His Bold Heart: Her Stepbrother's Desire, a Death Lords MC (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 19)

by Ella Goode

"Don't even say it," I warn. Abel holds me back.

  “Let’s go. Let’s all go back to the club. I think Moose has something to share with us.” Abel tilts his head toward Big who gives him the chin up of acknowledgment.

  Big and Riot grab Moose by the arms when he tries to break away.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Big says. “You’re coming with us.”

  “Riot,” Chelsea’s new friend calls out. The slender guy stops and half turns toward her. Resignation and hope war on his face lit up by the street lights.

  “What is it Mandy?”

  “Come home with me.” There are tears in her voice.

  My chest tightens in response. Goddamn, I fucking hate tears. I am fucking useless against them.

  “I’ll meet you there. Just give me like a half hour. Maybe an hour.” There’s a tinge of desperation in his voice. It matches hers too.

  “No. Right now.” Chelsea whispers something to her but she jerks away. “You need to come right now or there will never be a chance for us.”

  “You fucking that real estate guy?” Riot growls, still not full, looking at Mandy.

  She pales. Her breath puffs out like tiny smoke rings from the cold. “He’s nothing to me. Just come away with me. Let’s go back to what we had. It was fun. We drank, partied, had sex.”

  He sucks the lower lip into his teeth. “We can still have all that.”

  Distracted by the girl, his grip on Moose loosens. Moose takes advantage and wrenches out of Riot’s grip. Abel sighs and strides forward to help Big bring Moose down.

  “We gotta go. Chelsea, get the truck.” I throw her the keys.

  “You just do whatever your man tells you too?” Mandy sneers, her once pretty features are mucked up by the running mascara and the ugly curve of her lips.

  “Mandy, honey, why don’t you come with me. We can get some coffee. When Grant and the boys are done, they’ll come get us.” Chelsea beckons her with a hand but Mandy backs up like Chelsea is diseased.

  “No, I do not want to be part of a blood bath. I do not want to worry about where every penny is coming from. I just want a regular life.”

  “Then fucking go. Go find your fuck head accountant or whatever and have a boring-ass beige life. I’m done with you,” Riot shouts.

  “Truck, Chelsea,” I holler. I’m done with this whole shitshow. It’s fucking cold out and I want to take care of the Moose business and take my girl home. It’s been a long-ass day.

  Chelsea throws one more look at Mandy and then turns away, hustling down the street toward the truck. I see a taxi across the street and wave him over. Leaning in, I hand him a three twenties. That should easily cover wherever it is Mandy needs to go.

  “Mandy, here’s your ride. Go home.”

  Sniffling, she climbs into the cab. “There’s something wrong with you. All of you.”

  “Maybe so, but we’re all adults and this is what we’ve chosen. You’ve got a different route and that’s fine.”

  “Your girl is too sweet to be part of this mess.” She slams the door shut.

  I slap a hand on the roof of the taxi and point at the driver who rolls down the passenger window for me. Leaning down, I stare that girl straight in the eyes so she sees how serious I am. “You stay the fuck out of my business little girl. Chelsea’s been mine since she was fourteen and she’ll be mine until the day we both die. Don’t fuck with shit you don’t know nothing about. I don’t care if you are friends with Chels. She needs them. But you fuck with her in any way and you’re done. Do you get me?”

  She stares at me wide eyed.

  “I’m going to need a verbal response here. Do you get me?” I repeat low and hard.

  She nods slowly. “I get it,” she says quietly and then covers her mouth to prevent a sob from escaping.

  I tip my chin up and then gesture for the cabbie to take off.

  “Problem?” Abel asks.

  “Don’t think so.” I rub my chin as I watch the tail lights speed away. “Where’s Moose?”

  “Duct taped and stuck in the back of the truck.”

  “We going to bring him home and stick him with Paulson?”

  Abel grunts. “Seems like the right place for him.”

  “Well that should scare the piss out of Moose, eh?”

  “Think so,” Abel answers cheerfully.

  “Let’s take care of business and go home. Sorry you aren’t getting laid tonight.”

  “It’s all good. I got the number of a couple of girls so maybe I’ll follow up with one of them in a few days when I’m not worried about watching my back.”

  “Good call.” I slap him on the back. “See you at the Misery club.”

  * * *

  The ride from the bar to the club did wonders for Moose. He is all kinds of talkative when we pull him out from the bed of the truck. I sent Chelsea home since all the members of the Misery club were in the kitchen of their clubhouse. Junior, me and Moose are sitting at the table. The rest of the members are standing around the room, watching the proceedings. Half of them probably have their hands on the butt of their guns.

  “They took her.” Moose admits. “They took her and they won’t give her the meds unless I keep delivering them the goods but the cook’s wife got shot and then their lab blew up and now I’ve got nothing.”

  Junior curses and backs away from the table. He grabs his neck and stares out the window. I spare the young president a glance and then renew my focus on Moose.

  “Tell us how Chief Schmidt from Fortune is involved.”

  “Up until a couple of months ago he and Trainor were producing some of the best meth this side of the Mississippi. When Trainor’s wife found out, she threatened to turn him in if he didn’t stop. She was afraid of people finding out but once you’re in, you’re in. Trainor told the Henchmen that he was done and they killed his wife.”

  “Now what?”

  “They want him to start cooking again. I told him that if he didn’t, he’d be next. I’m his keeper. The boot on his neck. If I got him back into cooking again, I’d get my sister back. They were supposed to give me the hand off location and time.”

  I push the paper toward him.

  “You were following me? Motherfucker, you have my fucking money!” The chair legs scrape against the floor as he leaps to his feet. He lunges toward me but Big and Abel hold him off.

  Junior pushes them both away and hauls Moose up by his collar. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

  “What are you going to do Junior? Kill me like your old man?” Moose screams in his face. Over their heads, I see Abel’s eyebrows raise slightly. Junior killed his old man?

  “You stupid fuck.” Junior pushes Moose against the closest wall and presses a forearm against Moose’s windpipe. No one stops him. “I could kill you right now with my fucking hands.”

  “This isn’t helping Mia,” Moose chokes out.

  Junior keeps up the pressure. It’s not good for any of us if Moose is taken out yet but this is Junior’s show and I’m not going to step in. We’ll figure it out if Junior decides it is time for Moose to go. So we wait. I glance at my phone. Almost one in the morning. I wonder what Chelsea is doing. Is she showering? Did she go straight to bed? Is she sitting up worrying about me?

  I start to text her but Junior’s control creeps back in and he throws Moose onto the chair. I tuck my phone away. Time to pay attention.

  “What more do they want from you?” Junior asks.

  “More meth. What else?” Moose drops his head into his hands, defeated.

  “Do you have it?”

  He shakes his head. “Trainor hasn’t cooked up anything. He’s too fucking scared.”

  “How much do they want?”

  “It’s a pound every delivery.”

  “What’s that work out to?” Abel asks. Good question. Since we don’t deal with drugs, I have no idea what the going rate is.

  “About fifty grand in street value.”

  Abel whistles through his teeth and
there are a bunch of unhappy rumblings from the Misery crew.

  “I’m guessing you guys don’t have that kind of extra cash,” I say casually.

  “Does it look like we fucking do?” Junior throws his arm out. “We’ve been operating on fumes since—” he breaks off.

  “Since what?” Now we’re getting somewhere. “Either you trust us to have your back or you don’t,” I tell him. “I don’t care what you guys were doing before. I don’t really give a shit that Moose is trafficking meth. What I want to know is what the hell happened to the Misery club and do I need to be worried about my brother Abel here or my old lady Chelsea. Is this going to spillover to the Death Lords? That’s what I care about, not what illegal shit you all are into. Abel and I are ready to back you with our guns and whatever else we can provide. I think your plan to take the interstate is stupid as shit and we should take the backroads, but if you want to cruise down I-94 with a cargo full of hot goods, that’s what we’ll do.”

  I’m making a leap of faith here, telling Junior that we’re in as long as he can show us the same courtesy of honesty in return.

  He snorts and shakes his head. “We’re moving wine. Totally legit but it’s high end stuff and they don’t like to advertise it. Big made the contact at an ink show last year. It pays decent.”

  “Why the big charade?” I ask curiously.

  He leans back, stretching his legs out. “Just wanted to see if you were truly here to back me up or whether Judge sent you to spy on me. We’re small and trying to recover from the fallout from last year.”

  “We were following a drug trail,” I say deciding to lay it out there. “I saw Moose here meeting with Trainor. Trainor’s wife got wiped and the local police were trying to pin that on me. Judge and I don’t give a shit if you’re moving drugs but Chief Schmidt is trying to put me back in prison and I’m not going.”

  Junior looks at me as if weighing how much he can share. The rest of the crew is silent behind me. Abel is right about one thing. A bad leader doesn’t engender this kind of loyalty. They all wait for his signal and his command. He rubs the back of his neck again, a clear sign he’s agitated. Finally, he starts talking. “The Misery MC was sick. My old man at the end was in deep with the Eighty-Eight Henchmen. He ran protection for them as they moved drugs, guns, and girls up from Texas, feeding into the Fargo market and then into the Dakotas. Those oil towns are thick with dick and thin with pussy. No one really cared where the pussy came from.”

  My lip curls.

  “I didn’t know until about two years ago that this was going on. Dad had been diagnosed with cancer about five years ago. He decided at that point that he was going to go out living high. He started snorting coke, banging the girls. And then…” Shame washes over him.

  Big picks up the story when Junior trails off. “Then we caught him raping a girl. Junior tried to protect her. His dad took a knife to Junior. It was self-defense.” Big crosses his arms in defense of his president.

  Junior picks up the story. “With my dad out, the older members who’d hung around still wanted the lifestyle but we weren’t down for that. So we got rid of them. All of them but Moose here. He said he wasn’t involved and we didn’t have any evidence he was. But the problem is that without the Eighty-Eight Henchmen’s money, we had shit all for the club. Most of us are working several jobs. This protection run is the highest paying gig we’ve had for a while. It needs to be pulled off perfectly.”

  “So let’s go and get your girl,” I pause and stare directly at Junior. “And she is your girl, isn’t she?”

  He swallows and says quietly, “Yeah, she’s mine.”

  No shit, I think, because you don’t place your entire club in jeopardy for a girl you don’t care about.

  “Two more guns against the Eighty-Eight? It’ll be a massacre,” Moose scoffs.

  “We go in anyway,” I reply calmly, pushing aside thoughts of Chelsea lying in bed waiting for me.

  “This isn’t your battle,” Junior says.

  Abel pulls out his gun and lays it on the table. “We’re your enforcers. Sure as shit this is our fight. Besides, what kind of fucking men are we if we let the Eighty-Eight hold a sick girl hostage?”

  “He’s right.” Big pushes away from the wall he’d been holding up to stand behind Junior’s chair. “Mia is Moose’s sister. She’s one of us so we go in and take her back.”

  Junior shakes his head. “You fuckers are crazy but okay.” He claps his hands together. “Let’s do this.”

  The rest of the guys scatter to grab chairs so we can sit down and plan our attack. I call Judge and tell him the deal. He agrees to send me reinforcements and a pound of meth. I don’t ask where he’s going to get it.

  The planning session goes well into the night and it’s almost dawn before Abel and I head back home. The screams of Mandy ring in my head as I drive. I promised Chelsea that we’d never be parted again.

  If the exchange tomorrow night ends badly, I may be breaking my promise and that’s the one thing that makes me wonder if I made the right call.

  8

  CHELSEA

  It’s shitty being the one who waits. And since its past midnight, I don’t have anything to keep myself occupied. If it was earlier, maybe I could concentrate on making dinner. Of if I had classes, I could be studying. But all I can do is pace and worry. When I hear the muted throttle of the engine down the road and see the headlights flash through the front window, I have the door open and I’m out before the truck can pull to a stop. Grant jumps down and Abel parks his bike behind him.

  “What happened?”

  “Let’s get inside first.”

  Grant gathers me into his arms, pressing his face into my neck before releasing me. Abel says goodnight and I have to bite my tongue until we get to the bedroom. As Grant undresses, he explains what he’s learned—about the rapes, the trafficking, Junior killing his old man, and how the bodies are burned at a refinery where Big works.

  “Moose is part of the old crowd. Junior won’t take him out because Moose’s sister is sick. And because Moose hasn’t done anything bad enough to warrant killing him. He’s dealing meth on the side, but he wasn’t involved with raping those girls—as far Junior knows—so he’s reluctant to get rid of him.”

  Meaning Junior’s not so depraved that human life no longer means something to him which is a good sign.

  Wrecker continues. “Junior’s club doesn’t have the money. The only source of income at the time was their partnership with the Eighty-Eight Henchmen and since that’s been cut off, the club members are scrambling to make a living and keep the club operational.”

  “What did Junior have you move then?”

  “Mostly guns. Some hot items they’d picked up and couldn’t broker on the market at the time.”

  “What’s the matter, babe?” I stroke his back as he sits on the bed, shirt off, jeans unzipped looking pensive. And Grant doesn’t do pensive. He’s a body of action—always on the move.

  Even at rest he looks athletic and ready to sprint to his feet. Maybe it was his years in prison that trained him that rest is for the weak. Maybe he’s trying to make up for those three lost years.

  I scrape my nails down the broad expanse of skin, watching the trail of white turn back into his natural gold color. He doesn’t answer me right away, content to have me pet him.

  “Moose’s sister was taken by the Eight-Eight. Pretty sure she’s going to die if we don’t get her out. The piece of paper in the envelope was an address where an exchange would take place. A pound of meth worth fifty grand for Moose’s sister.”

  “But they already took the drugs today!” I say indignantly.

  “Exactly.” His shoulders slump and then he bursts into action, flipping me over and covering me. A big hand reaches around and pulls me hard against him. The thick erection nestles between my legs. “It means that they are fucking with Moose. They want him to keep supplying the drugs but with the lab blown up, he doesn’t have any sour
ce.”

  Grant buries his head in my neck and it finally hits me what he’s upset about.

  “You’re going to fight the Henchmen tomorrow night, aren’t you?” My words are barely a whisper as if they were louder they would be given more power.

  “That’s right.”

  “Oh Grant.” I clutch him closer. Is Mandy right? That the club only deals in violence? Only ends in blood? He shudders in my embrace. He has only just gotten out—not even a full year of freedom. And we’re so young. God, our lives have just started and we’ve already been separated for far too long. Now he’s heading into real danger against a club that is known for kidnapping, killing, rape, and torture.

  I want to lock him in the basement and tie him to a chair so that he can’t get out and leave me.

  But that’s the surest way to lose him.

  Grant was born a Death Lord. His father is the president. His grandfather founded the club. The club is as much a part of his life as anything, even me. I know he loves me and I believe he loves me more than the club, but in some ways he and the club are inseparable. It is part of him just as he is part of me.

  I turn and press a kiss against his head—one that lets him know that I love him, that I accept him.

  “You have to save her,” I say.

  “I know,” he answers. His voice is a little broken. “I’m coming back to you.”

  “Of course you are.”

  He places a hot, open-mouthed kiss against my neck. His teeth bite down on the strap of my tank top and ease it off my shoulder. Between my legs, he starts to move, to rub his hard length along my cotton-covered sex.

  Wordlessly he removes all of my clothes and then his. He settles between my legs again and pushes the broad head of his erection against my entrance.

  “I love you baby,” he declares and then takes my mouth at the same time as his hot, hard, silken length rams into me.

  He swallows my cry and gives me back new breath. His tongue makes love to me, exploring me as he pumps his hips in long, slow, deep motions. This is an act of love, not of fucking.

  We kiss endlessly as if we can’t bear to have any part of our bodies separated from each other. His big body moves over mine, covering me, protecting me, loving me.