by Lane Hart
As soon as Maeve answers sweetly, I snap at her, “Who’s the fucking Irish ginger?”
“W-what?” she asks.
“Maybe you’re fucking around with more than one, but I’m talking about the Irish asshole that I saw leaving your place last night before I came over,” I elaborate.
“Wirth…please, let me explain…”
“Explain what? That you fucking betrayed the Knights and nearly got two of my friends killed?”
“I didn’t know that was going to happen!” she exclaims.
“Goddammit, Maeve! So, you did know there was going to be a shootout? That’s why you took me to your place, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t know anyone would get hurt! They were only supposed to fuck up the bikes!”
“What the hell did you think would happen when your friends shot up the place with people in it?” I yell at her.
“They’re not my friends! I swear! Please, come over and just hear me out, Wirth. Please!”
Hearing her say my name, it does shit to me, not just my dick, but it squeezes my entire chest. But now that I know her true colors, I can’t fall for her shit again.
“If you’re smart, you’ll pack your fucking bags and get out of town before every Dirty Ace in the country comes after you and burns down this town,” I warn her before ending the call. When she calls again, I ignore it and block her phone number.
I’m so fucking done with her.
Chapter Twelve
Maeve
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit!” I yell when my second and then third call to Wirth won’t go through. The first time I get his voice mail, but after that I simply get a message saying, “this customer is not available at this time.” I think he blocked my fucking number! I throw the phone at the wall, hoping it breaks. Not only have I ruined things with him, but I’ve also put Rian in danger.
Wirth knows it was the Irish that shot up the Knights’ bar. I’m not sure how he knows, but he does.
It was only a matter of time before the Dirty Aces and Knights figured it out. I had just hoped that I would have been able to convince Rian to leave by now.
Maybe there’s still time to at least convince Wirth to postpone the revenge against the Irish. I have to at least try.
I run over and pick up my phone that surprisingly still works thanks to the protective case I have on it. My trembling hands pull up the number for Crystal, another club girl. She hasn’t been very friendly to me, but I’m hoping a little cash will change her mind.
“Hello?” she, thankfully, answers.
“Crystal, hey, it’s Maeve. I need to ask a huge favor.”
“Maeve? Have you heard from the Knights? When are they coming back?”
“Ah, I’m not sure and I need to try to find them, so could I borrow your car? I’ll pay you a grand for today and another grand tomorrow if I’m still using it.”
“Two grand? Where did you get that kind of money?” she asks.
“Inheritance,” I admit with a wince. “So, what do you say?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll bring it over now to the bar and have Wanda pick me up.”
“Thank you,” I tell her with an exhale of relief. “I owe you one. And you two shouldn’t stay at the bar for long. No telling if the assholes who shot up the place will come back.”
“No shit,” she says. “I hope the Knights destroy whoever it was who did it.”
“Uh-huh, me too,” I lie. No matter how badly Rian fucks up, I would never wish death on my brother. Sometimes, I forget I’m his sister and not his mother since I practically raised him. Our father was always too busy to give a shit. The only reason he wanted a son was to brag about his heir. He didn’t have any plans for changing diapers or sitting up all night with Rian when he was sick or teething.
I pack up a tote bag with my phone charger, wallet, a wad of cash, my phone, and a change of clothes. Not that I expect Wirth to let me stay with him now that he’s figured out the truth; I just want to make sure I’m prepared.
I’ve just changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a tank top when Crystal texts me, saying she’s at the bar.
I hurry out the door and down the street so she won’t have to wait long in case Cormac decides to do another drive-by.
“Crystal, hey,” I say as I walk up and find her standing near the side door beside her little beat-up car. I really hope it makes it to Carolina Beach. If not, I’m guessing Wirth isn’t likely to help fix another one for me. Hell, I may never see the car in his shop again. I would deserve nothing less than him chopping up my Honda and selling the parts.
“Here you go, girl,” Crystal says, dropping her car keys into my palm. I pull out my roll of cash and count out two-thousand dollars in hundreds, then offer it to her. “Here.”
“Thanks,” she says with a grin as she folds up the bills and stuffs them in her purse. “Looks like the bar is still locked up tight.” She nods to the building that now has boards over the door and windows. Guess the guys had someone come over and secure everything after they left. In red spray paint, someone wrote across one of the boards, “We’re coming for you fuckers!”
They weren’t called the Knights of Wrath for nothing, after all.
“Oh, there’s Wanda,” Crystal says, pointing to the red convertible that pulls up to the curb.
“Thank you again for this,” I tell her.
She waves and says, “Just call when you’re done, and we’ll meet you here.”
“Okay,” I agree.
“Be careful!” she calls out before disappearing into the passenger seat.
I didn’t think the other girls liked me, especially Crystal, but maybe the near-death experience from the other night has brought everyone closer.
If they found out that I knew what was going to happen, I would probably be beaten bloody by all of the catty girls, and again, I would deserve nothing less.
Wirth
“You okay, man?” Malcolm asks when I show up at the pool hall, still fucking furious.
I look at the man who has been one of my best friends for years now, gauze covering the wound on his shoulder, and realize how close we were to losing him. If he hadn’t dragged Naomi to the floor when he did, the bullet would’ve struck him in his head.
And Maeve knew what the Irish were going to do but did nothing to stop it. No, she was so unconcerned that she fucked me while it was happening.
Now I can’t keep that shit to myself a second longer. I have proof – the man who was at Maeve’s was with those assholes at the Irish pub.
“It was the Irish,” I tell Malcolm. “They’re the ones who shot up the Knights’ bar.”
Narrowing his eyes, he asks, “How can you be so sure?”
Shit. No matter how angry I am at Maeve, I still don’t feel right dragging her into the middle of things. The guys will hurt her. They wouldn’t normally touch a woman, but when she nearly cost three of them their lives and put more at risk – like Malcolm’s woman, the mother of his child – they won’t care about her gender.
So, I come up with another lie, one to protect her, for whatever reason.
“I was driving around last night and this morning and ended up in Wilmington,” I admit.
“You shouldn’t have gone alone,” Malcolm grunts.
“I know, but I couldn’t sleep, and there I was, outside the Irish pub. One of the cars had bullet holes in it and busted windows.”
“No shit?” he says. “You’re certain.”
“I’m pretty damn sure it was the Irish.”
He nods and then runs his fingers through the front of his long brown hair. “The Knights haven’t been able to come up with any names of who else might’ve come after them. It had to have been the Irish.”
“Yeah,” I agree with a sigh.
“Did you see any of them?”
“A few. About eight came out of the pub. They got into two cars and left. That’s when I came back here.”
“Okay,” Malcolm says. He rubs his bearded ch
in. “So, we know there are at least eight, but we should be prepared for double that number. I’ll call in all the Dirty Aces chapters. If everyone shows up, we should have two dozen men. Think that’s enough to take them on?”
“Ah, yeah, I mean I would hope so,” I reply. Then I can’t help but lower my voice and ask, “Are we sure it’s worth the risk to our men to fight the Knights’ battle for them?”
“Those men are wearing our patches now,” Malcolm says. “They’re one of us. Anyone comes for one, comes for all of us, right?”
“Right, yeah,” I agree.
“Let’s get everyone to the table. Now that Hunt’s back, it’s time to get to work.”
“All right,” I agree before I go round up Silas, Nash, and Devlin, who are playing a game of pool with Silas’s girl, Cora. Her red hair stands out even more than usual tonight. Holy shit! What if she has ties to the Irish?
No, that’s just my fucked-up head, trying to make shit up to take the blame off of Maeve.
Shaking those thoughts away, I tell the guys, “Malcolm’s calling a meeting.”
“Now?” Nash asks.
“Now.”
“It’s go time,” Silas says, laying his pool stick down and giving his woman a quick kiss. “Be back as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” she agrees.
As we start walking to the chapel, I tell them, “We shouldn’t leave Cora out here by herself.”
“The prospect is outside,” Devlin replies. “He’ll let us know if anyone rides up.”
“And we’re sure we can trust him?” I ask.
“He’s solid,” Nash says. “I talked to him and had Lucy run his background.” Leaning closer to whisper to me, he says, “She had already run backgrounds for the Knights. Everyone is clear.”
“Good,” I say, because that makes me feel a little bit better, which is ironic because if anyone is hiding shit, it’s me.
Chapter Thirteen
Maeve
Luckily, the Dirty Aces hangout isn’t some secret. It’s a pool hall that’s in the middle of Carolina Beach with a long row of bikes parked out front. I wave to Freddy, the former Knights’ prospect who is standing guard at the door, and then find a parking spot.
“Maeve? What are you doing here?” Freddy asks when I walk up to the door with Crystal’s car keys in my hand.
“I need to talk to Wirth.”
“Wirth?” he repeats, his brow creased in confusion. “Oh, one of the original Aces?”
“Yeah. Is he inside?” I ask.
“He is, but I think the guys all just went into the chapel for a meeting.”
Shit. Right this second, they’re probably talking about how and when they’re going to hit back the Irish.
“I really need to talk to him,” I say impatiently.
“You can go on inside. There’s another old lady in there hanging out.”
“Okay, thanks,” I say, even though I’m not sure if I’m going to sit around and wait for Wirth.
After only hanging around a few weeks, I already know that in the MC world not even old ladies are supposed to interrupt a meeting, much less a club girl who the guys occasionally fuck.
I pull open the door that jingles before I go through it and find a beautiful redhead sitting on one of the bar stools alone, playing on her cell phone.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi. Everyone still in the meeting?” I ask.
“Yeah, it just started,” she says. “Want to have a drink with me?”
“I really need to talk to Wirth.”
“Oh. Well, I haven’t been around here long, but I don’t think it would be wise to interrupt, not today.”
She’s probably right. So, I reluctantly decide to wait, climbing up on one of the barstools next to her.
“I’m Cora,” the woman says, offering me her hand.
“Maeve,” I say as we shake.
“Maeve,” Cora repeats. “That’s Irish right? Doesn’t it mean…intoxicating?”
“Ah, yeah. It is,” I say, glad that no one else is around to hear that information.
“Mine is too, but Cora just means heart or maiden, so lame.”
“So, you’re Irish too, a natural redhead?”
“Yeah. And I’ve been hearing that’s not a popular thing to be right now since it may have been the Irish that shot up the Knights’ bar. I told Silas I should probably stay home, but he’s so protective.”
“Sounds like he’s a good one.”
“He is,” she agrees with the dreamy smile of a woman in love.
Cora and I chit chat until the door to the meeting room finally opens.
I’m off my barstool in a heartbeat, hurrying over to look for Wirth.
“Maeve?” Hunt says in surprise when he comes out first. “What are you doing here? Worried about us so much you couldn’t stay away?” he asks as he wraps me in a tight bear hug.
“That’s right,” I agree. “How are you?” I ask, noticing the gauze wrapped around his head and covering his ear.
“On the fucking mend,” he says.
Right before he lets me go, I spot Wirth over his shoulder. He comes to a complete stop and stares at us.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” I say to Hunt before I go around him, saying hello to some of the other guys until I reach Wirth.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he whispers under his breath.
“I needed to talk to you, and you blocked my phone calls,” I tell him. “Please, Wirth?”
“Who’s this? Who is she?” a big, tattooed man with shoulder-length brown hair asks when he strolls up next to Wirth.
“Malcolm, this is Maeve. Maeve, this is the president of the original Dirty Aces. He was almost killed the other night,” Wirth grits out.
“Ah, it was just a scratch,” Malcolm says with a pat to his wounded shoulder. “Now I understand why Wirth went MIA…” he trails off as he eyes me up and down with obvious male appreciation.
“Yeah, but would Naomi?” Wirth snaps at him.
“Oh, fuck off,” Malcolm says before he chuckles and walks away.
“Can we talk?” I ask Wirth when the other man is out of earshot, nodding to the empty room behind him.
“I’m not letting you in there,” he says, grabbing me by my elbow and pulling me toward the front door. He’s muttering under his breath so no one can hear, but it sounds like he says, “For all I know, you’ll plant a bug in it.”
Outside and down past all the store fronts, Wirth finally comes to a stop and lets me go in the alley.
Glancing around, he says, “Huh, this reminds me of the alley where Fiasco was shot twice and nearly died.”
“I swear I didn’t know they were going to shoot anyone!” I tell him again.
“That’s the biggest load of horseshit I’ve ever heard!” he yells back.
“It’s the truth! Cormac told me they were going to do a drive-by to scare the Knights, to try and run them out of town, hit up the bikes.”
“Do you honestly think those men inside would run from a few stray bullets?” Wirth asks.
“I-I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do! This is war, Maeve! You had to have known that, so save your lies for someone who will buy them!”
“I was just trying to protect my brother, okay?” I finally admit to him.
“Your brother. Right.”
“His name is Rian, and he’s only eighteen. He just turned eighteen, but now he thinks he’s some bad ass soldier for the Irish. Cormac is in charge, but only for a few more years, until my brother is ready to take over and follow in our father’s footsteps. He’s all the family I have, and I can’t lose him!” I tell him through the tears blurring my vision.
“So, let me see if I’ve got this straight – you were a goddamn plant in the Knights to get intel for the Irish, including when they were having a big party with everyone there?” Wirth asks.
“That’s…yes, but it’s not as bad as it sounds!”
“It
’s sounds really fucking bad, Maeve. There’s no other way to spin it! You’re a traitor, plain and simple. You fucked all the Knights and were giving information to their enemy!”
“I made a deal with Cormac. He said he needed my brother, and all of the guys who think Rian is supposed to eventually lead, to help him keep the Knights from taking over his drug business or whatever. I told him I would help try to get them to leave if he would figure out a way to push my brother out when the Knights are gone. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, I swear!”
“Well, three men did get hurt. More could have, including their women. Do you have any idea what they would’ve done if one of those guys lost their girl? They would’ve torched the entire earth to go after the people responsible, you included!”
“I know that!” I exclaim. “I’m sorry.”
“Finally, you apologize,” he grunts. “And the fucked-up thing is, I don’t even know if you mean it.”
“Of course I mean it! I’m not the horrible person you think I am.”
“Could’ve fooled me. You acted like a bitch from the second we met.”
“That…I told you I was sorry for that too,” I tell him. “It’s just, I haven’t ever really been around many decent guys.”
“And the first one you meet, you try and get his friends killed,” he says through clenched teeth. “Do you have any idea how fucked I am for leaving with you? The Knights think I’m the traitor!”
“I’m sorry!” I say yet again, knowing it’s too insignificant for what I did.
“Fine. You’ve apologized. You can leave now,” Wirth says.
But I can’t leave. Not yet.
When I don’t say anything or move, he chuckles darkly. “Oh, I get it now. You think I would actually betray the fucking MC, my own fucking brothers, to help save yours after he helped shoot them up? You may be hot, but you’re not that fucking hot.”
“Please, Wirth. Rian is only eighteen! Do you remember being that age? Doing stupid shit without thinking?” I ask him. “I don’t know how long you’ve been a member of the MC, but we grew up surrounded by violence. My father practically shoved a gun in Rian’s hands before he could walk.”
