Tracker's End

by Chantal Fernando

I didn’t like where this was going.

  “I’m strong enough,” I say slowly, enunciating each word. “To be your woman, Tracker. Don’t ever say otherwise. If Faye and Anna get to be here, then so do I.”

  “Lana.” He sighs, peppering kisses all over my shoulder. “I want to kill her.”

  “What did happen to her?” I ask warily.

  “Told her not to step foot in the clubhouse again,” he says, face darkening in anger. “She was a brother’s daughter, so we told her we can hook her up with some money, but she isn’t coming back. Oh, and Anna punched her in the nose.”

  “She did?” I ask, lifting my head.

  He grins wolfishly, all straight, sharp white teeth. “Decked her. Bitch deserved it. She’s lucky I don’t hit women. If she were a man, she’d be dead.”

  I scowl. “Why didn’t you two tell me? This is bullshit. I should have been the first person to know what was going on. It should have been me who confronted her. I’m the one she hurt and I should have been the one to put her in her place. Now it looks like I’m weak and can’t defend myself.”

  “Baby,” he soothes. “I don’t even want you near her. I didn’t want you to worry, all right? I’m your man, and I took care of it. End of story.”

  “Anna—”

  “Anna wouldn’t take no for an answer. She was more than pissed. Arrow had to pull her away from Allie so she didn’t do more damage.”

  I cringe, imagining Anna’s wrath.

  “Exactly,” Tracker adds. “Anna’s a damn good fighter. Pretty sure she broke her nose.”

  Anna grew up fighting a lot; she’s tough as nails. I didn’t want to make this a big deal, or whine, but I’m not a baby. I feel like they decided they should handle everything for me. They should have told me it was Allie, told me what happened. I should have been able to confront her. I glance up at Tracker, grateful he cares about me, even if he can be controlling and overbearing.

  “And I wasn’t awake when you were sucking my dick,” he continues. “I don’t even remember it, but I’m sure it felt fuckin’ good. I was in a deep sleep, babe. You can show me again now though, and I promise I won’t be thinking about anyone but you. I never do. She was only on my mind ’cause I was planning all the ways I wanted to end her.”

  “I watched you with her, you know,” I say. “When we first met. It hurt, but I knew you weren’t mine, so I tried to forget.”

  He smiles sadly. “I couldn’t leave you alone. Saw you and, fuck, did I want you. Anna warned me off. Rake warned me off. But fuck them. Tried to leave you alone but I couldn’t. And I don’t regret it; do you know why?”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Because you’re the best thing that’s happened to me and I’m man enough to admit that.”

  My heart soars with his words. Could I really be that lucky?

  “We haven’t even been together that long,” I point out. Things this good usually don’t last long. Sad but honest truth.

  He just smiles. “Don’t give a fuck. That doesn’t change anything. I’m not playing any games with you Lana. Don’t question it; it is what it is.”

  I roll my eyes at his casualness. I still don’t forgive him for saying Allie’s name. I want to, but it still hurts.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry,” she says for the third time. “But you’re my best friend and no one messes with you!”

  “You guys treat me like a baby,” I mutter. “I don’t need you to stand up for me, Anna.”

  “I know,” she says, holding her hands up. “But you’re too nice and forgiving. She needed a little more physical punishment to teach her a lesson. And I don’t regret it. I’d hit her again right now if she were here. I might throw in a throat punch as well.”

  I hate that my lip twitches, laughter threatening. “You need anger management.”

  “Coming from you!” she yells, then starts laughing herself.

  “I’m not bad. So I snap now and again, big deal. Your anger is always there, simmering under the surface, looking for a chance to get out.”

  “I’m not angry. I’m bitchy—there’s a difference.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re not a bitch.”

  “Yes, I am,” she replies, sounding amused. She pushes her hair back behind her ears, her lips quirking up at the sides.

  “Fine, you’re my bitch then,” I tell her, winking at her.

  She glances at me with wide eyes. “Pretty sure I’m Arrow’s bitch.”

  I shake my head. “Such a feminist, Anna.”

  She laughs. “It’s the honest truth. I’m his old lady. Same shit, right? Potato, potato.”

  “That’s not the saying at all,” I deadpan. “What’s the point of saying potato the same way twice?”

  Anna tilts her head. “Are you grumpy? Tracker not giving you his giant cock?”

  My mouth drops. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

  “Evading, interesting.”

  “Nosy!”

  “Prude.”

  “Sex-starved!”

  “Psycho woman who goes around beating people up,” I say, rushing the words out so I don’t lose the effect.

  “Come on,” Anna says, nudging my shoulder and dropping our previous argument. “Fuck her. She let jealousy turn her into a crazy bitch; she got what she deserved. She’s lucky I only got to hit her once.”

  I scrub my hand down my face. “This feels like high school all over again.”

  Except this time it’s Allie getting shit, not me.

  “And you,” I say, pointing to my best friend who now wore an innocent expression on her face. “Miss ‘I’m trying to have a baby’—no more fighting.”

  She flips her hair. “I’m a biker bitch. No one messes with me or mine.”

  I feel a headache coming on. “I need a drink. Like tequila.”

  She comes closer and wraps her arm around me. “You were hurt, Lana. I never want to see you hurt again.”

  Her voice breaks on the last two words.

  I hug her back. “I’m fine. Shit happens, right?”

  “Tracker must be a beast in bed for her to go apeshit over losing him,” she says with wide eyes.

  “It’s the piercing,” I tease.

  Anna shakes her head at me. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

  I nod, even though there’s so much I haven’t told her, or anyone else. I’ve kept everything bottled inside.

  Swallowing hard, I say, “Remember how you asked how come I never kept in touch with anyone from school or had many friends? Well after you left, I kind of became a social outcast.”

  Her eyes widen. “What happened?”

  “Remember William Dean?”

  She nods. “Yeah, preppy bastard you had a thing for.”

  “Well, he happened,” I say with a cringe, then explain the story to her.

  “Anyone who would sit with me, they would start getting bullied as well, so everyone avoided me like the plague. Boys who asked me out were blacklisted, so to speak. I mean, looking back on it now, it doesn’t seem so bad. I could go through it and be fine, but back then fitting in at school was everything, so it really got to me, you know? I kind of learned to manage on my own and only rely on myself.”

  “Fuck them,” she growls. “Now I wish I hadn’t left.”

  I smile sadly. “It was in the past. I guess I just wanted to share it with you because I tend to keep everything to myself. I do trust you, Anna, with my life, but I guess I’m not real good at sharing. I didn’t want you to feel guilty or anything either.”

  “Still,” she says. “It hurts me to think of you going through that. Especially since when I was at school with you we always stuck together, so we didn’t really branch out and make other friends because we didn’t need them. All we needed was each other.”

  “That’s true.” I grin. “Who needed anyone else right? One true friend is more than what most people get these days.”

  “I never thought . . .” Anna
sounds defeated.

  “Anna, its fine. I’m stronger because of it, and you can’t protect me from everything. I need to look after myself. Looking back, I feel stupid. It was just high school. I should have punched that girl in the face, not let her intimidate and bully me.”

  “Bitches,” she scowls. “They were probably just jealous of you.”

  I laugh. “I seriously doubt that.”

  Anna shrugs. “When Clover gets to high school, I’m going to make sure no one even breathes in her direction.”

  “Poor Clo,” I say. “She is going to be the most overprotected girl in the history of overprotected girls.”

  Anna nods her head. “All the MC princesses are.”

  “There’s one more thing,” I tell her, watching her face closely for her reaction.

  “What?” she asks, leaning closer to me.

  “The cheerleader, William’s girlfriend . . .”

  “Yes?” she prompts.

  “It was Allie,” I blurt.

  “Fuck,” she gasps. “No way! Tell me everything.”

  I start from the beginning and tell her every little detail.

  SEVENTEEN

  INSTEAD of going to class, I make a detour. After thinking it over, I realize that Tracker and Anna should have let me deal with Allie. Feeling pissed I didn’t get to confront her, I decide to take matters into my own hands. I know the two of them want to protect me, baby me even, because of my petite size and usually gentle demeanor, but if I want to survive by Tracker’s side, I need to make a stand. I need to let people know that I’m not an easy target, that I have a backbone, and that I’m someone who should be respected. After asking around, I find Allie outside a local bar and walk right up to her.

  Her eyes widen as she sees me, and then she looks behind me, as if wondering who I came with.

  “Why did you do it, Allie?” I ask, straight out. No games.

  “Why do you think?” she snarls. “Tracker was mine; the club was mine. You took everything. Now just fucking leave, because I told them I wouldn’t come near you again.”

  I step to her, getting in her face. “You hit me from behind. Unexpectedly. Next time you want a fight, don’t be a pussy and a coward. Step up to me like a grown woman and we can handle it.”

  She laughs. “All right then, Lana. How about right now? It’s a long time coming, don’t you think?”

  I nod. “Definitely.”

  Allie rears back to slap me, but I block her hand and use a move Faye taught me. Bringing my leg up to her stomach with all my might, I grab her by her hair and then smash her face into my knee. She curses, then falls back, holding her face. “You fucking bitch!”

  I bring my hand up again but she raises her arms, and I see blood dripping down her chin from a cut lip.

  I look around. People are watching, but no one is doing anything.

  Good.

  Let them see.

  There’s a new biker bitch in town.

  * * *

  “You did what?” Anna yells, looking a mixture of surprised and impressed.

  I look at Tracker, who is sitting next to me on the couch, a speculative look on his face.

  “How did you even find out?” I ask him, curious about what his reaction was going to be.

  “You went to a biker bar, Lana,” he says in a dry tone. “Everyone knows you’re my old lady. Why do you think no one stopped you? They called me the second you left.”

  “And you called Anna?” I ask, then mutter, “Tattletale.”

  He shakes his head. “Anna was with me and Arrow when I got the call. Fuck, Lana. We’ve been protecting you and fuckin’ babying you, but you don’t need us to, do you?”

  I shake my head. “I can hold my own.”

  Anna throws her head back and laughs while Tracker’s lip twitches in amusement. “Will you at least tell me next time you go on a fuckin’ mission? Shit could have turned bad, Lana. What if Allie had a group of girls with her who had her back?”

  “So next time I should bring backup just in case?” I ask, then look to Anna with a raised eyebrow. A silent invitation.

  Anna laughs again. “You’re fuckin’ crazy, you know that? ’Course I have your back. Always.”

  “Christ.” Tracker sighs, rubbing his forehead.

  “You should be thrilled,” Anna says. “Looks like you found someone to match you perfectly after all.”

  Tracker looks at me, his eyes softening. “I already knew that.”

  Swoon.

  * * *

  The man Tracker was with, the man I recognize, is back at the clubhouse.

  And he doesn’t recognize me back.

  He smiles at me, in a friendly way, with respect in his eyes, because he knows I’m Tracker’s woman.

  But not that I’m his daughter.

  And it makes me see red.

  “What’s wrong?” Tracker asks, speaking so no one else can hear.

  “Nothing,” I reply sullenly, staring daggers at Quinn Rhodes. I didn’t want to get into everything right now. I’d tell Tracker when Quinn was gone, so there wouldn’t be a scene.

  “You recognize him, don’t you?” Tracker says, making me freeze. “He used to be in that rock band.”

  I sigh in relief. “Yeah, I know.”

  My dad is a famous musician. Well, was, I guess, considering the band broke up. I heard he sings solo now, at local clubs and bars. And he’s such a bastard that he doesn’t know what his own daughter looks like. Even though he isn’t in my life, he did teach me one very valuable lesson.

  No matter what, men leave.

  “Why is he here?” I ask, trying to keep the bite out of my tone.

  Tracker gives me an odd look, his brows furrowing. “He used to be friends with Jim, our old president before Sin took over.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say, forcing a smile. Just my luck, he is a friend of the club.

  “If you want to go to bed, just let me know,” he whispers in my ear. “Much rather be inside you than looking at their ugly mugs.”

  My lips kick up at the corners as I show him my drink. “Let’s have a few drinks first. We haven’t had drunk sex yet.”

  Tracker runs his free hand down my back and smiles lavishly. “You want me wilder?”

  “I want you however you are,” I reply. “Whatever you have to give, I’ll take. And you’ll do the same with me.”

  “Christ,” he mutters. “Temptress.”

  I smile into my drink, “Only for you.”

  “Damn straight.”

  My mind returns to my sperm donor. I am a mixture of him and my mom—how the hell did he not know his own blood when he looked her in the face? I realize I’ve been staring when Tracker tilts my chin in his grip, bringing my eyes to him. His own are narrowed. “I don’t like you looking at other men.”

  “I’m not.”

  He’s not a man; he’s an asshole.

  “Lana,” Tracker growls. “Talk.”

  Am I just going to drop it on him like this? I look around, scanning the room, looking for a distraction.

  “Can I tell you later? In private?” I whisper, pleading with my eyes.

  I avoid looking back at the first man who ever let me down. I know my lack of a relationship with my father fueled my mistrust, the reason I tend to keep everything to myself, bottled up tight. I didn’t need a shrink to tell me that. If my own father could leave me and not care if I was alive or dead, how could other people be trusted? I’d watched my mother hurting, still in love with him after he left us, working hard to get by while he made it big. We saw him on TV, and she would cry. Still, she never sold her story or asked for a handout. My mom was and is a damn strong woman, and if I’m half the woman she is, I’ll be satisfied with that. It hurts that my own father didn’t care about me. Still doesn’t. I knew it had nothing to do with me—all to do with him—but it still hurt like a bitch.

  And to see him sitting here, nursing a drink, not a care in the world . . . I kind of want to throw something at
him. I want to yell. Scream. Demand answers. Instead, I cut off my emotions as best I can and pretend my chest isn’t hurting, that my mind isn’t racing with old memories, old pain.

  From the look in Tracker’s eyes, I know he wants to know what’s going on with me right now. When he stands and takes my hand in his, pulling me in the direction of his room, I know I’m right. Dreading telling him the truth, I lag behind him, allowing myself to be gently pulled. I know I have to open up to him about it, and I want to, it just isn’t my favorite subject to discuss. I’ve tried not to even think about my dad over the years and the lack of relationship we had, and had spent most of my life pretending I didn’t care about it. When we enter the room, I put my glass down on his chest of drawers, then sit down on the very edge of the bed. Tracker, on the other hand, stands there with his arms crossed, drink still held tightly in his hand, expression brooding. Did he think I found Quinn good-looking or something?

  So very awkward.

  “Why were you staring at him like that?” he asks in a low tone, studying me intensely.

  “Tracker, I—”

  He starts to pace.

  “Remember I told you I had nothing to do with my dad?” I start, rushing the words out. “Quinn Rhodes is my dad. And he hasn’t seen me in so long he doesn’t even recognize me. So yeah, I was staring at him.”

  I growl the last line.

  He stops, expression softening, then hardening again. “That motherfucker. I’ll kill him.”

  I stand up and grab his forearm. “You will do no such thing.”

  “He hurt you. He still hurts you, I can see it on your face,” he says, downing his drink, then placing the glass down next to mine.

  I shrug, playing it off. “So? He’s still my father. You can’t hurt him, Tracker; just let him be. And remember that the way you handle this will determine how much I tell you in the future.”

  His jaw clenches. “You want me to go out there and sit with him, have a fuckin’ drink with him, acting like everything is okay?”

  “No,” I say quickly. “I just don’t want you to go out there and punch his face in.”

  “The things I do for you,” he says, capturing my lips in a quick, punishing kiss. “You want to go back out? I’d rather just fuck you, because if I go back out there you know what’s going to happen.”