by Anne Marsh
She wriggles away.
“Have to pee,” she whispers, sounding a little tense. I can appreciate she’s not used to sharing her space like this. We’ll get used to it together. Not sure how to tell her what I’m feeling, but I’ll figure it out.
I roll over onto my back, letting her go. By the time she gets back, I’ll know exactly what to say to her. There’s got to be a way to tell your woman that she’s so perfect she’s divine. And I’ll find those words—in the ten minutes before our asses have to be downstairs and ready to roll—and somehow I’ll get it right. Yeah. It’s ridiculous, one of those long shots you see on TV when some world-class gymnast falls ass-first off the balance beam and is staring at those four inches. Knowing he has to get back up, get back on and kick ass. Somehow. With the whole goddamned world watching and armchair quarterbacking.
The bathroom door closes. I cover my face with my arm, because I’m happy living in the land of denial. Weather’s awesome, scenery’s great. This is absolutely all gonna work out. Evie brushes the side of the bed. Didn’t hear the door open—woman moves like a ninja.
There’s a soft, metallic click. Not a biker alive who doesn’t know that sound of the handcuffs locking into place.
The fuck?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rev
I JACKKNIFE UPRIGHT as Evie scrambles away from the bed. Her foot catches in the sheets we kicked off—we’ve made a disaster of the bedroom—and she hits the floor. The landing doesn’t stop her, though, because she pops back up and keeps moving until she’s put the room between us.
Smart girl.
Takes a moment for me to focus though, which I blame on her. She’s still naked and still so gorgeous I could look at her all night. Probably the rest of tomorrow and—because I won’t shit myself about this—the rest of my life, too. I’ve already had this conversation with myself. She’s got curves on her that demand a man appreciate them, curves that bear red marks on her skin from where my face scraped her. Fucking love seeing her wearing my mark.
She hesitates, the look on her face torn between elation and fear. Then she edges for the closet where her stuff is. Guess she’s decided to pull a runner. I love her taking the initiative, but I need to shut this down.
She can’t leave me.
I won’t let her.
“You’re into some kinky shit, sweetheart.” I reach behind my head for the cuff, exploring the hinge with my fingers. She got it closed right, though, so I’m temporarily stuck. The key’s across the room and although I could break the lock, right now I’ve got about ten minutes to see how this plays out.
“This isn’t a game,” she says softly. She yanks some clothes out of the closet and jerks them on. Shame to cover up such a pretty body.
“You think you can just walk out my front door?”
She shrugs. The motion sets her tits to jiggling, which is distracting. “Did you think I’d just let you keep me here? Do you really think I’m that naive?”
“Come back to bed.” I pat the mattress beside my hip. “We can talk about shit.”
I liked it better when she was cuddled up to me. I’d be happy to tell her that, or I could go for the show-and-tell. Way I see it, we fucked each other last night and it felt damned good. She let me in, and not just into her body. Christ, there’s no way I let her walk away from me now. She’s everything I didn’t know I needed, and I may act dumb sometimes, but I appreciate her.
Fucking love her.
Huh.
Imagine that.
And since she’s not a mind reader, I have to tell her. That part’s gonna be awkward, but I have to do it. I’m not gonna risk losing her, and I sure as fuck want the whole world to know she belongs with me, same way I belong with her. Of course, the woman’s hell-bent on putting some distance between us. She’ll make it down the stairs, but I have prospects on the front door.
She hesitates. Don’t think it’s because she’s missing me, although we’ll work on that. Sure enough, she heads for the dresser. My gun’s sitting on top, nice and visible.
“You want to shoot me?”
She glares at me. “Don’t think I’m not tempted.”
“Because personally, I think the sex was pretty damned good.”
She ignores me, checking the gun to see if it’s loaded. As if I’d carry an empty piece. I don’t make threats—I make promises.
“Can I ask you something?” Shooting me will bring the MC running and the gun doesn’t hold enough bullets to handle that kind of trouble.
“Let’s trade,” she says tightly. “You ask your question. I’ll ask mine.”
“Sounds like a deal, as long as you’re not asking about club business. There’s some shit I can’t discuss with you. Club business stays club business.”
“Believe me, I’m well aware of that,” she snaps. She’s definitely holding a grudge. “You’ve got thirty seconds to ask your question and then it’s my turn.”
Bet she doesn’t realize it turns me on when she gets all bossy. It gives me ideas about showing her just who’s the boss in our bed. But this is about more than just sex, no matter how hot she is. I need an answer to my question, which means I have to get the words out there. This isn’t something I can force, and it’s nothing I deserve.
“I’d like you to be my old lady.”
She flinches, but I keep talking.
“Know that doesn’t sound like every little girl’s dream, but it means everything to me. Means we’re a couple and we’re in it for the long haul. You’re mine. I’m yours. I’d be damned proud for the whole world to see you wearing my patch and to stand for you. I respect that you’re pissed off right now, but this thing between Rocker and the Hard Riders is business.”
“And kidnapping me was just business?” Her scowl doesn’t look like a happy acceptance of my offer.
“You know how it works between the clubs. He disrespected us and he brought the cartel into our territory. We had to shut him down, and you were the quickest way to do that.”
Her fingers tighten on the gun.
“Was the whole thing a set up? Were you ever interested in me at all?”
Since my interest is rock-hard and sticking out for her to see, I think she knows the answer to that.
“Why track me down? Why ask me out? Why follow me around? Do you fuck everyone who’s related to guys you want to shut down?”
“I do what my president asks.” That answer’s not winning me any prizes, and sure as shit she flips me the bird. “But we’re more than that. No matter what went down between you and my club, you’re my woman. I’ve never claimed anyone before, and my brothers will respect that. You’re different.”
“So different you tied me to the bed,” she mocks.
“Rocker’s willing to trade Sachs for your safety.” No point in not being blunt. “He’s on his way over here to make the swap.”
“Fuck,” she says.
Yeah. That pretty much sums up our situation.
“Get your cute little ass over here and untie me.” Part of it is a respect thing in front of my brothers—letting my girl handcuff me to the bed is the kind of shit that earns a man a new road name. No way I want to spend the rest of my life answering to Spanky or BD. Not the kind of moniker that inspires fear and respect in anyone. But most of it’s that I just put my heart on the line for her. I asked her to be my old lady, to partner with me—and she hasn’t answered.
Someone bangs on the door downstairs and Evie freezes.
“Out of time, sweetheart.”
It’s one thing to play sex games with her in our bed, but this is club business. The door opens—never should have fucking given my brothers a key—and boots thud on the floor. Vik bellows my name.
I give Evie a hard look. “Last chance.”
She raises her chin and points the gun at me. Gotta give
her full points for courage. “I’m walking out of here. Rocker’s walking out of here.”
The bedroom door busts open. Vik shoves his head in.
“Rev, get your ass out of bed.”
Evie scampers over to my side, but then follows up the wise action with another stupid one. She raises the gun to the side of my head.
I gotta hand it to Vik. He keeps a straight face. I straighten up on the bed, trying to decide how to play this.
“See you’re a little tied up,” he deadpans.
I grunt something he decides to take as an affirmative.
His eyes take in the whole scene. Thank fuck Evie’s dressed. “Didn’t know you rolled like this.”
“Shut up,” I tell him.
“You gonna handle this? Hawke’s getting impatient.”
“Hey,” Evie snaps. “I’m the one with the gun.”
She sort of waves the gun around, which makes Vik briefly close his eyes. We need to go over a few basic safety rules, possibly after I paddle her butt.
“Handle it now,” he growls at me. “Done waiting for you.”
I’m done here, too. I tackle her, yanking her back against my body and twisting the wrist holding the gun. Hate doing it, but I can’t let her keep threatening my brother. Plus, Vik’s not the most patient guy—sooner rather than later, he’ll disarm her himself and he won’t be as careful. The gun hits the floor and I kick it away. I pin her against my side with one arm while she yells curses at me and I slam the cuff against the wall. Takes two tries for me to pop the hinge, but then I’m free.
Vik smirks. “Getting slow in your old age.”
“Get the hell out of my bedroom.”
Vik flashes me a salute and ambles out of the room. I shift my grip on Evie, who must realize that she’s in a world of trouble here, because she’s actually—briefly—silent.
“I’ll give you some free advice. You pick up a gun, you keep it pointed in a safe direction.”
The sound that comes out of her is more squeak than affirmative, but fuck this shit. I toss her over my shoulder, drag on my pants, shove the gun into my waistband and head downstairs. She fights me every inch of the way. Naturally. This would be way more fun if we were doing it naked in bed, but that’s not happening now.
I smack her ass at the top of the stairs. “Keep it up and I’ll drop you.”
She screeches something highly uncomplimentary.
Our audience at the bottom of the stairs takes in the show. Nice to know my brothers are enjoying my pain. During the quick journey down the steps, I do a quick inventory. In addition to Rocker and two Black Dog brothers, Hawke and Vik crowd my living room.
“Put her down,” Rocker snarls, starting toward us.
“You got Sachs hiding in your back pocket?”
Rocker snatches his phone out of said pocket and punches something in. “Pulling up in a cage now.”
Hawke nods. “Put her down.”
It sucks, but I do it. Evie flies straight into Rocker’s arms. He tries to tuck her behind him, but she keeps hugging and patting him, like he’s fucking five or something. She doesn’t spare me another glance.
Hawke gives me a look. “You sure about this?”
“Make the trade,” I tell him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rev
ROCKER’S NOT THE dumb fuck I had him pegged for. After the Hard Riders trade Evie for Sachs, he moves into Evie’s house. I know this because I still keep an eye on her. He also keeps a couple of prospects nearby, so either he’s wised up and decided she needs a bodyguard, or he knows there’s a credible threat. Not sure which pisses me off more.
I pull up behind her house two weeks after the trade. It took four days to find the right guy for this job, which is two days longer than I expected. The Feds never believe that most of the MCs are on the up-and-up, so they always have their plants. I trust my brothers and the prospects are vouched for, but that leaves the hang-arounds and wannabes. There are always guys looking to join, who show up at the clubhouse and on runs, buying rounds and looking for an in. That’s where the Feds like to place their boys. If one guy doesn’t move up in the club hierarchy, they just send in another and another. I’d done some looking and some talking, and it turns out Benjy had joined us just three months ago. He had a big, shiny-ass bike and way too many questions for a guy looking to patch in.
Hello, plant.
Hawke and the club leadership discussed it. Doesn’t sit right, bringing in the Feds, but it’s the cleanest solution. Rocker is the connection between the Black Dogs and the cartel; Sachs confirmed as much.
Sachs made the call from a burner phone and wouldn’t you know—Benjy’s all over that intel like a dog with a stick. Couldn’t drag him away from Rocker after that, which solves two problems. Gets him out of our club and sets Rocker up for the fall. Whatever happens now, it takes Rocker out of the picture. Even if he doesn’t talk when they bring him in, the cartel is gonna suspect he did. They’ll throttle back on their operation, too, waiting to see if the feds have made them, too. It buys the Hard Riders time to come up with a permanent solution.
We’ve gone over the plan a dozen times and now it’s out of our hands. I wonder if Hawke’s planning any side action. Now’s the time to hit the Black Dogs. After Rocker goes down, they’ll be reeling and looking for the sneak who sold them out. Damned glad I’m not Benjy, but I’m betting he’s got an escape plan in place. We’re uneasy allies in the war on drugs, but I don’t want to see him get plugged. We’re fighting on the same side—just with different weapons. Still, feels safer to go in myself. This outsourcing shit isn’t my thing. Can’t control the outcome the way I can when it’s my finger on the trigger.
Rocker pulls up in a white van, Evie right behind him in her pink RV. He’s been glued to her side since he brought her out of the Hard Rider clubhouse. She parks, but for a minute I think Rocker’s not gonna stop. The van idles, but he doesn’t kill the engine. Evie pops out of the RV, smiling and laughing. Christ, she looks good. She heads for Rocker’s van, her skirts all sparkly and shit in the sunshine, and I’ll bet he’s cursing up a storm.
He kills the engine—and all hell breaks loose.
Local authorities bring out the SWAT team for anything involving gangs and guns. They must have a warrant to go with their suspicions and Benjy’s intel. Not like they pop out of fucking nowhere, but it feels like it. One minute, the street’s empty and the next it’s full of SUVs and there’s a BearCat driving down the center of the road. Doors fly open and there are suddenly about twenty police officers in black vests marked POLICE swarming all over Rocker’s ride. And then the SWAT team members in full camo and Kevlar. Not like I like seeing a bunch of M-16s pointed at my girl. Nothing I can do from here but pray, and I’m damned rusty at that.
Evie screams and she’s surrounded, rushed to the sidelines. The cops bark out orders and Rocker emerges from the van, hands up.
He rakes the boys in blue with a smile. “One fuck of a welcome home committee.”
Those cops put him on the ground way harder than necessary and pat him down. Doesn’t take them long to find his piece tucked in the small of his back. That’s almost all they find, though. Rocker’s got a couple of illegal semiautomatics in the back of the van, but he’s drug-free.
Weed makes for a bulky cargo. It takes a hell of a lot of product to make good money, and it stinks like crazy if you don’t package it right. There’s not a drug dog alive that won’t tear you and your ride apart to get at it and the customers who buy that shit aren’t loyal. They’re not addicts and most of them have lives they’d like to keep. If they get busted, they sing. Plus, if you get busted while carrying a gun, the penalties get stiffer. Rocker’s Colombian connections are pushing harder stuff than that and the man’s a pro. He does exactly what he’s told. No resistance, no extra words. Just tells them he pleads th
e fifth and wants a lawyer.
They won’t get him for drugs, but the weapons charge will stick. The dogs find nothing in the van, but it’s merry fucking Christmas when the cops go in. Not like the back is full of coke or guns, but the fact that Rocker’s transporting a pair of semiautomatics is enough in the hands of a zealous prosecutor. They know he’s dealing, even if they can’t prove it, and they’ll use the guns as an excuse to put him away.
I watch, Vik by my side. When the cop cars pull away with Evie and Rocker, I fire off a quick message to Hawke from a burner phone. There’s no point in being stupid about this.
ME: Rocker busted. Feds all over him, but no drugs. Dumbass was transporting guns, so he’s not walking. Worried that they took Evie in too.
HAWKE: Got a lawyer on it. If your girl’s clean, it’s a bad couple of hours and then done.
ME: Gonna head down and meet the lawyer. Wanna be there when she gets out.
HAWKE: Your call. You show, she gonna suspect?
ME: Not stupid
HAWKE: So that’s a yes
ME: Thinking so
HAWKE: Bring a big fucking bunch of flowers
Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I nod to Vik. “Let’s ride.”
He sighs dramatically. “Are we playing white knight? You about to ride to the rescue?”
I flip him the bird and peel away from the curb. He’s right behind me all the way to the police station. When I get there, the club’s lawyer is just pulling up in his fancy-ass Mercedes. James Brandon didn’t waste any time getting here and I appreciate that. Lawyer Boy’s not bad-looking, which probably helps with the jury, and he’s wearing a real slick suit.
“Mr. Brady.” He tips his head at me. Then he strides into the station. I follow right on his ass. He gives me a look, but doesn’t say anything. When the front desk asks his business, he announces he’s representing Eve Kent and they wave him through.
I’m more of a problem. We’re not married. I’m not her brother, her family, or her legal representation.
