by Jayne Blue
The fight behind us broke up within seconds. It was nothing. Just a bunch of drunk assholes blowing off steam. One of the probies had probably made moves on Bo’s chick of the night or some shit. It was pack mentality around here. Bo and Shep were just putting the probies in their place. It was part of the dues they had to pay with the Saints. But to Ariel, I knew it looked like trouble she didn’t want.
Shaking her head, she kept her hands up, palms out in a defensive posture as she backed up toward her van. I looked over my shoulder, making sure the worst of the bullshit stayed far away from her. She wasn’t going to get hurt on my watch. Not ever.
It was too late though. She’d seen enough. She climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. She slammed the car into reverse and her tires squealed as she drove away.
Chapter 6
Ariel
Trouble. I seemed to be a magnet for it. What the hell had I been thinking driving out to the Dark Saints M.C. clubhouse? I did owe Chase Cutter a thank you and an apology. I didn’t need to do it in person. That part of my story had been true. The rest had been complete bullshit. I wanted to see him again, plain and simple. What had I expected to find?
My sheets were soaked. I’d woken drenched in sweat and tangled in the blankets. My heart pounded all the way up to my throat as I fought my way out of the bed and went to the window.
“A biker,” I muttered to myself. “A fucking, straight-up, patch-wearing, law-breaking biker!” Chase and his club were everything I was fighting against. They were one of the main reasons Port Azrael had the reputation it did. Sure, the streets were clean and safe. But if you lived here long enough and paid attention, we all knew why. The Dark Saints were the bad thing monsters were afraid of. I’d heard rumors all my life that the cops around here and most of the city government were on the take. The Saints were in bed with everything unsavory I was trying to push back.
I walked out into the hallway. The floors here were unfinished. They creaked beneath my feet. I’d grown up in this house. The north side was my neighborhood too. Mine was a century-old two-story. My father and I had begun the remodel together. We’d knocked down walls, updated the kitchen, finished the basement. We’d taken off the stucco on the exterior walls and uncovered the colorful brick beneath it. When he died last year, I hadn’t had the heart to keep going. I would though. He’d made me promise.
I still had his picture on the mantle. Beside it, the wooden-framed triangle that held the American flag. My father had served in the navy. It’s where he’d first learned how to use his hands to build things. We lost my mother to heart disease when I was just twelve years old.
“I don’t know what to do with a girl,” he’d said as we sat out on the back porch of this very house.
“What would you do with a boy?” I’d asked.
He laughed. “I’d teach him how to build things.”
I had taken his hand in mine. His were rough and calloused. “Then teach me.”
And so he had.
A storm was coming. The elms in the backyard shimmered in the wind. I opened the sliding door and stepped out onto the deck.
“Chase Cutter,” I whispered. “What would I do with you?”
The question haunted me for days. Every time I went out to the Hutchins Street property, I found myself hoping to see his Harley parked somewhere. He had no reason to come back. Hell, I’d pretty much told him to stay away. And yet, I felt a little catch in my heart each time I rounded the corner and pulled into the driveway.
I took the longest route on the way into the office, passing by Hutchins Street. I had no crews out there today. They were working on a new property over on Prospect Drive. I kept an office right off the freeway. It was an odd little farmhouse, cut off when they built the road. It had sat vacant for over a decade until I took a chance on it. This was new. Dad had run the business out of the basement. Gatling Bros. was moving up in the world. Someday, I hoped to have a shop of my own where I could sell my refurbished antiques and design pieces.
“Hey, boss!” Nolan, my receptionist, greeted me as I walked in. Ed, my general contractor, was already waiting for me in the back room hunched over the massive blueprints I’d ordered for Hutchins.
“Hey, Nolan,” I called back. “Sorry I’m running a little late today.”
Nolan smiled. He was a good kid. My entire crew was made up of good kids. Just like the houses on the north side, I tended to hire from the neighborhood too. I tried to give them a different alternative than what they might have had before. Most of these kids would have ended up in jail or gangs, maybe even members of the Dark Saints. With me, they got honest, hard work and a chance to learn a trade.
“You didn’t forget, did you?” he asked.
“Forget what?”
He shook his head. “It’s my birthday, boss. You said you’d go out with us after work.”
I smacked my forehead and smiled. Though I tried to play it off, I had forgotten. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”
“I know,” Nolan said. “You said you’re buying the first round.”
Smiling, I leaned across his desk and messed up Nolan’s hair. He had a thick black mass of it. He shot me a crooked grin. Nolan Bates was a real charmer. He was taking night classes at the community college. He had a gift with people and I hoped he could hone it. I saw him as a talented salesperson. Today was his twenty-first birthday.
“Where are we going again?” I asked.
“Digby’s,” Nolan answered. Heat flooded my veins. Why had I agreed to that place again? It was little more than a dive but everyone in town tended to flock there. Not my usual crowd, by any means. Nolan and the crew knew I was more of a homebody. But a promise was a promise.
“Got it,” I said. “Somebody’s got to keep an eye on you hoodlums and keep you out of trouble.”
“Oh, that’s what you’re best at, boss,” he said. “You better deal with Ed though. He’s grumpy.”
Rolling my eyes, I headed back to my office where Ed waited. Ed Cooper was big, burly, and gruff. He’d also been one of my father’s best friends and my godfather. He was also direct.
“Right here,” he said, jabbing a finger into the plans I’d drawn for the Hutchins living room. I meant to knock out almost every interior wall on that first floor to open it up. I also wanted to build a new front door and get rid of that bi-level entrance and useless foyer.
“Right where?” I asked.
“You want to knock that fucker down, you’re gonna need a beam. It’ll run from the kitchen straight through the living room.”
“Ugh. I was afraid of that. Can you work your magic and hide it?” I rested my head on Ed’s shoulder and batted my eyes at him.
He grumbled. “That place is a mess. You know that, right? I’ve got a hunch we’re going to find some surprises under that east wall. Damn floor joists turned to powder when I pulled at ’em the other day.”
I patted him on the back. “We specialize in messes, Ed.”
“Right, that wall’s probably held up out of sheer habit.”
“Do what you gotta do,” I said.
“How much wiggle room?”
I gave him my patented stern look. I’d learned it from my father. “Very little. I paid a little more than I wanted to for that dump but I’ve got a good feeling about it. I want to keep the reno under a hundred thousand.”
Ed barked out a laugh. “You always say that, Ari. This one’s gonna be closer to one twenty and you know it.”
“Shh,” I said. “Bite your tongue. And get to work.”
I smacked him on the butt with the file folder I’d picked up then walked into my inner office. Ed stayed to grumble at the plans a little longer, then shuffled off muttering about plumbing. Sometimes we were like an old married couple. I had the vision, he worked the details.
“That Hutchins Street place is cursed,” Ed called out one last time before he slammed the front door.
I jolted in my seat, then settled back. Cursed. I
t did seem like my life had been upended since I bought that property. And it was all on account of Chase. As I leaned back in my chair, I couldn’t get the vision of him out of my mind. That leather-clad wall of muscle with those piercing gray eyes that seemed to see straight through me. He had a devilish smirk and a killer dimple.
Hutchins Street might not be cursed, but something about it certainly haunted Chase. He couldn’t hide the shadow that crossed his face as he looked down the hallway that morning when we met. The morning I chased him with a sledgehammer. Warmth spread through me as I laughed to myself.
“Would have served you right,” I said.
I tapped my fingers on the desk. Try as I might, I couldn’t get my head on work this morning. I kept drifting back to thoughts of Chase and that house. What had happened to him there?
“Oh, fuck it,” I said, loud enough Nolan looked up from his computer. He smiled at me, then went back to work.
I flipped open my laptop and pulled up the county Register of Deeds website. The title work had come through clean when I bought the Hutchins Street property, but that’s all I ever concerned myself with. There was never any reason to pay attention to the actual chain of title once the bank signed off. Now I was curious. I typed in the tax identification number and started clicking through the documents on file.
“Where are you, Chase Cutter?” I whispered. I’d bought the property from the Port Azrael Community Credit Union. They’d foreclosed on the previous owner. They’d been a young couple who bought the place in foreclosure themselves. Hell, it looked like that property had gone into default three times before it came to me. Maybe it was cursed.
My pulse jumped when I found what I was looking for. In 1990, the house had been purchased by Brian Cutter and Rochelle Raines, a married couple. In 1995, Brian’s death certificate had been filed. I grabbed a notepad and pencil and started jotting down the names and dates. There was no activity on the house for a few years after that. Then the first foreclosure happened.
“So your daddy died,” I whispered. “Then your mom couldn’t afford to keep it. What happened to you, Chase?”
This felt wrong somehow, like a violation. I tried to convince myself it wasn’t. Everything I was looking at was public record. Plus, it was a property I now owned. I had a right to know its history, didn’t I?
Along with the foreclosure, I found a second death certificate. Rochelle Raines passed away less than two years after her husband. I didn’t know exactly how old Chase was, but it meant he was an orphan by the time he was ten at least. My heart ached for him. An orphan kid from the north side. There could hardly be more strikes against him starting out. No wonder he’d turned to something like the Dark Saints.
Tapping my pencil against my front teeth, I reached for my laptop. I meant to close it. I had other work to do. Something made me stop though. Sadness haunted Chase’s eyes when he stood in that foyer. Losing his parents put that into context, but I couldn’t shake the feeling he’d remembered something else. Something worse.
With my heart pounding, I let my fingers fly over the keyboards. I pulled up the archives of Port Azrael’s local newspaper and searched for Rochelle Raines and Brian Cutter. Within a few seconds, I found the article that shattered my heart for Chase.
Rochelle Raines hadn’t died. Rochelle Raines had been brutally murdered. I could barely focus on the words. It was terrible. Awful. There was a grainy black-and-white picture of the coroner removing a body bag on a stretcher right across that familiar front porch on Hutchins Street. Chase’s mother had been murdered inside the house.
“They should have fucking told me that,” I muttered. I knew it was a futile argument. I’d bought the place at a bank auction as is. They had no duty to disclose anything. Still, it mattered. It was the kind of thing that might make buyers skittish.
God. What had Chase seen when he stood in that hallway? What had he been trying to obliterate when he put his fist through the wall?
I don’t know how long I stared at that screen. Later, Nolan stood in the doorway to my office.
“You ready to go, boss?” he asked.
Blinking to clear my head, I smiled up at him. “More than ready.”
Nolan had a curious expression on his face. He had brown eyes, big as a dairy cow, with a wide, flat nose and a mouth that turned up naturally at the corners. “That bad?” He gestured with his chin toward the laptop I just closed. “Come on. It’s Friday. It’s my birthday. And you look like you could use a drink.”
Smiling, I ran my hand over the top of my computer, as if I could contain Chase’s demons within it. I grabbed my purse and followed Nolan out.
Chapter 7
Chase
“Man, this is a mistake,” Dom said as we pulled into Digby’s parking lot. Digby’s was a dive bar at the foot of the Port Az bridge. Woody’s was our usual haunt, but they were closed tonight. There’d been a brawl there last week and some windows got smashed out.
“Think positive,” Bo said. “Let’s just grab a couple of quick ones. I’m sick and tired of looking at you assholes. The scenery inside has got to be better.”
Dom punched Bo in the shoulder as we dismounted. Shep, Maddox, and Deacon were supposed to join us here within the hour. Ours was a dwindling group, the last of the bachelor Dark Saints. Sure, Axle, Benz, Kade, and Zig still liked to party, but they went home to their wives and girlfriends at night. Lately, that didn’t sound too bad. I’d burned my way through most of the banger chicks at the clubhouse. They were all good girls, but I wasn’t looking to settle down with any of them. The feeling was mutual. Digby’s was Dom’s idea. Woody’s was more of a club-only hangout anyway. This place was a meat market. He was hoping to widen his net.
The minute we walked into Digby’s, Dom went to work. He immediately set his sights on a blonde at the bar. She was stacked in tight jeans and angled herself right at him.
“Nice knowing ya, brother,” Bo said, thumping Dom on the back. “Come on, let’s find a quiet table in the back. I don’t think I’ve got the stomach to watch Dom in action.”
Laughing, I followed Bo. From the corner of my eye, I saw Dom swoop in. He slid onto the bar stool beside the blonde and whistled for the bartender.
“Should we take bets now how long it takes for her to take him home?” Bo asked as he flipped a chair around and straddled it backward. I jerked my chin toward the nearest waitress and held up two fingers. Within a minute, she had a pitcher of beer and two frosted mugs in front of us. Bo started eyeing her up.
I poured my beer and rolled my eyes. “I can see how this night’s already shaping up,” I said.
“Glad you showed up,” our waitress said. She looked vaguely familiar. Bo recognized her too. It took me a second before I realized she used to work at Cups with Mindy, the sports bar down the street. Ashley or Shaley or something. She’d spent some time with Axle a couple of years back. Her eyes went to the front door. I laughed into my beer.
“Axle’s not coming tonight, honey,” I said, loving how Bo’s face fell when he realized she wasn’t excited to see him. “Don’t know if you’ve heard. He got married last year.”
“Axle’s hitched?” she said, her face going white. “I don’t believe it.”
“Yep,” I answered. “They’re trying for a kid. He’s straight-up domesticated.”
Loving the challenge, Bo leaned back against the booth and smiled at her. “Don’t worry, Ashley, there’s plenty of us wild ones left.”
“Right,” Ashley snorted. “You remember my name, Bo. But that’s apparently all you remember.”
She flipped him off, turned, and sashayed off. My laughter bubbled up from a deep place as Bo’s face fell.
“What the hell was that about?” he muttered.
“No idea, but I’m guessing you’ve been around Ashley’s block already. You don’t remember at all?”
Bo shrugged. He took a sip of his beer. “Not really. Damn. She’s fine too.”
“Well, if you were looki
ng for easy pickings, we probably should have just stayed at the clubhouse tonight.”
“Speak for yourself,” Bo said, straightening in his seat. High feminine laughter reached us from the back room. That was the game room. Mo Digby ran pool and dart tournaments back there.
Maddox, Shep, and Deacon came in together as Bo grabbed the pitcher and empty glasses. He whistled to catch the other guys’ attention and stood.
“Fine,” I said. “So much for low key.”
Deacon reached me first and patted me on the back. I was surprised to see him tonight. Of all of us, Deacon Wade was the most reserved. He didn’t chase women. He drank, but I’d never seen him wasted. Before he patched in, Deacon was on track to become a legit priest. Now he acted as our club chaplain.
“Looks like we’ve already lost Dom,” Deacon said. Shaking my head, I saw the front door swing open again as Dom and the blonde from the bar walked outside, arm in arm.
“Sheeit,” I said. “I would have lost that bet.”
I followed the rest of them back into the game room. Bo found an empty pool table and started racking them up. Ashley was two steps behind with another pitcher and more mugs. She batted her eyes at Deacon and I shook my head. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was wasting her time.
“Oooh! Boss lady takes the win!” A voice from the back of the room cut through the noise. I don’t know what drew my attention to it, but when I looked in the back corner, heat speared through me.
Ariel Gatling rose from one of the pool tables, stick in hand and her green eyes shining. She hadn’t seen me. Not yet. She was surrounded by a half dozen men. One of them had his hand on the small of her back. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. Ariel beamed and took a bow. Protective rage coiled through me as she put a hand up and patted the side of the guy’s head as he moved away from her. Every guy in the game room had their eyes on Ariel, it seemed. And she seemed oblivious to it.
