I had a few options. In my defense, I did know which one I probably should choose, but I didn’t want to call in the Wolves unless I had too. I loved bikers, loved these bikers in particular, but they weren’t renowned for being . . . cautious with their solutions. More important, Killer was on the way out to start his military career. He didn’t need new trouble landing on his plate when he was trying to head to the door.
I suspected that Noah, Alamo, or Big Eddie would step into Killer’s soon-to-be-vacant spot—at least temporarily. Even if they didn’t, however, there were plenty of guys who could be called upon to handle any trouble. Adding to the things the club had to sort out right now was unnecessary if I could handle it myself.
So I was going to opt for the less wise path.
I couldn’t decide if I was nervous or angry. Either way, my hands were shaking enough as I tried to put my key in the ignition that I dropped the whole ring on the floor of the car. I didn’t want trouble, but I couldn’t decide if there would be more complications if I took a minute to handle the stalkers or if I told Killer. Anyone other than Killer, Alamo, or Noah would go directly to Echo. Hell, Alamo or Noah would at least update Killer. The downside to being valued by the club president and the boys was that there was no way to turn that wasn’t going to run the risk of angering them.
These assholes who were watching me had just put me in a bad situation. I wanted to hit them for it.
First, though, I had a going-away party to handle.
I was still shaking a little when I arrived at home, not visibly enough that Mama would ask harder questions than I could answer, but enough that she noticed.
“You’ll do great, Ellie.” She smiled reassuringly, meeting my gaze and giving me the same maternal smile she’d offered when I was a kid nervously about to go onstage with my father.
Tonight Mama was as dressed up as she had always been on those nights when she came with me and Daddy while we sang. She used to call it her “mother of the singer” look, but her body-defining jeans and bright pink blouse were also what she called date clothes, so basically, it was all the same. Whether it was as my cheerleader or some man’s date, she was getting all gussied up and preening.
“I just need to get ready and then we’ll go.” I smiled at her, relaxing more now that I was home. At least I was relaxing until a stray thought hit me. “Have there been any odd guests or strangers around lately?”
Mama had started toward the kitchen as I ascended the stairs, but she stopped and looked back at me. Her hands landed on her hips and her gaze narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
I bit back my frustration and tried to sound calm. “Have there?”
She paused, and I could all but see her thinking over the faces she’d seen and the events of her days. She had that same faraway look when she was paging through recipes in her mind or surveying the fridge to see what we had and what she could create with it. I hated seeing that look because of the question I’d asked, but I needed to know.
After a few moments, Mama shook her head. “No one.” Then she looked me straight in the eye and repeated, “Why?”
I shrugged and half answered, “I saw a couple of strangers on campus, but I usually recognize everyone. I don’t want to make a thing of it, but it seemed odd.”
All of that was true. I had just omitted the part about their stalking me and discussing me.
Mama nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out. If anything seems worrisome, we’ll let Echo know.”
And there was nothing more to say: for her, Echo was the answer.
I made a noise of agreement and headed up to get dressed. It was a party for one of my friends, as well as my first time singing for the club in years. Plus, of course, Alamo would be there, and I wanted to look good for him. I wasn’t foolish enough to think that Alamo I were . . . something. We’d had a couple of good nights, and we seemed like we could have more of them. I wasn’t ready to start thinking of commitments—or maybe I was simply rationalizing because I was gun-shy after things with Noah had become so supremely fucked up. If I was to be completely honest with myself, I might admit that Alamo seemed like a fantasy come to life. I wasn’t ready for that kind of admission, not anywhere other than in one quiet corner of my mind where I could ignore it.
That didn’t mean I was prepared to see him with two girls when he walked into Wolves & Whiskey a few hours later. It was foolish for it to matter, but it did. My heart fell.
Noah—who had been watching me with his kicked-puppy expression since he’d seen me walk into the bar—followed my gaze to Alamo and started across the room. I wanted to follow, but I was still singing. I’d promised Echo himself that I’d stay up there for at least twenty minutes but “preferably longer.”
Noah’s date stood to follow him, but one of the women stopped her. I couldn’t say I was sorry that she did, but I wasn’t particularly pleased that Noah was acting all protective now. There was a time I would’ve loved it, but that was in the past.
On the other hand, I didn’t love seeing Alamo with two women hanging off his arms. I’d rarely ever seen him bring girls to the bar, and I’d certainly never seen him bring two of them. Tonight he had one on each arm. Maybe I’d misunderstood what happened between us. Maybe it wasn’t as explosive for him—or maybe this was his way of proving that we were as strings free as I’d said initially.
I bit back a sigh, looked back at the band, and said, “Etta James’ ‘It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World.’ ”
Chapter 26
ALAMO LET GO OF BOTH GIRLS’ ARMS WHEN HE SAW DASH heading his way. “Just stay out of it,” he told Zoe.
“Stay out of—”
“I mean it,” he cut her off. “Ana? Everything is fine. You’re safe here, okay? You know that, right?”
She nodded, but she also stepped a little closer to Zoe.
All Alamo got out was “Dash, this is my” before a fist came at his face.
If it wasn’t so irritating, Alamo would be amused. He’d wanted a chance to punch Noah Dash for months, and here it was. He’d rather not do it in front of the girls, but by the time a second fist came at his face, any hesitation was gone.
He reacted on instinct at that point. He dodged the second punch and threw two of his own, a nice one-two combination.
“You had no business touching her,” Dash said.
“That’s Ellen’s decision, not yours.” Alamo’s fist shot out at Dash again, but he didn’t make contact this time.
“Alejandro Roberto Díaz!” Zoe’s voice snapped out. “Do not break that boy.”
Dash was distracted enough to glance at her, and Alamo landed his next punch.
“Enough!” Killer was there, and he looked about as pissed off as Alamo felt. He grabbed Dash. “What the hell, cuz?”
Dash shook his head. “Ask him.”
Killer looked at Alamo. “Well?”
Alamo shrugged. “Ellen and I went riding.”
“And?” Killer looked between them, clearly expecting more.
“And then he shows up here with two whores and—” Dash’s words were cut off by a slap across his face.
Zoe crossed her arms and glared up at him. “Whatever your problem is with my brother, it doesn’t give you the right to disrespect us.”
“Your brother?” Dash echoed. He looked at Alamo. “You bring your sister on your dates?”
This time Zoe sighed. “Pendejo!”
“Watch your language,” Alamo muttered.
“Seriously?” His sister’s hands went to her hips. “You know better than to get in a fight, Alejandro, and you expect me to let him”—she gestured at Dash—“speak to me like that?”
“I don’t. He was wrong, and you can yell all you want. Hell, hit him if you want. Just . . . that’s not a word you need to be using,” he said, feeling vaguely embarrassed that she had picked up his cussing. He knew she was a grown woman, but it still stung that his own colorful language was something his very sweet, smart, and fierce little sister
had adopted.
“Ana and I are getting a drink.” Zoe grabbed Ana’s arm and half dragged her past Killer and Dash. She waved behind her. “Sort that out.”
“Sorry I’m late for the party,” he told Killer. “I had to pick up my sister and her roommate.”
“I didn’t know she was due to visit,” Killer said, completely ignoring Dash. Most of the club didn’t know about Zoe, but obviously, Killer knew pretty much whatever Echo had thought necessary. That meant he knew about the trouble back in North Carolina and about Alamo’s sister.
“Someone care to fill me in?” Dash asked, his voice calmer now.
“My sister and her roommate surprised me. I’m late. You jumped to conclusions. Zoe’s worried because I have a temper, and she thinks I shouldn’t be punching people. Ellen’s looking at all of us like she’s going to kill us or at least never speak to us again.”
“Not me,” Killer quipped. He waved at Ellen, who after a brief warble when the fists were flying had continued on. A woman who ran with bikers wasn’t the sort to flinch over a little brawl.
Ellen was singing Nina Simone’s version of “Feeling Good,” and maybe it was a little bit of bias because he was finally able to touch her and talk to her without worry, but he thought she sounded even better than when he’d heard her before—and that was saying something.
Alamo had no idea she was going to sing here. He supposed that meant that keeping their trips to Memphis quiet was unnecessary. He wondered briefly if her singing here would also mean that she would have other Wolves offering to take her to clubs. On the one hand, hearing her belt out the blues was a treat. From the moment he’d heard her, he’d thought she had a voice, one that should be recorded, but that wasn’t his place. At the same time, he hated that everyone else in the bar was hearing her, and he hated the idea of her making an album. He felt a surge of possessiveness over hearing her.
He stared at her, smiling even though she looked away as soon as he did so. He wasn’t sure how to tell her he hadn’t messed up. All he’d done was walk in the door.
“She’s good,” Killer said. “If I didn’t like her voice so much, I’d feel guilty that my father somehow conned her into singing tonight. I never understood her clothes thing, but the girl’s got a set of pipes.”
“She’s better than most of the bands I’ve heard up in here,” Alamo said, still watching Ellen, who was now pointedly not looking at him.
“Echo knew about the party?” Dash asked. “I thought it was a secret.”
Killer shrugged. “I don’t know how he knows most of what he does, but whatever it is he does, I’m guessing he’s responsible for Ellie being up on that stage tonight. She doesn’t ever tell the old man no, and he’s been waiting for her to be willing to sing again for a while.”
“I didn’t know she was your sister,” Dash interjected half apologetically to Alamo. It wasn’t an actual apology, but it was phrased in such a way that it felt like Dash was expecting him to say that it was “okay” or “not a big deal.”
“My family is none of your business.” Alamo glared at him. “Neither is what Ellen and I do. She’s not yours.”
“She’s still under my protection when it comes to keeping her safe,” Dash started.
“Bullshit. You’re looking for a fucking excuse in case you decide you want her back,” Alamo pointed out baldly. He wasn’t spoiling for a fight, but he wasn’t going to ignore one if it came his way—even if it was with the biker who would be club president. There was only so much disrespect a man could tolerate before he was nothing more than a pup playing at being a man. Alamo wasn’t interested in taking that leap backward. He looked at Dash and warned, “Don’t push me again. Next time, Killer might not be here to step between us.”
Before Dash could reply, Killer slung an arm around his cousin. It wasn’t restraining yet, but it would become so if necessary. It was a tried-and-true move that was useful with drunks and others who were at risk of becoming unruly. “Come on. Your date’s going to be sore if you don’t get back to her.”
Alamo shook his head and concentrated on continuing to hold his temper. Maybe it was stupid to have come here, especially with the girls, but he hadn’t expected it to be an issue. Ellen had been the one who insisted that there were no strings, and he figured he’d introduce her to his sister and Ana when he got to the bar. He certainly hadn’t expected Dash to come out swinging.
Earlier, he’d thought about staying home. He was admittedly a bit overprotective about the girls, and he didn’t want any confusion as to whether or not any of the guys could look at his sister like . . . well, like guys looked at women. He couldn’t even think the words. Zoe might tease him that she was going to go out and “get some,” but he knew that so far she wasn’t actually interested in acting on that. Taking his baby sister into the Wolves’ den wasn’t something he’d considered seriously before. He tended to keep her separate from most of them. There were those who knew her back home, but they’d known her since she was a kid. They knew not to provoke her or, worse yet, to look at her the way men looked at women. Zoe mocked him mercilessly about it, but he still saw her as a child.
Tonight, however, was a party for Killer’s going away, and Alamo called him a friend more than he did with any other biker. The two of them didn’t have all the bullshit or politics between them. That was rare.
Plus, admittedly, it wasn’t just being a friend to Killer that made Alamo come to the bar tonight. He knew Ellen would be there. Now that he was finally able to be around her, he wanted to see her. It wasn’t just sex. He wasn’t sure it ever could be just sex with her. He was willing to try if that was the only thing she wanted, but he was hoping that she’d change her mind in time.
Chapter 27
I LOOKED ACROSS THE BAR TO SEE IF ECHO WAS CONTENT with my singing. It wasn’t just because he was the president of the club. I wanted him to be happy with my performance, not because I’d been ordered to do it, but because I liked and respected him. I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a father figure, but he was the closest thing I had to it—as he had been with Noah and Killer.
Growing up, I’d thought of him as a mix of scary uncle and God Himself. What Echo said was law. What Echo ordered was done. What Echo wanted was what everyone else accepted. Those were facts as clear as addition or spelling. As I got older, I realized exactly what that meant, how far he would go to keep us safe. The men who had killed my father were dead because Echo had declared it good that they die. I remembered hearing him telling Mama that, and hearing her sob and thank him.
“I always protect my family, Ellen,” he said when he found me sitting on the steps. “You and your mama need anything, you let me know.”
I nodded.
“And if you can’t reach me, you tell any of the Wolves . . . or Miz Evans over at the school. They’ll let me know.” He met my gaze and talked to me like a grown-up, and I was grateful to him for it. “Wolves protect their pack. Your dad is still a part of my pack.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You look after your mama, you hear? She’s not used to being on her own. Your father . . .” Echo’s words trailed off, as if he was suddenly realizing that I wasn’t an adult after all.
I hated it.
“Daddy made all the decisions. Mama’s job was to be happy,” I supplied for him.
“Exactly,” Echo said quietly. “So you need to be strong for her, and let me know if you two need anything.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And if Noah or Zion need anything, you tell me that too,” he added. “Sometimes boys forget to ask for help. So you keep an eye on them.”
I don’t think Echo meant for me to end up in either boy’s bed, but maybe he did. There was something about the way his mind worked that I still didn’t understand. He had machinations even within his plans. Sometimes I think he thought of the Wolves as his own little dukedom, and he wasn’t far off. He was our ruler, and my life so far had been shaped by what he wanted.
Tonight he wanted me to sing for his son. So I sang. It was that simple.
“Do you have any requests?” I asked after I finished my song. I didn’t need to direct the question. Everyone there knew to wait until he spoke. Echo was an older version of Killer, more weathered, rougher around the edges, hair still raven-dark; he moved with a predatory grace that his son lacked. That and the complete self-assurance he exuded would mark him as the man in charge. The fact that he was watched obediently by every other biker there didn’t hurt either.
“Joan Jett,” he said.
“Anything particular?” I asked.
When he shook his head, I grinned and decided to do Joan Jett covering AC/DC. I looked at the band and said, “Dirty Deeds.”
Then I met Echo’s gaze and said, “Being a part of this pack in any way is an honor, and I’m awfully glad your son’s smart enough to realize it, even if he’s going off to play toy soldier.” There were laughs. Echo grinned and raised his glass at me. When the laughter died down, I glanced at Killer and Aubrey then. “And you two better not forget that Killers’ not the only Wolf, or Wolf’s daughter, in town who can get things done. I’ve got Aubrey’s back, and I’m not the only one. Family”—I looked back at Echo—“protects family. Always has. Always will.”
The Wolves let out a boisterous sound that was somewhere between a howl and a yell. Echo simply smiled at me. Killer nodded at me. A few of the Wolves called out their agreement.
“You tell ’em, Ellie!”
“You heard the lady!”
Echo nodded at me, and the drummer started. I started clapping my hands, and the Wolves and their old ladies joined me. By the time the guitar came in, the women were on the floor dancing. By the chorus, most everyone in the bar was singing “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” along with me. It wasn’t a Joan Jett song originally, but she’d covered it.
Unruly Page 19
