by Silver James
She must have dozed off shortly after because the next thing she knew, a kid of about twenty was setting a greasy bag and a can of Diet Coke next to her. He didn’t say a word and wouldn’t meet her gaze. Weird. And what had the woman who was the “Property of Rust” meant when she mentioned the guy was a prospect? Her education in outlaw motorcycle clubs—she knew enough to call them that from her perusal of romance novel titles—was definitely lacking. She made a mental note to download some of those titles.
The kid spun away as the door across the hall opened, and he was out of sight before a man appeared. The new arrival leaned a muscled shoulder against the jamb and watched her. When she didn’t move, he gestured toward the greasy sack with his chin. “You need to eat. Do it.”
The hair on her arms prickled as what felt like a wave of static electricity flowed over her. What in the world? Except she’d felt the same thing coming from Shooter more than once. “O-okay.” Her head bobbled in agreement as she blindly snagged the plain brown bag and dug into it. There was no fast food logo or anything else to brand the origination of the burger and fries she pulled out. Her gaze skittered between the food and the man. He remained there, watching. She gulped down the first couple of bites then slowed as her stomach reacted. She was hungry. The fries appeared hand-cut and had what looked like sea salt coating them. They were still warm and tasty enough she didn’t miss ketchup.
As she shoveled food into her mouth, the man at the door relaxed. She managed to look up a few times to catch him staring down the hallway. She could watch him in those moments, though she instinctively lowered her eyes whenever his gaze turned her way. He was as big as Shooter, with shaggy blond hair and eyes the color of toffee. His black vest was worn sans shirt and his muscles were shaped by light and shadow. And tattoos. He had a lot of them.
She tried to figure out the patches on the front of his vest. There was a white diamond shape edged in black with a black number one and a percentage sign. One percent. Yes, definitely outlaws. She remembered that much from skimming through titles. He had another patch that said “Totem” and she wondered if that was his name, same as she had with Rust. There were other patches, including one that said “President.” No wonder he oozed power.
She finished off the food and checked the bag for any stray fries as she balled up the foil that had surrounded the burger. When she picked up the can of Coke, Lauren discovered she’d all but finished it off as well. The next thing she knew, a large, calloused hand dangled in front of her face. Totem. Offering to help her up. She grasped it and with a whoosh, she was on her feet.
He took the bag from her, crushed the can, and yelled, “Prospect!” The same kid reappeared and just managed to catch the trash fired his direction. “You need the facilities before you go in?”
The idea of “using the facilities” in a bikers’ hangout didn’t seem all that sanitary to her, but now that Totem had mentioned it, Lauren needed to go. She nodded, and he walked her to the end of the hall. He pushed open a door and stepped back. “Bathroom’s that door there.” He pointed negligently.
Lauren realized this was a bedroom and it was messy but not…filthy like she’d anticipated. She scurried across the dimly-lit space, ducked inside the bathroom, and fumbled on the wall for a light switch. When she was done, she washed up and splashed water on her face. She was exhausted and so tired of being scared. She stared at her reflection. Dark circles, pale skin, furrows around her mouth, eyes, and across her forehead. Yes, she definitely resembled how she felt. Still, the gloom surrounding her heart was lightening a bit with the thought of seeing Shooter.
When she came out, Totem was sitting on the side of the bed texting someone on his phone. He stood up and gestured for her to precede him into the hallway. Totem paused at the door to Shooter’s room, opened it, and as soon as she entered, he closed the door. A moment later, she heard a key turning in the lock. He’d locked her in.
“Don’t panic,” she chided herself, panicking.
“Lauren?” A gravelly voice grated in the darkness.
“Shooter?” She all but lunged to the bed. She found his hand and clung to it. “Oh, Shooter! I was so scared. All that blood and you passed out and—”
“Shhh, little mouse. I’ll be fine. You okay?”
She nodded, realized it was too dark for him to see, and added. “Yes. I’m fine.”
Tait exhaled. He’d been able to smell her nearby as he wandered in and out of consciousness. Her scent was especially strong when he’d been in wolf form. “C’mere, sweetheart. I need you.” He tugged her hand until she was sitting on the bed then he scooped her into one arm and settled her next to him. “Better.”
He wouldn’t be awake long. The doctor had done what he could medically and then Totem had helped Tait change forms several times to accelerate his healing. Now that Lauren was here where he could see her, touch her, smell her, he’d be able to rest, which would further speed his recovery.
“Safe here.” His voice was slurring now. “Sleep, darlin’.”
Chapter 10
Tait floated on the edge of consciousness, his brain slowly filling in memories. His nose assured him that Lauren was safely tucked against his naked body. His dick was plenty happy about that too, but for the fact she was dressed. They should do something about that, he and his dick. Other smells intruded—Wolves, women, stale beer and cigarette smoke, sex. Lauren stirred, her curvy little ass pressing against his ass. He carefully rolled over, cognizant of the knitting bones, muscles and skin just below his heart. A lung shot was bad, but survivable. Besides, his dick wanted to snuggle up to their mate.
He concentrated. Bad enough his wolf had a tendency to get involved but now his damn dick was anthropomorphizing into a sentient entity? Jeez. What a mind fuck. That rent-a-doc must have given him some crazy-ass drugs. His thoughts were interrupted when Lauren squiggled back against him, her sweet cheeks cradling his morning wood.
The scent of pine and gasoline wafted in a moment before the door cracked open. A Nightrider—the Wolf called Totem—leaned in. Their eyes met. Totem nodded, closed the door behind him. Tait clicked onto the fact he’d also caught a noise before the door opened—the sound of a key in a lock. They’d been locked in for the duration. He listened hard but there was no corresponding sound. The door remained unlocked now. That meant Totem wanted to talk. Away from Lauren.
Tait carefully disengaged from her, his entire being protesting—body because muscles pulled and hurt like a sonavabitch, wolf because it didn’t want to leave their mate, and man because…well, the same reason as his wolf. Still, the Nightriders had done him a solid, and if there was a situation, better to face it head on. He found a pair of jeans tossed across the back of a chair and sniffed them. Clean. He pulled them on and stuffed his raging hard-on behind the zipper. He slipped through the door, blinking for a moment in the brighter light of the hallway.
The scar on his chest was a ragged, red slash from sternum to his side. Shit. That meant the bullet had lodged inside. The doctor had to dig around for it because foreign objects and shifter healing abilities didn’t mix. Totem awaited him at the end of the hall, leaning against the entrance to the wider, clubhouse space.
“I’m surprised to see you on your feet,” the Nightrider said without preamble.
“I’m surprised you managed to call my wolf so many times.”
The other man tossed him a sardonic grin. “If you hadn’t been mostly unconscious, I probably couldn’t have. You’re a damn strong alpha.”
Tait shrugged. “Still, I owe you.”
“You know what that means, right?”
“Yeah, I know. Whatever you need, man.”
“I’ll put your name in the book. We have another situation at the moment. Seems you have a friend. A civilian.”
He had to ponder that. Civilian to a former SEAL meant something totally different to an outlaw biker. His brain finally ground into the correct gear. Technically, to the Nightriders, he was a civilian beca
use he wasn’t a member of their tribe. “I have a lot of friends,” he said carefully.
“This one drives a truck and is sitting at our front gate armed to the teeth. He says our mutual friend sent him.”
Tait pondered this. He figured it was Hank but he wanted to be sure. “This friend of a friend have a name?”
“He says you know him from the teams as Montana.”
Yup. Hank. Well, good. Now he didn’t have to worry about finding a ride home. The SUV he’d commandeered from the black hats was likely chopped and sold by now. He was not going to ask for confirmation of that. “Tell him to hold onto his britches. We’ll be out a bit.”
“You want to change one more time?”
Glancing once more at his lower chest, Tait shook his head. “No. I didn’t feel any tearing when I stood up. I’m good. I’ll go get—”
Totem grabbed him by the biceps and Tait froze. His wolf snarled and paced just below the skin. “Piece of advice, friend. Fuck her as soon as you can. Claim her. Yeah?”
Yeah, the wolf was all on board with that. So was the man. But he couldn’t be distracted by the mating madness the Wolves referred to as being moonstruck. Not until Lauren was safe. He nodded anyway, and the biker let him go.
Back inside the room, he located a T-shirt, a pair of socks, and his boots. He stamped into them then leaned over the bed and kissed Lauren’s forehead. He had to do that much to leash his wolf. “Time to wake up, mouse.”
The murmuring voice pulled her out of a dream that had her clenching her thighs together. Shooter had been behind her, rubbing a very large, very hard erection against the cleft of her bottom and she’d been plotting ways to get that intriguing part of his anatomy situated somewhere else. Skin flushed and an odd longing tugging at her core, she opened her eyes. To find Shooter leaning over her. Looking very much alive and well. But—
She jerked upright, almost clocking him in the chin. “Easy, darlin’. It’s okay. Just time to get up. Our ride is at the gate.”
Lauren stared at him, taking in the slightly haggard look of his face before her gaze trailed to his chest and the clean white tee that covered… Where had the bandage gone? Granted, she hadn’t actually seen the injury, just the huge bandage that covered it. And the doctor had worked on him for hours. Yet here he was, standing beside the bed looking, well, tired. But on his feet. With only a small bandage visible under the shirt.
“Are you okay?”
“Mostly. Turned out it looked worse than it was. C’mon. I need to get you out of here before the club starts to wake up.”
She swung her feet off the bed and found her boots right where she’d kicked them off. The door opened as she put them on. Totem.
He offered a sanguine smile. “My room’s clear so you can use the facilities.”
Lauren popped off the bed, realizing that she really needed to use his bathroom. She scuttled under his arm where he leaned against the door jamb and all but dashed down the hall to duck inside the last room.
Tait squinted at Totem, the corners of his mouth turning down. The biker shrugged. “My bathroom’s private. I have a house mouse who cleans it at least once a week. Better than the club facilities.”
“Thanks.” Tait had to clear a wad of emotion from his throat. “For looking after her.”
“That’s what brothers do, man.”
****
“You could have called me.” Hank was pissed but he kept his voice low as Lauren napped in the back seat.
“I was mostly unconscious at the time.”
Hank cut his eyes toward Tait. “Yeah. About that. You want to explain how you’re up and walking if it was so bad you called West Virginia and shacked up with our local biker gang instead of calling me?”
How the hell was he going to explain things to Hank without spilling a half-dozen state secrets? Claiming secret clearances and/or need to know status wouldn’t cut it with the other former SEAL. With some fancy cutting and pasting of the truth, he hoped to satisfy Hank—and keep the man out of the crossfire.
“Ask me what you want to know. I’ll answer as much as I can.” He studied Hank’s profile, including the stubborn jut of his chin. “It’s the best I can do, Hank. I don’t have the whole story.”
“Who is Ian McIntire?”
“Former Army Command Sergeant Major. He was the NCO in charge of a SpecOps unit.”
“Delta Force? Green Beret?”
“No.” Hank shot him a glance. “That’s classified, Hank, and even above my pay grade. I can tell you that he and his team pulled my ass out of a shithole in Iraq back in the day. I owed him. He called, asked me to find this woman and keep her safe until he could make arrangements for her.”
“Why?”
“Be more specific.”
Hank snorted. “Why does some retired SpecOps-cum-sheriff call in a debt over this woman?”
“Not my business.”
“Not your business or you aren’t going to tell me?”
Hank was treading dangerous territory there. Tait decided to be honest. Mostly. “There’s a bunch of crap going on. Secret stuff. Government stuff. I don’t know all of it. But this woman saw some things she wasn’t supposed to and now the black hats are after her. I don’t know how Mac got involved but he is. And he asked for that favor I owed him. I’m trying to keep you and the Brotherhood Protectors out of this, man. It’s bad shit. Dangerous. I don’t want it to blow back on you and yours. Okay?”
“So, you’re trying to protect me.” It wasn’t a question and Hank’s voice was brittle and dry.
Tait scrubbed at his face. He didn’t need this. Didn’t want it, certainly. Since he’d left the teams, he’d been perfectly happy working solo. People didn’t die on his watch when he was a lone wolf. And now there were women involved. Hank’s wife, Sadie, among others. A lot of the Protectors were married or had special ladies. And Black Root was the worst of the worst. He was walking an informational tightrope, needing to emphasize the danger without spilling everything. Shit.
“What I’m about to say is so damn classified that the woman asleep in your backseat has been targeted for torture and assassination.”
Hank sucked in a breath and his fingers gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He didn’t speak, just nodded to indicate he understood and that Tait should continue.
“There’s a corporation that used to work for DoD. They…did some experiments. On people. SEALs. Soldiers. Marines. The rot went deep into the Pentagon. People were targeted for assassination. There was a cover-up and the remnants went underground.”
“Wait,” Hank interrupted. “Why haven’t I heard anything about this?”
Tait snorted. “What do you think the word cover-up means? I’m talking cabinet level. Lauren has to disappear and there are people who can make that happen. People I owe. People I trust. But the black hats? They won’t hesitate to instigate tactics that include scorched earth. They’ll kill everyone who gets in their way.” He inhaled. “Everyone, Hank. Women. Children. Innocents and civilians. They don’t give a good goddamn about anything but their agenda.”
“Why are they after—” Hank indicated the backseat with a tilt of his head.
“Not sure. Didn’t ask.” But he was going to. Just as soon as he had Lauren alone. “I’m serious. You and the Protectors need to stay out of this. You have wives, lovers. Families.”
“What about you?”
“There’s just me.” He held up a hand. “I don’t need backup from you, man. The cavalry is on the way. You’ll just have to trust me on that.”
Hank signaled a turn and pulled onto the winding road leading to Tait’s cabin. As the truck rolled to a stop, he turned to Tait. “If you need us, we’ve got your back. That’s the way it works around here. You clear on that?”
Not surprised, Tait nodded. “I’m clear, bossman.” But just because he was clear didn’t mean he’d get anyone who wasn’t a Wolf involved. He leaned between the seats to wake Lauren and almost smile
d. Her eyes were squinted shut. Little faker. He got out and opened the door she was leaning against, spilling her into his arms. She let out startled eep and clutched at him.
“That was mean,” she groused.
Laughing, he set her on her feet. He stilled as the color drained from her face and she placed her palm against his chest spanning the area where he’d been shot. Her expression conveyed shock, consternation, and confusion.
He leaned back inside the truck. “Thanks for the lift, Hank. I’ll be in touch.”
“You better,” the other man threatened. Tait closed the door and as Hank drove away, Chewy raced around the corner of the cabin and chased the truck, barking madly.
Inside the cabin, Tait headed to the refrigerator. He needed red meat. His wolf was restless and wanted to hunt. His animal half would have to settle for a rare steak. “You hungry?”
“I could eat. What are you fixing?”
“I’m having steak. If you want breakfast, there’re eggs and stuff.”
She dropped her bag on the couch and humpfed. “I can cook.”
“Fine.” He swept his hand toward the kitchen area. “Help yourself. I’m cooking my steak though.” Sort of. He’d sear it on both sides as soon as the cast-iron skillet was hot enough. He stayed out of her way while she rummaged in the fridge and his cabinets. With luck, she wouldn’t pay attention to just how rare his steak would be while he ate it. When the pan was smoking slightly, he tossed the steak in, let it kiss the skillet for about a minute then turned it using tongs. Poking steak with a fork just let the juices out. Tossing the steak on a plate, he retreated to the counter and ate his meat standing up while she whisked some eggs and made an omelet.
Tait shouldn’t enjoy the fact the woman puttered around like she belonged in his kitchen. He damn sure shouldn’t have enjoyed waking up to her that morning. He for sure wasn’t enjoying the erection he’d sported since that time. He mentally shrugged. Truth be told, he’d been hard since the moment he’d caught her scent. His hands ached to touch her skin and she was constantly in his thoughts. Dammit. He didn’t have time for this. Not when she was in danger. His honor dictated that he not claim her until she understood what he was. His wolf didn’t care. Ours, the animal insisted.
