And the biker he’d ask permission of was the one who was laid up in the hospital bed.
He did his part while the club members were in and out of the waiting room. Dash, for all of his idiocy in regard to Ellen and the club, had stepped up and was standing where Killer should be, where he would be if he was able. Alamo didn’t know Killer as well as the rest of the club, but in the months he’d been here, he’d come to value him as a friend. There was always something awful about one of the club brothers getting injured. This was worse, though.
The result was that come dawn Alamo was still in the waiting room. He’d caught a nap in one of the uncomfortable chairs, which was more than Dash had managed. He had stood at Echo’s side as if he’d stepped into Killer’s boots between one breath and the next. Both Aubrey and her grandmother seemed grateful for his presence there, and Echo obviously was. By morning, though, he was the only one still there who hadn’t slept.
It earned Dash a little of Alamo’s respect, enough that he walked over to Dash and offered in a low voice, “I can look after them if you want to take a breather.”
Dash tensed. “I’ve got it.”
They weren’t ever going to get along, and the offer wasn’t going to change that reality. It was, however, the right thing to do. Alamo held up his hands. “No disrespect. I know you can, but you’ll do them all more good if you catch a couple hours.”
Dash looked over at Echo, who was obviously watching them. Even now he was keeping his eyes on everyone and everything.
“Killer’s going to be fine.” Dash wasn’t relaying anything they didn’t all know, but as the night went on, it had been a sentence said more and more often as if they all needed to repeat it to reassure themselves.
“Everyone will be.” Alamo looked over at Aubrey and her grandmother. They were both leaning on Echo in some degree of sleep. They’d been in with Killer, but the nurse suggested he’d rest better if they left.
Alamo suspected she’d meant “leave the hospital,” but Echo wasn’t willing to tell Aubrey’s grandmother she had to leave, and she wasn’t willing to force Aubrey. So they all three stayed—and Dash stayed on guard. Everyone else had left by now.
“Look, man, I don’t like you any more than you like me, but we care about some of the same people.” Alamo kept his voice pitched low. He was fairly sure there was nothing that went on in the club that escaped Echo’s attention, especially if it concerned Killer, Dash, or Ellen, but that didn’t mean that they needed to discuss it in front of him.
Dash didn’t reply.
So Alamo opted to be even more direct. “Killer’s good people, but even if it were you in that room, I’d be offering. We’re in the same club.”
“Fair enough,” Dash said after a long moment. “I’ll take two hours, but I’m not leaving. Killer says you can handle whatever comes, and Echo trusts you, but if something happened to any of those three, I’d be needing a hospital bed because Killer wouldn’t forgive me.”
“Understood.” Alamo gestured to the back of the room where he’d been. The light overhead was out, which was probably not intentional, but it made that little nook darker. One of the Wolves’ old ladies had turned off all the televisions earlier. So between the silence and dark, it was about as comfortable as it could be in a hospital waiting room. “The corner over there is quiet enough.”
“If they need me or Killer asks for me or—”
“I’ll wake you,” Alamo assured him.
It was probably about as friendly a conversation as they were capable of having. The situation with Ellen made it impossible for them to be friends or even comfortable acquaintances. Alamo wanted to punch him more often than was reasonable, strictly speaking. He knew it was a little unfair, but it was what it was. Ellen stood between them, not because Alamo was trying to take what wasn’t free to take, but because he thought Dash was an ass for the way he treated her. The fact that Alamo wanted to treat her right didn’t factor in as much as the fact that he was regularly incensed that she was unhappy—and that Dash was at fault. If a man was lucky enough to have someone as talented and assertive as her, he ought to be proud to carry her wherever she wanted to go. Instead, she was left calling him for rides because Dash couldn’t be bothered.
Thinking about that wasn’t going to improve his odds of being civil to Dash, though, so he shoved those thoughts aside and walked over to Echo. One of the nurses looked up as he approached. She hadn’t looked at Dash with that same sort of apprehension, but some people have an easy charisma that makes them seem safe even when they’re wearing the same sort of leather jackets and riding boots. Dash had this, the charm that leaders needed. Alamo was a lot more like Killer: Brute and brawn were the kind of terms people used to describe them. It wasn’t the patches proclaiming them as Southern Wolves or even the 1% patch. If it had been, the nurses would look at Echo that way too. He was obviously the man in charge, obviously the one who kept the rest of them on leashes—or released them from leashes when necessary—but even though he wore the same patches, the nurses smiled at him. Some people simply had that indefinable trait. They’d make great leaders, politicians, heads of state, or even cult leaders. Alamo didn’t envy them. There was a weight to that kind of thing.
Alamo, on the other hand, was perfectly content to be the sort of man who did the dirty work. He had the skill and the lack of guilt. Like Killer, he was a good soldier. Unlike Killer, Alamo had zero urge to be anywhere other than among Wolves. He couldn’t imagine life without the club, and he’d be damned if he looked long at a woman who wouldn’t share that sentiment. He could respect Killer’s decision to leave the Wolves for Aubrey, but the cold truth was that he wouldn’t be able to find a woman attractive if she wasn’t as devoted to the club as he was. Family was essential, and this was the only family he’d ever known—other than Zoe, of course.
Echo looked up at him when Alamo came to stand near him. He was unobtrusive about it, far enough away to give him privacy if he needed it, but close enough that there wasn’t anyone going to get close to him without Alamo’s allowing it. Being Echo’s guard meant taking any bullet or blade before it was even in spitting range of Echo—or in this case, Aubrey and her grandmother too.
“Good work getting the boy to relax,” Echo said. “Killer would appreciate it.”
“He’s not leaving, but he agreed to grab a couple hours.”
“It’s better than nothing.” Echo nodded, and then he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He didn’t point out that he knew that Alamo had stayed of his own accord, and he didn’t acknowledge the fact that he could’ve ordered Dash to take a break. He didn’t have to, though. Echo didn’t answer to anyone—with the possible exception of the woman currently resting her head on his shoulder. He let both Killer and Dash make their own choices as much as possible. No one called out that it was training for the future, but everyone knew it.
Now that Killer was stepping away from the Southern Wolves, that left only one likely candidate for Echo’s heir. Whether or not Dash saw it, Alamo was well aware that Dash was the most obvious choice for following in Echo’s steps. Truth be told, he was a far better choice to be the next president anyhow. Killer was . . . a triggerman, a problem solver of the sort that Alamo was. Dash was the kind of man who could handle politics and finances and all the business parts.
Unfortunately, that reality would mean that sooner or later Alamo was going to have to decide if he needed to pull up stakes and move to another chapter. If he and Dash couldn’t sort out their antipathy, Alamo would need to leave.
The thought of it was frustrating. He was tired of moving, tired of being unsettled. He’d been in Tennessee only a short time as it was. Needing to think about moving again was depressing, but it was just another reminder not to get too attached, not to get involved, not to think about roots. He’d learned that lesson as a kid, and even though he wanted roots, life didn’t make that easy. It was just one more reason that he shouldn’t look too long
at Ellen. He just needed to find a way to remind himself of those reasons when he saw her because a few minutes in her company made it hard to remember to use logic.
Chapter 12
BY THE TIME ALAMO ARRIVED AT MY HOUSE THE NEXT morning, I wasn’t a mess of tears anymore, but it was a close thing when I saw that Mama was already up and in the kitchen preparing a basket to take to the hospital.
“Echo’s old lady called and said you were going in to see Killer.” Mama had a thermos of coffee in her hand. “This is for you, though. Don’t let that pup have anything them doctors don’t say he can have, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I accepted the thermos and went to open it, but she held out a cup.
“This is for now. That’s for when you get sleepier and don’t want to leave Killer’s side.” She pointed at a backpack. “There’s other things in there. He’s going to want a few odds and ends to be comfortable, and Echo doesn’t need to be carrying them.”
I glanced at the bag. I didn’t need to ask to know there was a weapon of some sort in it, unregistered and probably lacking a serial number. I wasn’t going to open the bag to look either. If someone stopped me, my surprise would be real no matter what they pulled out of the bag. Of course, the ideal was that no one stopped me. If they did, I had to trust that Echo would provide the best defense possible. That was the part of being in this family that was hard to explain: some of us were more able to take certain risks. Echo was protected at all costs. He was essential, the man who kept all the balls in the air, who handled the hard calls, who made the choices that kept the chapter—Wolves and their families—safe, but also made the choices that resulted in business income. Wives and children could be called on to make contributions, just as Wolves did. Mama had volunteered herself, and now me, over the years because we didn’t have a man in the house to share the obligation.
All told, I could see why Aubrey had issues with the club. I didn’t, but I understood how a person could. I suspected that if she knew the whole of it, she’d have a lot more reasons to complain. Some wives were kept a bit more in the dark, but Mama hadn’t been and she was raising me to be independent but still loyal to the family. I took no issue with it. I did my part when the opportunity was presented to me.
I met Mama’s gaze and nodded. “Got it.”
She rewarded me with a proud smile and opened the door. “Alejandro? Did you want something to eat before you go back to the hospital?”
“No, ma’am. Thank you, but I don’t want to put you out.”
She waved him off. “Nonsense. I was making eggs for Ellen anyhow.”
Every last one of us knew she was lying, but it was one of the polite sort of lies that was allowed. He was visibly exhausted, and whatever Echo had said to Mama had predisposed her to be kind to Alamo. I didn’t have the heart to tell him resistance was futile. He’d figure it out like the rest of the club had.
For a moment he stood like a small mountain in my doorway. I couldn’t say whether Mama or I was happier to see him there. She loved any excuse to look after one of the Wolves, and I . . . well, I just liked seeing him. Going to see Killer wasn’t for any sort of reason I liked, but it was less awful because of Alamo.
Mama poured a cup of coffee, pointed at the table, and turned her back to fetch the eggs from the fridge. She knew as well as I did that he was too much of a gentleman to disobey her. He was a Wolf and a Southerner.
“How is he?” I asked, pulling out my own chair. I wanted to go see Killer, but I wasn’t going to ignore my mother’s courtesy toward Alamo. I wasn’t a fool.
“About as well as you can be after getting shot.” Alamo walked into the kitchen and lifted the cup of coffee Mama set on the table. She’d offered to feed him, and he refused. She had the prerogative to ignore that refusal—which she obviously was since she was cracking eggs into a bowl.
“He sent Echo and the women home,” Alamo added.
I kicked out his chair. “Sit.”
He gave me a look that might’ve quelled someone not used to bikers. He was a lot of muscle and leather, and I had no doubt that it intimidated most folks. I wasn’t most folks, though. My only reaction to his scowl was a fluttering of my pulse, but not from fear. I was too used to bikers and their old ladies to find a scowl daunting.
Back when we were kids, Killer had suggested that I’d never be able to date anyone other than a biker because buttoned-up sorts were too easily cowed by my forthright ways. At the time, I think he was putting in a good word for Noah, but the observation still held true. I kept trying, but sometimes I thought that the more mainstream a man was, the less able he’d be to hold my attention. The ones who stood a chance, who were assertive even though they didn’t ride, seemed to think that because I was surrounded by bikers, I was easy. I got that it was just a stereotype, and I had no issue with a woman owning her sexuality. If I’d wanted them, I’d have no guilt in having them. What I’d learned early on as a girl surrounded by tough women was that there was a difference between choosing to have sex and feeling obligated. I didn’t do obligated, not even when I was with Noah. The fact was that I didn’t feel any guilt over wanting my pleasure, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to do it just because some uptown man—or a biker—paid me a few compliments.
That didn’t mean that Killer was wrong about what it took to hold my attention, though. He saw it well before I did: I was more than a little swayed by a man with attitude and the skill to back it up.
“Do you want peppers? Onions? Cilantro? I don’t have any jalapeños or—”
Alamo laughed. “Just plain ol’ eggs, ma’am. I don’t need anything particular just because of my genes.”
Mama put one hand on her hip and gestured with the spatula she had just pulled out. “No lip, Alejandro! Echo tells me you don’t have a mother, so consider this your warning: I adopt strays when I can. Killer and Noah both spent more than enough time at my table.” She shook her head. “Not that Uncle Karl’s a bad cook, mind you. Surly old bastard might be better than me, but we don’t talk about that.”
Alamo looked like he’d just stumbled into a mess of confusion. He glanced my way, and I debated not taking pity on him, but . . . the rest of us had spent years dealing with Mama, so it wasn’t entirely fair to expect him to know what to say.
Then again, I wasn’t sure my words were any more benign than hers. I grinned and told her, “I don’t feel particularly brotherly toward Alamo, Mama. No need to go adopting him.”
She snorted in laughter and pointed the spatula at me. “Scrambled or something else?”
I couldn’t quite bring myself to look at Alamo. I hadn’t outright said what my feelings were, but it wasn’t a big leap to understand what they were. I hadn’t ever lived like caution was the answer to any question—except when refusing to sing—but thinking about Killer’s getting shot made me want to take a few more risks.
Alamo held his silence. Not that I expected him to remark when we were in the kitchen with my mother, but a half hour later when we were climbing on the bike, he was still without comment. That clarified it, I guessed: he simply wasn’t interested.
I needed to stop putting myself out there and move on, then.
When we pulled in at the hospital, I slipped off the bike and said, “Thanks. ”
“Do you want me to—”
“I got it,” I cut him off. “Thanks for the ride, though.” I tried to smile, but I suspected it looked strained. “You should probably sleep anyhow. I could’ve driven myself actually. I should’ve. Sorry I bothered you and—”
“It wasn’t a bother, darlin’. ” He frowned at me and stood. “You need to stop putting words in my mouth.”
I nodded.
“Do you mind telling me what happened here?”
“Nothing.” I straightened the bag on my shoulder. I didn’t feel anything in it through the fabric that seemed like it could be a gun, but knowing Mama, I was sure she’d wrapped it up in a shirt or a pair of jeans or something. She wasn
’t stealthy with her words, but that was a choice. The woman was cagier than a fox even on her worst days. If a woman could run the club, she’d be more than able.
Alamo was still staring at me, and although I knew that whatever answers he wanted weren’t written on my skin, I still squirmed and turned away.
I didn’t make it four steps before he fell in at my side.
“You’re like to give a man whiplash, Ellen,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what I did wrong, but if you feel like telling me, I’d be obliged.”
I glanced up at him and shook my head. “You didn’t do anything, I just need not to trouble you for favors.”
He sighed, but that was all the answer he offered.
We were almost at the front door of the hospital when he glanced at the bag I was carrying. “For Killer?”
I nodded.
“I can carry it.” He didn’t speak any more overtly than that, but there was a question in his gaze.
“You can’t.” I repositioned it again, not because it was truly awkward but because it was heavy on my mind and felt more weighty on my shoulder than it really was. Knowing my obligations to the Wolves and being fine with them didn’t mean I was unaware of risks.
“Are you sure?” Alamo offered.
I stopped midstep and locked gazes with him. “If you were to get picked up, it would inconvenience the club, especially with Killer in the hospital.” Then I resumed walking. “Anyhow, I’m sure everything is worked out.”
My theory was proven right as I saw the guard at the door of the hospital. He wasn’t a Wolf, but his cousin was. He stepped in front of the metal detector to hug me, exclaiming, “Ellie!”
The alarm went off. His gun was visible, as was his badge. The faux sheepishness he had for setting the alarm off was remarkably convincing.
“Sorry!” He wasn’t overly loud, but the folks in the lobby would’ve heard him all the same. He looked at Alamo. “It was probably my gun that set it off, but protocol . . .”
Unruly Page 9
