm behaving this way considering I passed through Wilkes to get Christy. I barely left the hotel, and I most certainly did not speak with anyone else I knew, but I was there and it didn't feel like this. Maybe it's because we're planning on staying in one place for awhile? While I was traveling, I could almost pretend there was no such thing as home, like it never even existed to begin with. Sometimes, standing still is harder than moving forward. I'm not sure, but I don't like this uncomfortable queasiness that's settled over me.
“Everything's fine,” I tell Austin, putting my sunglasses and my helmet back on. It is, I tell myself firmly. Everything is fine, but soon I might have to deal with demons from my past. Namely, my parents. That makes me smile a bit wider. My father would not do well to learn I'd compared him to a demonic entity of any sort.
“Good,” he says, leaning over and pressing a kiss to my check. His stubble scrapes across my skin and makes my fingers clench tight against the leather of my pants. “Because I got big plans for you when we get back to the hotel. Wouldn't want any emotional crises to interfere with all the nasty things I plan to do to you.” He grins as he pulls away, pausing a moment to pull his phone from his pocket. I hear Gaine groan from behind us as the Nickelback ringtone plays sharply in the empty air. “Sparks,” he says, holding it up to his ear. It only takes a split second for his grin to morph into an angry frown. “We'll be right there,” he snaps, hanging up and pulling down his visor before I get a chance to ask what's going on. When I hear his next words, any thoughts of my parents or my hometown vanish into the background of my mind. “Time to head to the clubhouse. We got trouble.”
Chapter 4
Austin
I ain't ever been all that good at math, but four plus four equals eight. I'm pretty sure of that. And I'm also pretty fucking sure that eight is less than sixty. If my arithmetic hasn't failed me, then I know one thing for sure: Broken Dallas has got us grossly outnumbered. The four guys we got in the house, plus Beck, Mireya, Gaine and me. Not exactly a fair match.
“Fuck me up the Goddamn creek behind my grandmomma's house. Shoot,” Beck snarls, running his hand through his red hair and tossing his helmet angrily to the rough patch of grass that serves as a backyard to the abandoned house we're crouching next to. “How much longer till the rest of our assholes show up?” I check my phone with a frown.
“Fifteen minutes,” I say, but it don't really matter anyway. Even if we had all our able-bodied members here, we'd still be outnumbered. “The last thing we need is another shoot-out.” I can't stop thinking about the ten members we lost in the fight with Seventy-seven Brothers. It's on my mind half the damn time, and I don't know how to get over that. Margot, you fucking bitch. I hope you got everything you deserved. It damn near killed me to let her walk away, but it had to be done. I've gotta start thinking like a leader and not just a man. Men and leaders make different choices, or at least they should. “I don't want this to turn into an all out bloodbath,” I whisper roughly, rising to my feet and ducking out of view of the street.
Broken Dallas is back and they've brought reinforcements. Fuck. This was bound to happen at some point. I was just hoping it would be after we were settled in and had some more members to swell our ranks. Guess I should've picked a house they'd never been to before. 'Spose they would've found us eventually though. The Code of the Road demands retribution for wrongs committed.
“Christ.” I run my hand through my hair and look over at Gaine and Mireya whispering near the back porch of this other house. Not everyone knows what I've done, but I bought this one, too. Or rather, Kimmi bought this one. Didn't think we were going to fit forty assholes in one house, right? Not even if it's got fifteen fuckin' bedrooms. I've been president for less than two months and already, I got delusions o' grandeur. I lean against the wall and close my eyes tight. That feeling is back again – insecurity. That's what it is, and I don't like it. For years, we did things one way in Triple M. We traveled, we robbed banks, and I fucked whomever I wanted whenever
I wanted. This new life is a 180, and the turn is makin' me dizzy.
“You want me to sneak up on 'em and grab another hostage?” Beck asks, but he knows as well as I do that that won't work. Not permanently. We need another plan and, as President, it's my job to come up with something. I open my eyes and glance over at my friend, dressed in a tight red T-shirt. It looks like it's painted on his damn chest. Never saw him wear anything like that before. I imagine that it's Tease's doing.
Something clicks into place.
Tease. Seventy-seven Brothers. Melissa.
It's a long shot, but that's better than no shot at all.
I push away from the wall and slide my cell out of my pocket. Hopefully the former Mrs. Diamond is in a giving mood. I dial her up and pray she's still got her Triple M phone on her.
“I haven't even been gone three months and already, you miss me so much it hurts,” Melissa purrs into the phone. My fist clenches at my side, but I force myself to relax. This is a good sign. If she's acting like her old, flirty self then she might – might – be inclined to try to help us.
“Nice to hear your voice, sugar,” I say, watching as Beck's brows raise in a question. “How are you enjoying your time as Tax's new ol' lady?” I watch a grin break out across my friend's face. Pretty dang sure he and Melissa have been keeping in touch this whole time.
“I was born to be a President's wife, you know that,” she says, pausing to take a sip of something. “So what is it that you want? Obviously you aren't calling just to lip flap at me.”
“Well,” I say, peering around the corner at the circle of bikes in the street. Nobody's moving, just standing around drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. Somebody's even set up a stereo, filling the abandoned neighborhood up with old rock music. Motherfuckers. I ain't about to sit here and watch a rival gang have a tailgating party in my front yard. I look up at the house, but it's dark and there's no sign of the four Triple M'ers that are inside. “How well you and this Tax guy hittin' it off?”
“Did you not hear me, Austin Sparks? I said wife. I meant wife. This is not a figurative term.” Just over two months in and she's already married the guy? I always knew that woman was trouble. I resist the urge to ask if she's over Kent yet. “Why? What do you want from Tax?”
“What's his current opinion on Broken Dallas?” I ask, edging my way into the real question. Are you willing to help us out here? I don't like to prey on anybody's weakness, but we do have Tax's little sister here and from his previous actions, I know that he cares a whole hell of a lot about her. I'm not about to threaten the girl or nothing, but maybe since she's a member of our club now, Tax'll be willing to give us a hand here.
“Why?” Melissa asks, her voice all hard edges and broken glass. I lick my chapped lips and think of Amy. I'm gonna need all the strength I got to stretch my pride and ask for help from a woman I spent years despising. I look at Beck's face and focus on his green eyes. Stupid asshole. He always liked Melissa, and the man's a good judge of character, so I think maybe he sees something in her that I don't. I try to take comfort in that.
“They got every able-bodied man in their group surrounding my damn clubhouse.” I wait for laughter, or a rude remark or somethin' that the old Melissa would do. Instead, all I get is silence.
“Let me talk to him, and I'll call you back.” The phone goes dead and I drop it to my side with a sigh.
“Well?” Beck asks, tucking his hands in his pockets and brimming with unrestrained energy. If I let him loose, he would destroy. I bet he'd take down a dozen dudes before they managed to fill his ass full of holes. “What did she say?”
“You're asking Melissa for help?” Mireya asks with a sneer. Her dark eyes gleam with irritation. “Like we can't fight our own battles? Seventy-seven Brothers killed ten of our people. Shot 'em dead. And yeah.” She raises her hands. “Yeah, they might have been set off by Margot, and maybe she was working for Broken Dallas or Bested by Crows or who the fuck ever, but that doesn't change the fact that their guns, their knives, their hands murdered our family members.”
“Doesn't change the fact that we did the same right back at them, sugar lips,” Beck says, getting out a cigarette and moving over to the front porch so Broken Dallas won't see the smoke. “That I stabbed their Sergeant at arms to death.” Beck shrugs and leans over, putting his elbow on his knee. There's a half-smile on his face that promises violence. I don't envy those motherfuckers over there.
“We don't really have a whole lot of other choices,” Gaine says with a frown. The T-shirt he's got on today says Born Screwed and Raised Wrong. Interesting choice. Mireya snarls somethin' nasty under her breath, and I'm thankful I don't speak Spanish. I don't want to know what she's sayin'.
“You want to take them all out or something?” she asks, and I shrug. I haven't thought that far. It all depends on what Seventy-seven Brothers is willing to offer us. I still have that sick feeling in my stomach and a rough notion that this crap isn't going to be over until it's over. Broken Dallas might have to go. Same thing with Bested by Crows. I can't live my whole life worried they're going to ride over the horizon and fuck with us. I guess the best case scenario would be to add to our ranks, become more of a thorn in their sides than they are in ours. “Hijo de puta,” Mireya growls at me as she stalks away and pauses with her gaze facing towards the highway.
“Call the crew and tell 'em to hold back,” I tell Gaine, stalking across the massive backyard and moving along the back fence, testing the shoddy wooden boards with my foot. Sure enough, most of them are loose and easy to fuck around with. I pry some off and slip through, into the dog run that lines the back lot of the other house. Once I'm inside, it's easy to find a spot to peer through and grab a glimpse of the yard and the back of the house. Both gates leading into the front yard are open, giving me a clear shot to the street. If it comes down to it, I'll have my guys sneak out the back and join me here. We can take a few potshots at these assholes.
My phone vibrates, and I answer it before it can draw any attention my way.
“Austin Sparks?” It's not Melissa.
“Good evening, Tax,” I whisper, crawling back through the fence and moving towards my friends. The sun's just about disappeared, and all we've got for light is spotty street lamps dotting the sky with spots of orange. Half of them are dim, and a good quarter of them are out completely. This ain't the most ideal scenario to be in. Shadows crawl around me, giving me chills down my spine. I don't want to lose another member of this group. When I do, it feels like little pieces of my soul are being stripped away. It's a mighty uncomfortable feeling.
“I take it I can speak freely?” he asks, his voice hard. I have no idea what to expect. Maybe a good ass chewing, telling me to take my trouble elsewhere? Who the fuck knows?
“Of course,” I say, getting out a cigarette of my own and staring across the street into the empty eyes of a broken house. This one's in even worse repair than the two we bought. Half the windows are blown out, and there's graffiti streaming down the siding in a colorful array of curse words and swirling symbols I won't even begin to try to decipher. Hope these thugs know that this ain't their territory anymore. This city belongs to Triple M now. Provided you can get your shit together, Sparks. You're already asking for help, and you ain't even moved in yet. I push aside the thought and think about the now. The later will have to wait. The world is full of people who don't belong, folks lookin' for something different. I don't imagine us having a hard time finding a few of them to don our Triple M's.
“I – we – haven't forgiven you for what happened, and I'm sure you haven't forgiven us either.” Tax takes a deep breath. “So, no, we won't drive our crew down their and interfere on your behalf.” I wait, my hand clenching the phone so hard, I'm afraid for a second there that I might break the damn thing. “But we also have a saying. Should the Need Arise. Well, the need has fucking arisen. That girl, Margot, she's fucking gone.” I feel my blood go cold.
“Gone?” I ask, praying
that Amy and Kimmi are okay back at the hotel. Now that our rat's been flushed out of the group, they should be safe, but you never know. People have ways of finding shit out. For all I know, there could be another group of guys heading that way. I grit my teeth and pray for this night to end soon.
“I don't take torture or murder lightly, Mr. Sparks. I was going to give the girl a fair trial, but she disappeared just a few days after we picked her up. She didn't knock four of my men out on her own.” Tax's voice drops low, into a growl. “So I don't know if she's with Broken Dallas, but I can take an educated guess based on what you told us. It's either them or Bested by Crows or both, but I don't give a shit. They contributed to the incident in Korbin, so extracting a price is less of a question and more of a requirement.”
“So you are coming then?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around this shit.
“I'm asking you a favor, from one President to another, to please let them know that we're on our way and that we'd like to have a talk. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less. We'll be arriving in town in the morning, provided that's alright with you?” Tax is asking my permission, like this turf is already pissed on and marked as my own. It feels good, won't lie about that. The uneasy feeling in my stomach subsides for a moment, and I feel a grin light my face, a smile to rival even Beck's.
“It would be my pleasure.”
Chapter 5
Austin
I've got my friends at my back, and my enemies in front. I've still got four guys in the house, and fifteen in the dog run that lines the back of the property. There are ten more Triple M'ers on the other side of the street, crouching in the shadows of abandoned yards.
Craving Me, Desiring You Page 2
