Breaking It All (The Hellfire Riders Book 3)

by Kati Wilde

  And every time I’ve thrown myself over that line—he doesn’t want me enough to hold on. Instead he carefully pushes me back to my side.

  God. I wanted a knife sharp enough to cut out my heart? Here it is. Knowing that Gunner’s everything I want…but I’m not enough for him.

  And after all these years, it’s clear I never will be.

  “You drove Picasso home last night?”

  A hard note in his voice makes me lift my cheek from the window to look at him. I don’t know why I bothered. He’s staring straight ahead, wearing no expression at all.

  My throat’s a solid lump, so I just nod.

  He glances over to catch my response. His jaw tightens. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  The quiet anger in his reply makes me frown. “Why?”

  “Did you close last night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And look at you.”

  “Look at me?”

  “Half asleep over there. You’re fucking exhausted, aren’t you?” Gunner shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be driving Riders home in the middle of the night. If they need a lift, they can ask a brother.”

  “There wasn’t anyone else there.” Friday night, usually there is. But not last night. Knowing today was Red’s funeral, almost everyone else cleared out around midnight.

  “Then they can call up a brother and wait until he arrives.”

  Yeah, they could. There’s no reason to, though. “I was on my way home.”

  His frown darkens every feature, his profile like an angry god’s. “Picasso’s place isn’t on your way—”

  “Hold on. Jesus.” I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Even my brother at his most dickish isn’t this overbearing. Now Gunner gets me alone and thinks he’s going to be? “How about this? You want them to stop accepting a ride when I offer one? Then you tell them that. I’ll keep doing what I’m doing when I feel like doing it. If I want to drive Picasso home, I will. Hell, if I want to drive him home and bounce on his drunk dick all night, I will. You can tell the brothers to do whatever, but you have no say in what I do.”

  His icy gaze flicks over me. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “You’d bounce on his dick?”

  “Hell no. Picasso’s an ass.” Not as bad as some of the Riders, but for god’s sake—I’ve seen him balls deep in more women than I care to think about. I’m not likely to add myself to that number.

  “That didn’t stop you from heading out with Mark Miller.”

  No, it didn’t. A huff of laughter bursts from me. That date was a freaking disaster.

  My laugh seems to dispel the anger building in him. He’s quiet for a moment, before he asks softly, “Did seeing what happened to Red make you worry about that cancer stuff again? Like when you found that fibroadenoma?”

  The mass in my breast. “You remember what it was called?”

  “I looked it up,” he says and that doesn’t really surprise me. Not considering how much he reads. “But are you thinking the same thing now—are you worried you haven’t lived enough, done enough?”

  “The opposite, actually,” I say. But he looks at me, as if waiting for more, so I try to explain. “Seeing Red…I did start thinking of it again. But in a different way. I’m trying to let go of the fear—and instead of assuming that I’ll die young, I’m going to trust that I’ll have a good, long life.”

  He nods and faces the front again. His throat works before he says, “So I guess you’ll have time to sort out the dicks from the good guys.”

  He remembers that, too? It was a lie. Well, partially a lie. I didn’t want to waste the time I had left, that was true. But what I really didn’t want to do was waste my time being with any man who wasn’t the one I wanted. Maybe it seems backwards. I think most people who are worried about how long they have to live grab pleasure where they can. Me, I didn’t want to spend that precious time settling for second best.

  But I have years to find a new best. No settling.

  I just have to get over Gunner first.

  “You didn’t need to sort Miller,” he adds. “Everyone knows he’s a prick.”

  “Yes.” And that’s why going out with him was…safe. I wasn’t jumping into anything that might hurt me. “But at least he didn’t think hooking up with me qualified as ‘that shit.’”

  Gunner’s fierce gaze snaps to mine. “Who the hell said that?”

  Unbelievable. “You did. Ten minutes ago, talking to Picasso and Spiral.” I lower my voice to mimic his. “‘Yup, me hooking up with Stone’s sister? That’s shit. Don’t talk about it.’ And you gave them your me big angry man, you listen good caveman stare.”

  Which looks a hell of a lot like the expression he’s giving me now. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Do I? Because I was right there and it felt like you did.”

  “I was talking about the fucking gossip. Zoomie told me people were giving you shit because of it.”

  That does spin it another way. “Oh.”

  “Any guy would be lucky to hook up with you.”

  Not lucky enough, apparently. “Okay.”

  “Spiral and Picasso damn well know that, too. So they knew exactly what I meant by it.”

  “Okay! I get it. I’m bangable.” Even if Gunner doesn’t want to bang me. “Thanks.”

  He nods tightly before looking at the road again. His strong fingers flex on the steering wheel. “So who’s giving you shit?”

  “What?”

  “About those rumors going around about you and me. Who’s giving you shit?”

  “Oh.” God damn it, Lily. She shouldn’t have mentioned it. “Just, you know, guys being assholes.”

  “Who?”

  “Just whoever. Some guys are like that. If you turn them down, it’s never about them. It’s always about the girl. I’m good enough to ask out but as soon as I say no, they’re like, ‘So it’s true that you’re really spreading your legs for Gunner on the side’ or ‘You’re so hung up on that pretty boy, your pathetic ass wouldn’t know a real man.’ Because if I don’t want them, there obviously must be something wrong with me.”

  “Who?”

  His hands are white-knuckling the steering wheel, his lips flattened into a harsh line. Holy crap. He’s really pissed.

  I can’t decide if that’s funny or awesome or both. “What are you going to do? Beat them up?”

  “Maybe” comes out of his mouth. His tone says, I’ll kill them.

  “I have a brother for that.”

  “You’ve got me, too.”

  No, I don’t. Though I believe he’d come running to my rescue. But not the way my brother runs to the rescue of the girls he hooks up with.

  My voice is a little rough as I ask, “Do you think Stone loves her—that girl he’s helping?”

  Gunner seems to grapple with that for a long second. Maybe not ready to abandon the pursuit of all the assholes he needs to thrash. Then, “I think he loves all of them a little. At least at first.”

  Yes. That’s probably true. “But this one, she must be something more. I mean, he missed Red’s funeral for her. I’m trying to imagine him missing any Rider’s funeral, and I can’t. But Red’s funeral? I really, really can’t.”

  Gunner doesn’t answer. Maybe he has a hard time imagining it, too. Maybe he’s disappointed in my brother for putting a woman before Red. But if he is disappointed, I don’t think he’d ever say so to anyone but Stone.

  I’m not disappointed in my brother. It’s just…strange. “Do you know he didn’t even ask about Daisy?” I tell him.

  “What?”

  “In his messages. He didn’t ask how Daisy was doing. And lately his messages have been really odd. But I guess whatever’s going on with this girl explains it.”

  “Yes.”

  “What is going on with her?”

  His jaw clenches before he tells me, “I can’t say.”

  “Club business?”

  “Yes.”

  I blow out a
n exasperated breath, shaking my head. But it doesn’t matter. If it’s club business, it’ll eventually reach my ears anyway. It always does.

  Other things reach my ears, too. “Ray Peterson came into the Den the other day.” Gunner’s boss on the city maintenance crew. “He’s pretty pissed that you’ve been gone all week.”

  “I know.” His response is wooden. “If I’m not back tomorrow, I’m out of a job.”

  I gape at him. “For real?”

  Gunner nods.

  Holy shit. Stone doesn’t have the same worry—he works with Widowmaker on his logging crew, and they’re pretty much off for the season, anyway. “But you’re still leaving tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  Jeeeeesus. “That must be some seriously important club business.”

  “It is.” By the grim tone of his voice, ‘seriously important’ might be an understatement.

  “Is that why Blowback and Lily have been gone all week, too?” I know he won’t answer me—freaking club business—so I just shake my head again. “I thought they were on their honeymoon.”

  His head turns sharply, his pale gaze catching mine. “Honeymoon?”

  “Yeah.” Doesn’t he know? “They got married in Vegas a few weeks ago.”

  “The hell they did.”

  “They did.” I have to laugh. He’s stunned by the news. “I think they plan to keep it quiet. You know, to avoid the commentary of the club’s assholes. But I assumed Lily told you and Stone.”

  “She didn’t.” His grin breaks through and he returns his attention to the road. The snow’s gaining on the rain, but it’s all melting as soon as it hits the ground. “Damn. That means we must be assholes, too.”

  “Well, now that you mention it…” I let that trail off, and he flashes another grin my way.

  God, my heart. It just stops when he does that.

  But nothing stops for him. He just says, “Good for them.”

  I nod in silent agreement. Good for them. Lily’s the last person I expected to be married now—Blowback, too, but he’s another breed entirely. Like some kind of unfeeling, inhuman killing machine. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so surprised, though. When Lily goes, she goes all in, and in this case, she grabbed onto a future with Blowback in both hands and went for it.

  I need to do the same. Not a future with Blowback. Just any future. And not by grabbing on. By letting go.

  It won’t happen quickly. I know that. Getting over Gunner isn’t going to be as easy as going out on a few dates with other guys. I don’t even want to go on more dates with other guys yet—the disaster with Mark taught me that. But that date was a step in the right direction. Because when I told Mark yes, I’d stopped hoping that anything would ever happen with Gunner.

  Gravel crunches beneath the tires as Gunner turns into the lot outside Jenny’s brewery, then reverses and backs up the truck to the front door. He glances over. “Ready?”

  “Hold on.” I show him my phone. “I’ve got a bar of reception. What’s her name?”

  “Whose name?”

  “The girl Stone is with.”

  “Cherry.”

  “Are you for real? Cherry and Stone? Is her last name Pit?”

  “Oh shit.” His eyes close as if in physical pain. “I didn’t put that together before. That’s terrible.”

  Beyond terrible. Giggling, I type out a message. Gunner told me all about Cherry and your seeekrit speshul TRUE WUV. And Mom told me I’m her favorite kid.

  I hit ‘send’ and something inside Gunner’s kutte vibrates and lights up.

  Phone in hand, I go utterly still—staring at the slice of pale light, with a knot of dread unraveling inside me. “What is that?”

  Gunner tugs the keys from the ignition. The overhead light flicks on. “My phone.”

  “No. Yours is in your back pocket. I saw you put it there.”

  “It’s a burner. Every Rider carries one.”

  I know they do. But I also know the chances of a Rider texting Gunner’s burner phone at the same instant I send a message to Stone is almost zero. They only use those unregistered phones when something illegal is going down—and all the Riders are back at Jenny’s house, where the reception is even worse than it is here.

  I quickly type a single letter and hit ‘send.’ In the shadows beneath his vest, the light flares again, followed by a cold spike of fear through my chest.

  “Oh my god. You have his phone. Why do you have his phone?” When he reaches for the door handle, I lurch halfway across the seat, grabbing his kutte. The memory of all those odd messages stabs through my mind on another icy spike of terror. “How long have you had his phone?”

  “Shit.” His pale eyes locked on mine, Gunner catches my face in his big hands. Oh god oh god. Does he need to brace me for what’s coming? “Anna—”

  “Is he okay? Is he okay?”

  “He’s okay.” His fingers tighten as if to hold me in place, as if to force me to accept the truth of those words. “He’s okay.”

  “Then why do you have his phone? Why isn’t he here?”

  “There was a girl—”

  “Are you lying to me?” On a burst of anger, I swat at his wrists, pull out of his grip. “Of course you are. Cherry, Jesus Christ. What kind of name is that?”

  “Not her real name, I’m sure.” Dragging his hands away, he viciously rakes his fingers through his short hair. Tension whitens the sculpted planes of his face. “Listen. There was a girl. Some shit went down. And it’s taking longer than we thought to sort through.”

  “And he gave you his phone? Why not keep it? Is he…I don’t know—undercover in another club or something?”

  His gaze holds mine, steady. Even. “Something like that.”

  Some of my fear begins to recede. Gunner’s not telling me anything, but the fact that he’s here says more than words could. If I know one thing for certain, it’s that Gunner would never abandon Stone if he was hurt.

  But he’s going back tomorrow. So whatever my brother is tangled up in, it’s still happening.

  Quiet falls between us. The dome light clicks off and for a long second, I study him through the dark. He’s angled toward me, one shoulder against the door and the other against the back of the seat. Shadows conceal most of his face but I can feel his gaze on mine.

  He’s so close I can smell the leather of his vest, his clean scent. I’m still halfway across the seat, just a few inches from sitting in his lap. I’m no longer holding onto his kutte but my fingers burn with the memory of his warmth. Despite the cold night, he’s only wearing a black long-sleeved shirt under his vest. Beneath the thin cotton lay steely strength, solid muscle.

  God, the feel of him. I curl my fingertips into my palms, holding onto the heat as long as I can. It’s all I can do not to crawl closer, to fasten my mouth to his…and throw myself at him again.

  I know how that would end.

  Tearing my gaze from his lips, I scoot back a little. “So what’s really going on?”

  He takes a moment to answer and when he does, his voice is low and rough. Just like I imagine it would be if I did crawl into his lap. “Club business.”

  “Really? That’s still your answer? Club business?”

  “Yes.”

  Goddammit. But I will find out eventually. “So Stone told you to text me?”

  He’s utterly still, watching me. “No one wanted you to worry.”

  I barely hear the answer because all at once, the full import of what he’s saying strikes me. Stone’s replies weren’t odd—they just weren’t Stone’s.

  Oh my god. What exactly did I text to Gunner this week? A few throwaway messages. A few conversations. I yanked his chain about a fake girlfriend with a unicorn baby. And joked with him about Burnout’s ass hair—and Jesus, no wonder I thought Gunner was feeding Stone those replies about symmetrical ponytails and redundant man buns. All of that was from Gunner.

  That’s not so embarrassing, I guess. I always assume Stone shares some of my t
exts with Gunner, especially if they’re about other Riders. But did Gunner scroll back through my brother’s messages? Or—please God—did Stone delete those old texts? Because I’ve never had a discussion with my brother about Gunner over the phone or anywhere else, but Stone knows me as well as my mom does. And a few times, he’s poked at me a little. Nothing like a big flashing sign saying ANNA’S HUNG UP ON GUNNER but still not anything I’d want him to see.

  There’s probably nothing to see. I never delete any messages, but I think Stone erases most of his. He doesn’t like leaving easy-to-follow trails—even if those trails are legal.

  But I still feel like such an idiot. Sick humiliation churns in my stomach. My face burning, I fumble for the door handle.

  “Anna? Shit.”

  His door slams. He’s around the back of the truck faster than I can get to the brewery’s entrance, his big body blocking my way.

  Gunner’s got the keys, anyway, so I couldn’t get inside even if I went around him. I lift my chin, hating how the floodlight over the brewery door exposes me. I can’t hide the humiliated flush in my cheeks, but I can throw a hell of a lot of anger behind it. I meet his brooding gaze and wait.

  When his reply comes, it’s exactly what I expected. “I didn’t like lying to you—”

  “But you still did,” I snap before he can finish. “So what’s coming next—an apology where you aren’t really sorry because you still think it was for the right reason?”

  By the clench of his jaw, I know that hit right on the head. He’s only sorry I found out.

  Frustration vibrates through his deep voice. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “So pissing me off is better than worrying me, huh? Humiliating me is better?” His body goes rigid and a tortured expression twists his hardened features. I hold up my hands, stopping his reply. “No, no. Let me be pissed off—and I’ll let you wallow in how shitty it feels knowing you hurt me. You earned it. God knows I can’t stay pissed anyway, so it’s not like it’ll last. So let’s get these fucking kegs and get this done, and by the time we drive back everything will be hunky-dory again.”