Tracker's End

by Chantal Fernando

  “You are not fine,” she snaps, her eyes starting to water.

  “Anna,” I say softly. “I’m fine. Banged up, but fine. Whoever beat me must hit like a girl.”

  Her head suddenly snaps to me, like the chick from The Exorcist. “A girl?”

  “What?” I ask at the look on her face.

  “Nothing,” she says instantly, softening her expression. “Let me fuss over my best friend, would you? It’s either that or I lose my shit.”

  “Fine.” I give in. I spent two nights in the hospital and now I’m in the clubhouse, because Tracker won’t let me go home. To be honest, I’m fine. Ribs hurt, yes, face is swollen and bruised, yes, but it could have been a lot worse. I’m on pain medication and catching up on some reading. Nothing was stolen from my house, so I don’t know why it happened, but it happened. Vinnie felt awful. Tracker told me he had refused to sleep until I woke up. I reassured Vinnie that it was okay and he wasn’t at all to blame. I feel safe in the clubhouse, and I’m surrounded with people who care about me. Tracker has been amazing.

  “Do you want to watch a movie?” Anna asks.

  I nod. “Sure.”

  We’re halfway through my favorite part of the movie when Tracker storms into the room, giving my forehead a quick kiss before looking at Anna. “Need to talk to you.”

  I sit up. “What’s going on?”

  He glances my way, eyes softening. “Nothing for you to worry about, baby. You relax. Faye will be in in a sec to keep you company.”

  Anna stands and follows Tracker out.

  What the hell is going on?

  Faye walks in a few minutes later, redirecting or straight out ignoring my prying questions.

  “Whatever you want to know, you ask Tracker,” she says. “I don’t know anything.”

  She so did.

  “How’s Clover?” I ask. “I miss her.”

  “She’s good,” Faye replies. “I took the week off work.”

  Shit.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble.

  She gives me a stern look. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You’re family now, Lana. Family takes care of each other. If what happened was because of your affiliation with the club, Tracker is going to handle it. Even if it wasn’t, Tracker is going to handle it.”

  “I don’t want him to get hurt.”

  Or end up in jail.

  Faye laughs. “You know why they call him Tracker, right? He can find anyone. Anyone. Whoever did this to you will pay.”

  She says it like a vow.

  In this moment, I see Faye, the president’s wife.

  She is kind of scary.

  “Remind me never to mess with you.”

  She grins. “You wouldn’t. You’re a nice girl, Lana, and you make Tracker happy. That’s all I want: all the men happy.”

  “And out of jail,” I add.

  She smiles sadly. “And out of jail. As their lawyer, I try and make that happen too.”

  “Must be a full-time job,” I joke.

  “You have no idea.” She laughs, her eyes sparkling. “But I’ve found them to be the biggest contradictions. They have a dangerous side. Arrow for one—but see how he is with Anna? He’d never let anyone hurt her. Not everything is black-and-white.”

  I nod. “I had preconceived notions of what the men here would be like, but they weren’t anything like it. Most of them were welcoming.”

  Faye smirks. “That’s because you were already one of us. If you were a random woman it would have been a whole different situation. Tracker warned them to be on their best behavior if they wanted to live.” She clears her throat. “I believe he said, ‘If you want to live to fuck another pussy.’ ”

  I almost choke, making Faye laugh harder. “Not all of them are good, but you, you got a good one, Lana.”

  I smile. “He’s been good to me.”

  “He better if he wants to keep you,” she adds. “He’s smart; he knows what he has.”

  “You’re kind of awesome,” I blurt out.

  “Right back at you,” she says, eyes flashing amusement and kindness. “You rest up. Call out if you need anything.”

  “I will,” I tell her. “Thanks, Faye.”

  “That’s what family is for,” she says, walking to the door. “You know who else is awesome? Your mom.”

  I grin. “She is, isn’t she?”

  FIFTEEN

  TWO WEEKS LATER

  IT’S my last few days with Clover.

  My body is mostly healed from the beating. Ribs are still sore and a few bruises linger, but for the most part I’m back to my normal self. Clover and I have spent the day reading books, coloring, and getting her ready for the rest of the year back in school.

  When Tracker walks into the clubhouse as I’m just about to leave, he’s not alone. There’s a group of men with him, and one of them instantly catches my eye. I let my gaze linger on him for a moment, before returning my attention to Tracker. Forcing a smile, I wrap my arms around him.

  “Just going home,” I say into his chest.

  “No, you’re not,” he replies casually, nuzzling my head. “Haven’t seen you all day.

  “Gimme a sec,” he tells the men, walking me to his room. As soon as he closes the door he’s on me, kissing me, his hands wandering over my body.

  “Stay the night,” he demands. “I’ll have a few drinks with the men, then spend the rest of the night with you. Making you scream.”

  “I have to go home, Tracker,” I reply. I need to write. If I don’t write daily, I feel like I’ll go insane. I want to tell Tracker about my career, but I think I’m going to do it in a fun way. Maybe I’ll make him read one of my books and ask what he thinks. I’m sure he’ll have a few pointers for the sex scenes.

  “Stay.”

  “I have some work to do on my laptop and I didn’t bring mine—”

  “Use mine,” he says, cutting me off, sliding his hand down my panties. “Hmmm. Wet. But I’m gonna get you even wetter.”

  His finger presses gently inside me, while I remove my cotton shorts and panties, giving him access since he clearly couldn’t wait. When he pushes me back against the wall and lowers to his knees, my breath hitches. Lifting my right leg over his shoulder, his hand holding my thigh, he goes down on me like a starving man.

  “Oh my god,” I say between clenched teeth.

  “Love this pussy,” he groans, nipping at my inner thigh before returning to my clit, sucking it in his mouth.

  He’s clearly trying to kill me.

  A knock at the door has me gripping his head so he doesn’t move.

  “Tracker! We have church, bro,” I hear Vinnie call out.

  Church? I’m confused for a moment, then I realize they must be talking about a club meeting. I’d never heard it called that before. “Coming!” Tracker calls out, then grips my ass with both hands, lifts me to his mouth, my back pressing into the wall.

  So. Damn. Sexy.

  I come whispering his name, wave after wave of pleasure making me almost want to weep with its force. He puts me down, but my legs are shaky, so he swoops me in his arms and carries me to the bed.

  “I have to go, baby, but when I get back, I want those pretty lips wrapped around my cock,” he says, sweetly kissing my brow. “I want you, but I have club business to deal with. I’ll be back. I want you naked and ready for me, baby.”

  He leaves the room, leaving me to wonder what the important club meeting was about.

  Shrugging, I fall into his sheets, sleepy and sated.

  * * *

  I wake up to Ed Sheeran singing “Afire Love.”

  My ringtone.

  “Hello?” I rasp, lifting my head to look at Tracker, who is fast asleep next to me and hogging all the blankets.

  It’s my mom, complaining about my not letting her know when I’m not coming home. She got worried. I really do need a place of my own.

  “I’ll be home soon, Mom,” I tell her. We say ’bye and hang up.

  Gl
ancing at Tracker, his messy bun, his stubble and long brown lashes, I decide to wake him up in the best way possible. Lifting the sheets, I scoot down the bed, staring at his naked body.

  No man should be so perfectly created.

  Taking him in my hand, I lick up his length, then suck him into my mouth, feeling him instantly harden.

  “Allie,” he rasps in a voice thick with sleep, making me stop, his cock still in my mouth.

  Allie?

  My chest suddenly burns.

  Removing my mouth with a pop, I glare at him. When he doesn’t stir or say anything, I realize he’s still asleep.

  But it doesn’t really change anything, does it? He’s thinking of her. Dreaming of her. It stirs up all my doubt.

  I get dressed and get the hell out of the clubhouse.

  * * *

  Tracker calls me.

  I ignore it, putting my phone on silent. I’m not ready to talk to him. I’m upset and don’t know what I want to do.

  So I pull out my laptop and descend into a different world.

  * * *

  The next morning when I arrive at the clubhouse, Tracker isn’t there. Neither is Anna or Arrow. Rake and Irish are the only ones around.

  “Where’s your sister?” I ask Rake, who is standing half-naked in the kitchen, scratching his chest with one hand, a piece of cold pizza in the other.

  “She went somewhere with Tracker and Arrow,” he replies. “Said they’ll be back in the evening.”

  Okaaaaay then.

  My rage fuels. They’re all just going out for a fun day or something?

  “Did they say where they went?”

  Rake studies me, a little too intently for my liking. “They had some club shit to take care of.”

  “Then why is Anna with them?” I ask. Rake shrugs, focusing all too hard on his pizza.

  Feeling frustrated and confused, I nod my head and pretend like everything is fine. I must have failed, because Rake walks past me and kisses my cheek. “It’s fine, Lana.”

  “I don’t even know what’s going on,” I grumble.

  He grins. “You know your man. You know Anna. Trust them. Maybe you should have answered your phone last night. Tracker was raging.”

  I cringe. He’s right, I should have.

  Rake chuckles. “He was fuckin’ pacing up and down. Never seen him like that before.”

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask, annoyed.

  His lips twitch. “Nope. Tracker asked me to stay here and keep an eye on you and Clover.”

  I eye him warily. “Why do I have to have an eye kept on me?”

  “Well, you just got the shit beat out of you, so it’s probably a good idea,” he says bluntly. I say nothing but figure he’s right.

  He shrugs and grabs another slice of pizza from the fridge. “Want some?”

  “No, thanks,” I say. “I hate cold pizza.”

  He mumbles something about me being high-maintenance, then looks up at me. “You should make some waffles.”

  “I will if you tell me some information.”

  “Blackmail?” he asks, brows rising. “You’ve been around us too long, Lana. We’ve corrupted you.”

  “Rake—”

  “Tracker is my brother, Lana,” he says quietly. “Anything to do with anything, you have to hear it from him, not me, you know? Don’t put me in the middle.”

  He’s right.

  I sigh. “Okay. I’ll make you waffles.”

  “Thank you.” He grins. “I’ll go watch TV with Clover. I’ve gotten her to like all the cool cartoons now, like Transformers.”

  I’ve finished cooking when Irish walks in. I notice his knuckles are busted up and look extremely painful.

  “Irish, what happened?” I ask, gasping.

  He gives me a look that says I should know better than to ask but then grumbles, “You should see the other guy.”

  “I can imagine,” I reply dryly. “Stay here, I’m going to get the first-aid kit.”

  “Not necessary, Lana,” he replies in his sexy accented voice. “It’s just a scratch.”

  Scratch, my ass.

  “Well, then you won’t mind if I get the first-aid kit and put some antiseptic on it,” I say. “Then you can have some waffles.”

  “Fuckin’ hell,” he grumbles. “Fine. Fuss over me and waste your time.”

  Taking that as a yes, I run to the bathroom and get the kit, then come back and apply some lotion on his knuckles so they won’t get infected.

  “There,” I say, feeling proud. “Now you can eat.”

  I look up to see Rake staring at me, leaning against the doorframe, one arm raised.

  “Love the man, love the club,” he says, eyes soft and gentle on me.

  So much meaning in those six words.

  I do love Tracker.

  And I do love the men in his club, because they are a part of him.

  His family.

  And now mine. The club is my family. The MC lifestyle is for me, because they’re a part of it. I’ll do anything for my family.

  And whatever Tracker’s up to right now, I’ll deal with it.

  After I kick his ass for saying another woman’s name.

  * * *

  It’s evening by the time they return. I’m reading in Tracker’s bed, waiting for him, when the bedroom door finally opens. I’m determined. It feels so good to know what I want, to know that Tracker is all I want.

  “Lana,” he says. “You’re here. Thank fuck.”

  Sliding next to me on the bed, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me.

  “Where were you today?” I ask as he tries to distract me by kissing my neck.

  “Lana, can we fuck, then talk? You ran out on me yesterday and I’m not fuckin’ happy about it, but right now I just need to be inside of you.”

  Something about the anxious look in his eyes has me nodding.

  He blows out a breath, relieved, then continues to kiss his way down to my breasts, pulling my top up. I’m not wearing a bra. He gets rid of my shorts and panties next, then slides into me without warning.

  “Fuck yes,” he grits out, mouth returning to mine with frantic kisses; his thrusts becoming harder, faster, more desperate. My hips rise to meet his, my arms wrapping around his back, my nails digging into his shoulder blades. The way he fits me so perfectly kind of pisses me off in this moment, because I know after this, I’m going to start a fight.

  SIXTEEN

  HE slides out of me and rests his forehead against mine. “We need to talk.”

  “Yes, we do,” I agree, my tone angry.

  He lifts his head, eyes narrowing. “What are you so angry about?”

  I clench my teeth. “How long do you have?”

  “Lana—”

  “Oh, so you do know my name,” I snap.

  “What the hell are you talking about? You’d think I fucked the angry out of you, but you’re still fired up.”

  I grit my teeth.

  “Why don’t we start with yesterday? You were sleeping, so I decided to wake you up with my mouth wrapped around your dick.”

  His blue eyes widen. “What do you—”

  I cut him off. Now is my time to talk. “I had you in my mouth when you moaned. Do you know what you moaned, Tracker?”

  “What?” he asks warily.

  “Allie’s fucking name! I had your dick in my mouth, nice and hard, and you said her name. How the hell do you think that makes me feel?”

  “Lana, wait a second—”

  “You wait a second, you asshole! Imagine if you were going down on me and I said some other man’s name! You would have lost your shit. There’s nothing you can say to get you out of this one!”

  “Of course I was thinking about Allie,” he growls. “I’ve been thinking about her for the last fuckin’ few weeks.”

  My jaw drops.

  I can actually feel my heart cracking and my temper breaking free at the same time.

  I lift my hand and slap him, right a
cross his too-handsome-for-his-own-damn-good face.

  Fuck. Him.

  “Go and be with her then, Tracker, because I’m done,” I yell. “Fuck you! I can’t believe you’d say that to me!”

  “Calm down,” Tracker snarls. “Let me finish.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Been there and done that.”

  “Bastard!”

  “Wildcat, calm the fuck down,” he says, grabbing me and pushing me underneath him. Holding my hands above my head, he pins me to the bed, while I try to control my breathing.

  “Calm down,” he whispers. “That’s it, take deep breaths.”

  I exhale slowly.

  “Good girl,” he praises, nuzzling my cheek. “Now listen before you lose your temper at me again. Are you listening?”

  I nod.

  “We found out it was Allie who broke into your house and beat the shit out of you, so of course the bitch was on my mind. I was so damn angry, Lana. I still am, and I don’t think I’ve ever been this angry before. Haven’t you wondered why she hasn’t been around? After she did that to you, she took off. I had to search for her, and today we finally found her. If she was on my mind, it was because I was probably murdering her with my bare hands in a dream. I hate the bitch.”

  She really must hate me, is my first thought.

  I knew she was a bitch, but I didn’t think she was capable of something like this.

  “I’m sorry,” Tracker murmurs, barely a whisper. “This was all my fault. She was jealous and . . . fuck, Lana. How am I supposed to live with the fact that this happened to you because of me?”

  “You’re not the one who did it, Tracker, so no, it isn’t your fault.”

  He scoffs. “It’s because of me that she did it though, my actions. Domino effect, or whatever. My mistakes landed you in the hospital.” I see the grief in his eyes and feel bad. I haven’t even thought about how he’d be feeling. Of course he’d feel responsible. I want to reassure him. It isn’t his fault, he doesn’t control other people’s actions.

  “Tracker—”

  “I don’t know how the others watch the women they love get in to all this dangerous shit,” he says quietly, not listening to a word I’m saying. “Shit, Lana. And this is only the start. It will always be like this.”