Bounty: Fury Riders MC

by Parker, Zoey

  It had to be Erica. She was in danger. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to her.

  Chapter Twenty

  Erica

  Things at the clubhouse were so tense, I didn’t know what to do with myself.

  What had I done to get through the tension the night before? Oh, right. I’d drank myself into a stupor. I didn’t want to do that again, if only to avoid the hangover in the morning. And I didn’t want Vince to come back and find me drunk either. He was out there, putting his neck on the line. The least I could do was stay sober.

  Now that everybody knew Lance had something to do with the other two members dying, there was a lot of anger. “It’s as bad as it was that night,” Brett murmured, pouring a round of drinks. “There’s gonna be some angry drinking around here tonight, and that’ll turn to depressed drinking. Just to give you the heads up.”

  I groaned. I’d seen them happy drunk, which was bad enough. I didn’t want to see the angry version. Shoot, they were sober when the fighting started over a stupid board game.

  “What’s your suggestion? What should I do?”

  “Once they really start into it, you might wanna go up to Vince’s room and lay low,” she offered. “We’re used to it, the girls and me. Sometimes we help them to bed, or we make sure we’re…around, if they want us.” She mumbled that part, and her eyes didn’t meet mine. “You gotta remember, they’re basically a bunch of grown up babies. Emotions run high. They’re not so great at dealing with emotions—they’d rather fight or shoot something or screw something to make it go away. They need a little help getting through things like this.”

  My heart went out to her, and to the other girls. My original image of them as den mothers wasn’t too far off. They watched over their men, made sure they had what they needed whether it was booze, food, clean sheets, or somebody to dirty the sheets with. I wished they got a little more respect, though I knew in my heart that any one of the guys would have died for them.

  I decided to help the girls in getting the clubhouse ready for another night. They argued with me at first, but I insisted. “I have to do something,” I said. “Otherwise, I’ll go insane.” I was paired up with Tyler, and together we changed bedsheets.

  We started in Vince’s room, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment when I saw the way Tyler kept glancing at me with a knowing look. I was sure everybody must have heard what we were doing in the room earlier—as hard as I tried to be quiet, it had been impossible. Just the memory of how intense everything had been left me a little wet, and my cheeks burned even hotter.

  I wanted to change the subject to something else, anything but my sex life. What came out of my mouth was the first thing my mind landed on. “Did you know Lance well?” What an idiot, I thought. I wished I could take the words back, as I saw pain flash across Tyler’s face.

  “You mean the way you know Vince?”

  I smirked. No, the way you know all the other guys here, I thought. She was one to talk. I knew she’d shared a bed with one of the others the previous night, so her arch attitude rubbed me the wrong way.

  “I’m only teasing.” She stood, pulling back her black hair. She was wearing another one of her low-cut tops, and I was glad she stood if only to give my eyes a break from the sight of her breasts nearly hanging out. I wasn’t a prude—it was hard not to look, was the problem. They were pretty spectacular.

  She sat on the freshly-made bed and took a deep breath. “Lance was my cousin,” she said, her eyes darting up to meet mine.

  “Oh, Tyler. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I had no idea.”

  She waved a hand, smiling. “Of course you didn’t. No biggie.” Then her hand swept over her cheeks, wiping away the tears that had already fallen. “You know, it’s a terrible thing to say…but I feel like I can tell you this. I couldn’t tell any of the other girls.”

  “What is it?” I sat, listening hard. Everything I learned about any of the people in the clubhouse was like one more piece of the puzzle. I wanted so much to solve it, because it meant solving Vince. Every minute together made the need to know him stronger.

  “When Vince told us what happened, I was glad my dad wasn’t here to see it. He treated Lance like a son since he never had one. Only me.” She smiled through her tears. “I mean, I’m basically a part of the club. It’s my life. But it wasn’t the same as having a son follow in his footsteps.” My heart went out to her. I imagined a teenager trying to get her father’s attention by hanging around the clubhouse. I could only imagine how weird it must have been—her dad had to know what she was doing with the guys, unless that didn’t start until after his passing.

  “He would have been so ashamed,” Tyler continued. “Like I am. I never knew he was working on the side with the Wolves. I swear.” She looked at me, her eyes intense. “Please say you believe me.”

  “I do!” I took her hand and squeezed. “I believe you. It’s not the kind of thing a person goes around bragging about, and I can tell you’re faithful to the club. That’s obvious.”

  She nodded. “I am. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt them. They’re my family. The only family I have left.” That was another common thread. Some of the members had wives and children, but for the most part there was no one else. It kept them tight.

  She laughed a little, shaking her head. “Stupid Lance. I wish he had come to me, I really do. I would have smashed a bottle over the idiot’s head. Doing what he did never works out well. I thought he was smarter than that.”

  “I guess he was doing what he thought he needed to do at the time,” I offered.

  “Can I ask you something?” The shift in her voice told me an uncomfortable question was coming. I braced myself, wishing I hadn’t asked about Lance.

  “Sure.”

  “Was it quick?”

  Damn it, how to answer that? I didn’t know whether it was quick for him or not. I took off running moments after the stabbing. What was I supposed to say to that? I took my time, choosing my words carefully.

  “I think it was,” I said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “It was only one stab. That’s all it took. Then the guy heard me scream, and came running after me.”

  “Did you see him fall?”

  “I did.”

  She rocked back and forth slightly, just enough for me to notice. “He died all alone in that alley. God, I hope Vince kills the bastard who did it.”

  I thought back to that bastard, and how he treated me. “Yeah,” I muttered darkly. “Me, too.”

  ***

  “Come on! Join us!”

  I cast a wary eye at the game room, where the girls were sitting in on a hand of poker. Samantha was waving me in.

  “I don’t know…”

  She patted the empty chair beside her. I didn’t have anything better to do, so I sat. The girls cheered. “We need a little more estrogen around here!” Tyler called out.

  Sam leaned over. “Honey, it’s like taking candy from a baby when the men are this drunk. Sometimes we take turns winning.” I held back a giggle and let them deal me in. It was better than obsessing over what could be taking Vince so long.

  I was no poker player, but it seemed like the girls had spent their fair share of time playing. Or, as I had seen the night before, sitting on the laps of the players and observing. “Watch this,” Sam whispered from behind her hand. “I’ll tell you from their faces what everybody has. They’re so obvious, it’s a sin. I almost feel bad for taking advantage.”

  I giggled this time, then listened as one by one Samantha rattled off the way each player communicated their hand. “He always taps his cards on the table…he cups his mouth with his hand when he doesn’t like what he has…he drums his fingers…he looks at the wall…” Sure enough, the players who she predicted had crappy hands did, in fact, have crappy hands.

  “It’s not so obvious when they’re sober and in control of themselves,” she admitted. I watched in awe as she shuffled, looking like something out of a casino. �
��We don’t get to play often, though, so when we do it’s a lot of fun for us.”

  I could tell, and before long it was fun for me, too. I didn’t have a lot of girlfriends. I’d always been sort of shy, more into my photography than anything else. I was more of an observer of the world than a part of it, I realized. I spent a lot more time watching people and concocting stories about them based on what I saw than on actually interacting.

  When I first met the girls, I had made up stories about them. They were tragic figures. I couldn’t imagine why they’d want to be part of this life. Abuse, maybe, or daddy issues. And while there could have been a little bit of that—Tyler’s father came to mind, and the wistful way she told me he never had a son—for the most part, they were smart, strong women. I had the feeling they could have left if they wanted to. They weren’t hopeless drunks or junkies. I admitted to myself that I’d assumed that about biker chicks.

  What was more surprising was the way I got along with them. They were so quick to welcome me in. At first I had told myself it was for Vince’s sake. They wanted to be nice to his guest. Now I knew that they were just that nice, that welcoming. I had never known people like them. If the girls in high school and college had been so sweet and inclusive, I might have made more friends.

  I wondered as I played hand after hand whether I could make a life here, among them. I saw myself doing what they did—taking care of the guys, just not sexually. I would only be Vince’s. Would I be expected to do the other things they did, as an old lady? Fetching drinks and changing sheets? Or would being the old lady of the club president give me special privileges?

  I wouldn’t want them, I decided, even if Vince and I got together for the long haul. I wasn’t any better than anyone there. I finally realized that, and it gave me a sense of peace.

  “I’m out,” I finally said. I’d played three hands and won one of them. To my happy surprise, the men cheered for me. Wow, I thought. I actually feel like a part of something. Maybe we all needed to feel that way. Now I understood the pull this lifestyle had. It really was like one big family. As an only child, it was seductive.

  “You sure?” Brett looked concerned. “Honey, he’ll be back soon. I’m sure of it.”

  “I know, I know. I just…I’m a little antsy is all. I can’t concentrate on the cards.”

  Sam patted my back. “I’ll make you a mug of my world-famous hot chocolate,” she offered. “It’ll help you feel better.”

  I doubted that a cup of hot chocolate could do so much, but I couldn’t help smiling. “That would be super. I’ll be in the office.” I went inside and shut the door behind me, then sat down at the desk.

  I couldn’t shake the foreboding. Even as I sat at the poker table, laughing, it was always in the back of my mind. Something’s coming. Something bad. It’ll never be like this again.

  I had never paid attention to superstition or curses of the world of the unseen. I did believe there was a force working behind the scenes, but I didn’t get much deeper than that. So why couldn’t I get rid of the feeling that we were all in danger? Why did I feel like I’d never see Vince again?

  I was feeling particularly morbid by that point, and I opened the laptop to get another look at my pictures. Something inside told me to take a look at the person who chased me.

  There he was, looking just as he had that night. Just as he did in my dream. I shuddered at the memory. What had it meant? That was another thing. I wasn’t the type to have vivid dreams. But I felt like this one meant something. I just didn’t know what.

  I stared at the picture, focused on the Wolf. If luck was ever going to be on our side, Vince would have found whoever he was by then. I prayed he had, and that it would help us somehow. We needed a little help, for heaven’s sake.

  I started flipping through the images, looking carefully at them. I remembered taking them like it just happened. I could feel the cool air, could smell the dank stench of the air in the alley. The wall I leaned against was cold. It was so dark. Water dripped from some unseen place. I heard it plinking against the ground.

  I heard the voices, too. The voice of the man defending himself, saying it wasn’t right, what they were doing. He never wanted things to go that far. He was the tall, slim man with the Fury Riders kutte. He was Lance.

  Poor Lance. He did look scared, I realized as I went through the images. He knew he was in trouble. I remembered from what I overheard that he felt guilty, and he must have known something was going to happen when he pushed back at the Vicious Wolves.

  He had done something wrong when he went against his club, yeah, but he had been brave in the end. He was all alone with the man who would kill him just moments later.

  Only…was he alone?

  As I went through the images, I noticed something I’d missed before.

  Someone.

  I heard the door to the office open and close, and assumed it was Sam. But I ignored her, transfixed by what I saw on the monitor.

  In the shadows, just beyond Lance and the Wolf who killed him, a man. He stood and watched the two of them as they talked. He stood there, unmoving from one photo to the next. He didn’t do anything to stop what happened. Was he a guard for the Wolves?

  He’d stepped out of the shadows just a little toward the end of the series of photos, until the light hit his face.

  His scarred face.

  “No.” It was the only word I was able to say before the chloroform-soaked cloth covered my mouth and nose.

  I struggled for a minute, holding my breath, fighting Onyx with all my might. It was useless. He was so strong, his arms were like iron bands around me.

  I was frantic. Now it all made sense. It was him. He let me get away so the Wolves would catch me. That was why he didn’t like me. That was why he stayed behind to watch over us. He was waiting for this. Poor Vince. He never saw this coming, any more than I did. How would he feel when he knew?

  My lungs felt like they were about to burst. I had to take a breath. As soon as I did, the world started to go foggy. Oh, Vince. I’m sorry.

  Onyx’s breath was hot on my ear. “Couldn’t stay out of it, could you?”

  They were the last words I heard before everything went black.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Vince

  I remembered the first time I ever rode on the back of a motorcycle. I used to see them in my neighborhood, growing up. Mom’s face would always screw up when she saw them pass by, the men on the backs of their bikes. I learned then and there, without her ever having to say so, that men who rode in gangs were bad news. They weren’t good people. My brain made the association, and it stuck.

  The older I got, the better I knew. Mom was right. They intimidated people on the street, started fights in bars. Eventually, they were asked to stay away from the bars, period. Then, rumors flew about the local club being involved with drugs somehow. They were bringing them into the neighborhood, putting dope in the hands of kids. They were mean and violent. They didn’t care how their actions affected the people around them, people who worked hard and paid their taxes. Whenever police dragged a body in from the river or found one in an alley or ditch, they blamed the club. Even if it was a random homeless person or something totally unrelated to the club, everybody wanted to believe the bad guys who rode motorcycles around the neighborhood had something to do with it.

  Then I rode my first bike, and I was hooked. Mom died long before then, so the guilt went with her. Sometimes I still wondered what she would think of me if she saw the person I had become. Would her face screw up in distaste, the way it had when the gangs would ride down our block? Or would she understand that sometimes a bad man could be a good man who had to make big choices?

  I didn’t know why I was thinking about any of this as I raced to the clubhouse. It was something to think about other than the mental image of Erica in a pool of blood.

  I broke just about every traffic law in existence on the way—it was worth risking being pulled over if it meant
getting to Erica just a minute sooner. A minute could make all the difference.

  A plan was in motion. That was what Harrison told me. There was something already going down. Why did Alexander York always think he was smarter than me? Maybe because he was. I had the book smarts. He was cunning. I needed to be cunning in a time like this.

  I’d thought I had the bases covered. Leaving Onyx behind to take care of things. I hoped Onyx was safe—the only way to get to Erica was to get around him. He’d have to be dead or unconscious to let that happen. He might not have liked her, but he would have protected her for my sake. We went back that far.

  I rode on autopilot. My body was just going through the motions. All I could do was think about the club. I realized it might not have been just Erica they were after. I might walk into my clubhouse and find the entire club dead, taken out by the Wolves. What then?