Unruly

by Ronnie Douglas

  “But?” he prompted.

  I grinned. I liked this straight-up negotiation and honesty. A lot of men were intimidated by women who spoke their minds. Sometimes I thought that Killer had been right when we were kids and he’d suggested that I was so blunt as a way to scare people off. It made it easy to see who was a runner. It worked, though. If they couldn’t handle me in conversation, they sure as hell couldn’t handle me any other way. Alamo seemed like he might be able to handle me, so I didn’t try to mince words.

  “But I want a ride,” I said. “Not to carry me to work or as a favor, but a ride. No destination. No plans. Just a tank of gas and go. I hope you’re going to stop walking away when I try to talk now that you know I’m available, but either way, I’m glad that whatever happens next is just between us.”

  I looked him over and let myself enjoy the very details I’d been training myself to ignore. He was fit and intimidating, and it looked like he’d be able to handle any trouble we came across. It did good things for the libido I’d been trying my damnedest to quash.

  Alamo didn’t reply, but he was grinning at my assessment. He leaned back and let me take a good long look. It was about as subtle as I felt, and I drew in an appreciative breath. Sometimes women thought that men didn’t like being ogled, but that was sheer foolishness. A man wouldn’t work to look that good if he wasn’t wanting someone to notice. I was noticing, and for the first time since we’d met, there was no reason to pretend otherwise.

  “Today I’m in a foul mood, and I want to be on the back of your bike,” I said. “Riding with you without having to keep my distance will put my mood to rights.”

  “Is that all you want today? A ride?”

  I paused, debating the wisdom of my next words, but I figured I was either all in or not at all at this point. I’d lost months because I had no idea he thought I was forbidden. I took a sip of the coffee I was cradling, hoping to sound less nervous than I really was, and said, “Sex at the end would be perfect, but I’m not demanding it.”

  “Damn, darlin’.” He didn’t look away. “An offer like that’s enough to make a man offer all sorts of promises.”

  “No promises. No strings,” I clarified quickly. “If we work well together, we can make a habit of it. Just to be clear, though: I’m not looking to be your old lady, and if there is one back home, I need to know. I’m not a home wreck—”

  “There isn’t,” he interrupted. “There’s no one.”

  I debated pressing the matter. There were an awful lot of women’s clothes in his guest room for a man without someone in his life, but I trusted him. If he said there wasn’t a woman, there wasn’t. I knew him well enough to know that. Maybe there had been one, and she was gone now. Maybe he was holding on to the past. I didn’t know, and if we were going with no strings, it wasn’t my business. He was a good man with a sexy body and a custom bike. That was all I wanted in that moment. If I’d been looking for a relationship, I’d have a lot of other questions, but that wasn’t what this was.

  “Ride. Sex if it happens. Repeat if it’s worth it. No strings either way,” I clarified so we were both sure of where we stood and what was on the table. I tilted my head to stare into his eyes and asked, “So . . . are you in?”

  “I’m in,” he confirmed in a slightly rougher voice.

  I finished my coffee and stood. “Meet me at my house in two hours then,” I said, and then I went to get dressed and go home.

  Chapter 18

  IF I WAS LUCKY, I COULD SLIP IN, GET CHANGED INTO SOMETHING to ride in, and then get out without an interrogation from my mother.

  I wasn’t lucky. Mama was waiting in the front room, the one she always called the “parlor” like we were some sort of gentrified people. We weren’t. We were just regular people. We weren’t on assistance, but we hadn’t ever been money either. She earned enough at her job to pay the bills and buy groceries. The house was paid off because it was my father’s. That was it. We weren’t struggling, but we weren’t headed off on luxury cruises either. I was hoping to change that now that Echo had pointed out that I could do so with my singing, but I wasn’t sure that I could. These last few months were the first time I’d truly considered it, and it was both exciting and intimidating. I was starting to get back to being comfortable enough with the idea of singing in public, and I’d made some money doing it. Now that my internship was a wash, I was going to throw myself into it.

  “Ellie?” Mama called when she heard the door close. There was a slim chance it would be anyone else. No one else walked in without knocking or calling out. Seeing my mother and one of her boyfriends wasn’t comfortable for anyone.

  I usually called out too—unless I was trying to slip up the stairs without stopping to chat. I bit back a sigh and answered, “Yeah, it’s me.”

  Instead of darting upstairs as I had planned, I went into the living room. Mama was sitting on the sofa with a cigarette in hand, smudged eyeliner that told me she’d been crying, and a brittle smile that warned me that she was in what I often called “determined happiness.” She was dressed in a pair of jeans so tight that if she stood, everyone and their cousin could tell she didn’t wear underwear. The shirt she had on was some frilly number that was utterly unsuitable for sitting around the house at this unholy hour. There were only two reasons for her to be dolled up so early—either she was just getting home or she was newly single again. The shirt wasn’t the worst of it, though. She had on her black leather vest, the one proudly proclaiming that she was the property of the Southern Wolves. She didn’t wear it outside the house. Daddy had been gone since I was still in elementary school, and she hadn’t belonged to anyone since him. Wearing that vest meant she was single. She always wore it around the house when she and her latest split up. Usually, there was a lot of chain smoking, and once in a while she’d throw a huge meal and fill the house with bikers. Echo always slipped me money for groceries afterward, not that we always needed it, but just because widows were under his care. I hadn’t thought much about that until he’d pointed out that we didn’t need to be under club care. I had another option.

  “Tell me you had a better night than I did. Tell me you were out there”—Mama waved her hand in a wild gesture in the general direction of the world beyond our house—“celebrating getting that dressmaking job or something.”

  “Nope. I had a flat tire coming back, and I didn’t get the job,” I told her as I slumped into the chair across from her.

  “That sucks.” She sighed.

  “Yeah.”

  “Harry went back to his wife,” she announced in the same heavy tone I’d used. “He thought I could still scratch his itch after he moved home. Idiot.”

  “He snored like a rabid beaver anyhow. I could hear him clear downstairs.” I bit my cheek as soon as the words were out. It was a silly game we always played when her lovers became exes.

  “Smelled worse than that,” she added sagely.

  “Probably the foot fungus.”

  Mama sighed again and took a drag off the cigarette in her hand before saying, “Poor Harry. He just couldn’t bear living on his own, and when I said I wasn’t looking to let anyone move in here, he said he was going back home.”

  There was no actual sympathy in her voice, and I knew that “poor Harry” wasn’t how she really felt. She was livid, but Mama was a Southern lady. She might look like she wasn’t particularly ladylike, but poverty and manners weren’t mutually exclusive. It took effort to get her to break manners and say what she really meant—and that was my job.

  “Bless his heart.” I uttered the Southern truism with a fake sigh.

  Mama didn’t miss a beat before saying, “Well, the Good Lord sure hasn’t blessed anything else of that man’s. Harry was so small in his drawers that I think his exes might all still be considered virgins.”

  “Dodged another bullet,” I told her, wondering if these post-breakup conversations had ever been any different. We’d shared some version of these same lines for as l
ong as I could remember. I didn’t know if there was a time when she cried or raged about a man. Honestly, I’d come to think that if she ever cared enough to feel that much for a man, she’d chosen to never spend another night with him. It was the ones who mattered least who seemed to get to stay the longest.

  My mother was, in her way, still faithful to my father after all this time. It wasn’t the sort of faithfulness most people would understand, but I had figured it out years ago. Her heart was safe from anyone else’s getting into it the way he had. The rest? They were distractions. The only one who stood a chance was Big Eddie, and he was too much of a gentleman to push his luck. I suspected he’d been waiting for Mama to be ready to be with another Wolf, but the closest he’d seemed to be able to get was a few conversations with her. I didn’t understand them.

  And I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. The idea of a stepfather halfway between our ages was weird to me—and I knew that my mother wouldn’t take up with a Wolf unless she meant it as more than a passing fancy. Everyone knew that.

  After a few moments, she sighed. “I’m not sure I’m up to cooking a big meal this time, Ellie.”

  “So don’t.”

  “Traditions are what keep things in order.” Mama lit another cigarette, holding the new one to the still-glowing cherry of the one in her hand. “I like to have the family over when I’m blue. It helps.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I got it; after all these years, I had to. I just didn’t like it. I went over to her and kissed her cheek. “Let me talk to Echo or to Uncle Karl. Maybe we can have a party or a potluck. Aunt Dar might have ideas too.”

  My mother reached out and squeezed my hand. “You’re a good kid. I don’t understand half of what you say most of the time, but you’re a good kid.”

  “Hush, you.” I had to deny it, that was part of the rules too. She didn’t get me, though—never had, never would. Most of what I liked wasn’t what made sense to her, and the one thing I thought we should have in common—bikers—was a source of stress between us.

  We still had a no-lies rule, so I paused before heading up the stairs and said, “I’m going riding.”

  “With Noah?”

  “No.”

  “Noah’s a good boy,” she started.

  I held up my hand before she could start singing his praises again. The son of Eli Dash could do no wrong in my mother’s eyes. “Alamo.”

  “Does Noah know?”

  I sighed. “It’s none of his business, Mama.”

  “I have no issue with Alejandro. He seems like a good man, but Eli’s kid—”

  “No.” I tried to keep my temper down, but after finding out that Noah had been meddling in my life, I wasn’t feeling as charitable as usual. “Dash might be worse than you when it comes to committing. When he falls, I’m going to sit back and hope the woman’s got a boatload of patience.”

  Mama nodded. “Men are nothing but trouble. If it wasn’t for sex or carrying things, I couldn’t see a single reason to keep any of them past the first night. Your father was the only one worth keeping.”

  She lit another cigarette and glanced at the picture of my father that hung on the wall.

  “Go on then,” she said, shooing me off with the hand holding a cigarette. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than sit here while I get all maudlin on you.”

  I gave her a kiss on her well-rouged cheek and headed upstairs.

  Once out of her hearing, I had to decide if there was anyone to update. She expected it, even if she didn’t mention it. Harry hadn’t done anything wrong, not in a “needs an ass kicking” way, so updating the club wasn’t necessary. I called my aunt Darlene quickly, filled her in, and decided that was enough. Mama wasn’t keen on Echo or the others knowing her business most of the time, so I respected her wishes as much as I could. Plus, of course, Aunt Dar was the longtime wife of one of the Wolves, so if she decided to share my mother’s single-again status, that was on her.

  Family situation resolved, I started to go through my clothes to find the right thing to wear for my date with Alamo. As much as I wanted to wear something super-sexy, I also needed something that wouldn’t result in road rash if we ended up laying the bike down. Alamo wasn’t an unsafe rider by any stretch, and Williamsville was a very rider-aware town, but accidents still happened, and I was fairly sure that Alamo was the sort of man who wouldn’t even let me on the bike if I wore a cute skirt to ride. Jeans were unavoidable; so was either a vest or a jacket.

  Growing up around bikes and bikers meant that I also had a variety of boots for the occasion. I grabbed one of my favorite pairs: knee-high distressed black leather, sturdy but high-heeled, straps and buckles that looked more piratical than anything else. Tight jeans, tall boots, riding jacket . . . which left me with the girlie touches. I was all about independence, but I always preferred the girliest underthings I could find. Alamo had already got a glimpse of the blue set, so I looked through the options. Pale pink? Too soft. Red? Too predictable. Purple was a good compromise.

  The top was the biggest challenge, so I went to get my shower while I let that thought stew. I’d missed this, primping for a night—or afternoon, in this case—out with someone. Maybe Alamo would be the perfect solution: a strings-free relationship with a beautiful man on a Harley. As long as he wasn’t looking for strings, we could have something good now that I’d solved idiot Noah’s attempt to keep the Wolves away from me.

  Unlike Aubrey, I had no issue with being someone’s old lady. In truth, if I ever decided to take dating seriously, I was more likely opposed to being with a man who wasn’t a Wolf, but serious wasn’t on my to-do list. Right now, that list was pretty short: relax and ride.

  Chapter 19

  ALAMO WASN’T TERRIBLY SHOCKED TO FIND KILLER ON his porch an hour later.

  “I crawled out of a warm bed with Red to come check on your dumb ass,” he said. Most of the Wolves wouldn’t show up unannounced, but Killer had been the club enforcer since he was old enough to pull a trigger for Echo. The normal rules weren’t ever something he considered.

  “Don’t recall calling you,” Alamo pointed out even as he found an ashtray.

  “Big Eddie called after he dropped Dash off here after getting Ellie’s car.” Killer tapped the tip of his cigarette on the counter. “I’m leaving town soon. Dad’s going to ask you to step up.”

  Alamo stared at him. He’d been here only a short while. Gaining any position of importance with Echo himself was unexpected. On the other hand, Dash would be shit at being an enforcer. It didn’t take a genius to see that he was more brains than violence. Carefully Alamo said, “I’m not looking to start trouble, but I don’t want to be taking orders from Dash, especially right now.”

  “I get that, and so does Echo.” Killer shrugged. “You did right by us with that mess over with the pricks who tried to screw with the girlie bars.”

  That had been more of a showing that they had the muscle and manpower than anything. Another club had tried to start some shit at a strip club that the Wolves owned. The manager called. The Wolves rode over to the little roadside dive and made their presence felt. It was just business.

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t a thing. I’m good with a fist or two.”

  “And that’s what Echo needs,” Killer said. He cupped his hand around his cigarette as he lit it. After a long drag, he muttered, “I’m going to miss these.”

  Alamo shook his head and grinned. “Little slip of a woman’s got you whipped, boy.”

  “Damn straight she does,” Killer said. “Red’s worth it.” He inhaled again and crushed his mostly unsmoked cigarette in the ashtray. “Didn’t say I was opposed to quitting for her, just that I’ll miss it.”

  After a moment, he continued, “You’re going to need to sort your shit out with Dash. I’m not going to be here to keep you two in check, and Echo’s not as nice as I am.”

  Alamo snorted.

  “Dad needs someone to do my job,” Killer said, clarifying e
xactly what position was open. “Dash . . . would be a fine president if that’s the way things go, but he has no stomach for violence.”

  “Are you saying I do?” Alamo asked lightly, even though Killer was affirming his own theories of the situation.

  “I know you,” Killer said bluntly. “You’d keep him . . . them safe. Dash is an idiot sometimes, but he’s my family. Echo . . . it would be bad for the club if he got hurt, and I need someone I trust to make sure that doesn’t happen. I suggested he look to you.”

  Alamo nodded. “Aside from the part where I need to take orders from Dash, it’s doable.”

  Killer laughed. “Boy’s not going to end up president any time soon. My father’s not stepping aside, and Dash isn’t even ready to step up. For now, what you’d need to do is keep my father safe, do what he thinks needs doing. I’ll talk to my cousin before I go.” He paused, and then when Alamo said nothing, he prompted, “Is that a yes?”

  It was an honor. They both knew it. Being recommended by Killer was a testament of his trust. Being offered a position by Echo was even more remarkable. Not all clubs handled things the way this one did, but Echo was like a king. Alamo had heard stories of his devotion and ferocity before arriving. Since joining this chapter, he’d seen proof with his own eyes. Echo was well worth taking a bullet for.

  “I’ll keep your father safe,” Alamo swore.

  A visible tension dropped from Killer’s shoulders. He looked less strained, and Alamo wondered how hard this decision to leave the club was. Maybe it was easier because Killer was blood family to Echo, so there was still a tie to the club, but maybe that actually made it harder. Leaving Zoe in Carolina to move to Tennessee was difficult in a way that Alamo hadn’t expected. She was a student, an adult, and thoroughly capable. He’d still felt like he’d left one of his lungs behind, stretched out on the sidewalk where anyone could trample or ruin it. If something happened to Zoe, Alamo would be more devastated than if he lost an actual lung. He realized that Killer was feeling a bit like that when it came to leaving the club, especially his cousin and his father.