by Lane Hart
“Okay, let’s do it,” Chase tells him. “Let’s burn that fucking Aces’ bar right outside of Wilmington down. We’ll go tonight.”
“Fuck yeah,” I exclaim, trying to be the messed-up arson cheerleader my boy needs.
“Fine,” Torin eventually agrees with a sigh.
“Great. Get a shower and you can come too,” Chase declares. When Torin opens his mouth to protest, Chase cuts him off. “I can fucking smell you from here, man. If you don’t shower, you’re not coming with us.”
A huff of annoyance is Torin’s response, but Chase seems to take it as acceptance.
“Be at the clubhouse at eleven tonight,” Chase orders Torin before he walks away. I give my former president a nod, before I turn and follow. The whole exchange was too damn bizarre for me. Over the past six years since I became a prospect, Torin’s been the one in charge giving people directives. Seeing him this way twists my guts up in knots.
“Are you gonna tell him about the possible rat in our midst?” I ask Chase softly as we head for our bikes.
“Not yet,” Chase answers on a sigh. “He’ll lose it if we tell him one of our own betrayed him. First we need to find proof before he goes apeshit and starts pointing fingers.”
“Yeah,” I agree, unable to figure out how the hell to determine which of our brothers is untrustworthy.
Growing up poor made me hard. Prison made me even harder. Chase was the only person in there with me who I knew wouldn’t stab me with a shiv while I was sleeping. I’ve always had a hard time trusting people; but even so, I’ve gone through the list of our MC brothers over and over again and can’t pick out a single one who wouldn’t die for me. Maybe Chase is wrong, and Hector just got lucky when he hit us both times. But that doesn’t really make sense either …
Just as Chase and I are next to our bikes, fastening our helmets, his cell phone starts ringing.
I’m going to go out on a limb here and throw out a guess that it’s his old lady. The two of them can’t go thirty minutes without professing their love. Chase can act like he’s all happy and shit, but I see the worry on his face every time he’s in the same room with Sasha. He’s terrified of losing her like Torin lost Kennedy. Hell, Chase almost did ten years ago when a drunk driver wrecked his bike while Sasha was on the back. And honestly, I want my boy to be happy, but I just don’t see how battling all that added fear is worth the trouble.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Chase says into the phone with a goofy grin on his face, that I also predict is exactly the one Sasha shares wherever the hell she is right now. When his face hardens and his brow dips in concern, I get the feeling there’s trouble in paradise.
“Where are you?” he snaps, and then says, “We’re on our way,” before ending the call.
“What’s up?” I ask as Chase slips the phone back in the inside zipper on his cut and climbs on his bike.
“Sasha and her friend were having lunch and started getting hassled by some dicks with cameras,” he explains. “We’re gonna go break up the party.”
“Sounds fun,” I tell him before I throw a leg over my shiny, new Harley Street Glide, ready to ride.
I owe Chase big time for being so cool with me in prison and then giving me and Gabriel a home after I got out. The Savage Kings MC is the first real family the two of us have ever had. Sure, Gabriel spent a few years in several foster homes; and although he doesn’t talk about them, I don’t think it was a very good experience for him. Hell, I have no idea how Gabe was even surviving when a private investigator was finally able to track him down in the streets of Charlotte.
Thankfully, while I was locked up, my brother met an older man named Tom Wright, who had his own tattoo shop, and the dude let Gabe apprentice with him. That’s how my brother was able to open up his shop in Emerald Isle when we both moved here to join the MC six years ago. I hate I couldn’t round up the money he needed to go to college and get his art degree or whatever, but I’m so fucking proud of him. Maybe I’m biased, but my brother is hands down the sickest fucking artist in the world. Not just with tattoos; he can draw damn near anything. He did the sleeve of black and white roses on my arm and the MC bearded skull patch on my back. He inks almost all of the guys in the MC. People even travel from out of state to get a Gabriel Cross tat.
My brother was born with an incredible talent, and I was born…big. That’s it. That’s the extent of my attributes. I’m a stubborn, hard-headed giant, but I can follow orders and wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in someone to protect one of my MC brothers. Especially Chase. He’s a good guy, and I’m glad that the angry bastard finally got his girl. The man practically floats on air now, and I don’t think any dude smiles as much as he does, even if that fear never leaves his eyes.
He’s not smiling when we back in our bikes into parking spots at the Sea Breeze pier restaurant and turn off the engines. And he’s not smiling as he pushes his way through the crowd of dickheads staring into one of the windows like they’re on a field trip at the damn zoo.
“What’s the matter with these people?” I grumble to Chase, who reaches the door to go inside a step before me.
“No fucking idea, but somehow Sasha has gotten herself involved,” he replies over his shoulder, which I translate to mean he’s gonna kick some ass if they don’t back the fuck up.
I’m still snickering to myself about how much fun it’ll be to see my boy throw down with the nerds with cameras when I glance around the dining room and see her turn around, stunning me so severely with her intense emerald eyes and red, flowing hair that I nearly stumble backwards.
Correction, it should be HER. The woman deserves to have the entire word capitalized because she’s that fucking important. I don’t know who the fuck SHE is, but everyone better get the fuck out of my way so I can find out.
And today must be my lucky day, or my boy must be appeasing my love of gingers, because Chase stops at HER table.
Jesus. The closer I get, the more stunning she is — all smooth, porcelain skin that glows and makes those big, green eyes and fiery hair stand out even more.
Conversations take place around me, but I can’t hear them. Chase says something. But nope, it doesn’t register. I don’t have a clue what’s being said, or what’s going on around us. I have perfect tunnel vision. I start to think my gawking is making HER uncomfortable because SHE keeps tilting her head back to look at me, and then quickly glancing away.
When Chase’s arm shoots into my field of vision and shakes her hand, I have to choke back my growl of jealousy because he’s being allowed to touch HER when I haven’t. Hell, someone as classy and perfect wouldn’t let my grungy hands ever come close to her. Still, a man can fantasize and jerk off to women way out of his league.
As soon as the goddess opens her mouth, I’m all ears.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Mercy.”
“Mercy?” I repeat aloud with a chuckle. “As in, Lord, please have Mercy on me?”
The beauty throws her head back and laughs like I’ve said the funniest fucking shit she’s ever heard. The sound is brief but lovely, like tinkling wind chimes on a calm day.
“Yes, just like that,” she answers. She hesitates a moment before she holds out her dainty hand in my direction, finally giving me permission to touch her. Since I can’t possibly shake it with my big mitt without breaking it, I gently slip my palm underneath and lower my lips to brush them over her delicate knuckles. When I lick my lips and taste the mango of her lotion or body wash, I nearly groan.
“Abe,” Chase mutters from beside me in a tone that says I need to get a fucking grip.
And hell, I know that I do. In all my life, I’ve never kissed a woman’s knuckles, not just because it looks like a cheesy fucking come-on, but because in the Savage Kings MC culture, it means I’m giving her a higher status than myself, a King. Only old ladies deserve that much respect, not a woman I just met.
“So, your name is Abe?” Mercy asks me, making my eyes nearly roll back in my head from jus
t the sound of my name coming from her lips. I also realize I’m still touching her. “It’s nice to meet you,” she adds before withdrawing her hand from mine. The woman probably can’t wait to go wash off my germs. “Thanks for rescuing us from the rabid paps outside,” she says with a nod of her red head toward the window. I look up and realize those fuckers are still gathered around and start to understand what a goldfish must feel like being in a bowl.
And at the word rescue, I can easily picture myself tossing Mercy over my shoulder and then carrying her out to my bike like a caveman. Would she then reward me for my heroism? My cock believes she would in my wettest dreams, so it gives a hardy nod of agreement.
“We have a basement entrance,” an older man with white hair says when he comes up to our table. “If Miss Daniels would like to sneak out that way. I do apologize for the intrusion on your meal.”
How does this random man know her last name? Why are the assholes with cameras following her? I mean, it’s entirely possible that she’s started a riot based on her beauty alone, but I’m guessing there’s another reason.
Obviously noticing my confused expression, Mercy says, “I was on a television show and have another one coming up. No biggie.”
The fact that there’s a mob waiting outside begs to differ with her modesty.
“Chase and I can go out the front and distract them while Abe takes Mercy through the basement,” Sasha suggests from the other side of the table. Wait a second. When did Chase’s old lady get here? Doesn’t matter. I fucking love that woman for making the suggestion that I take Mercy.
“Sounds good,” I tell her.
“Um, okay,” Mercy agrees.
“Abe, why don’t you take Mercy home on your bike, and Chase and I can follow in her car?” Sasha, the doll she is, adds, making me want to kiss her.
“That’s not really necessary,” Mercy says, trying to kill my dick’s hopes and dreams.
“With the helmet on, they probably won’t even know it’s you,” Sasha points out. “If you get in your car right now, someone could follow you home…”
“Ugh. That’s true,” Mercy agrees as she blows out a frustrated breath. “And I’ve been able to keep the address of my rental house a secret by leaving it in the landlord’s name. It would suck to have them start smothering me there too.”
“Hand me your car keys, girl, and let’s get out of here,” Sasha tells her as she holds out her hand, palm facing up in expectation.
A few moments pass where Mercy considers her options before she finally grabs up her purse and pulls out a set of keys. Handing them over to Sasha, she says, “I still drive a silver BMW, and I’ll text you the address.” She reaches for her phone next and starts typing.
“Got it,” Sasha replies with a nod. “I’ll drop it off, and then Chase can bring me back here on his bike to get my car. Easy.”
As soon as I realize I’m nodding like a bobble head in agreement to this superb plan, I tense my neck to make it stop.
“You ever been on the back of a Harley before?” Sasha asks her friend as she puts down cash for the food on the table.
Mercy pushes the money away and adds her own before she answers. “No, I haven’t. Should I be worried?” She looks to Sasha, then to Chase and finally me.
They both tell her no at the same time I say with a straight face, “Yes. It’s incredibly dangerous. You should hold on to me like your life depends on it, because it very well may.”
“Right,” Mercy replies with a grin.
She then gets to her feet so that she’s standing inches away from me, drowning me in her sweet, mango scent. She’s taller than I expected, but still it’s impossible to notice how much bigger I am than she is. I have at least eight inches on her and over a hundred pounds. Not looking the least bit intimidated, though, she cranes her neck up to say, “Let’s go, big guy.”
Chapter Three
Mercy
Sasha and Chase’s distraction works out perfectly. The giant in leather and I are able to sneak out through the basement entry. There were steps that go straight down between the tall slants holding the building up and to the sand dunes underneath. Not a single soul has noticed that we’re on the way to the parking lot, assuming instead that I’m still inside.
And while I may not know this tough looking man that I’m leaving with, Sasha does; and I’m getting a good vibe from him. He’s incredibly hot, the biggest, most muscular man I’ve ever met. Towering nearly a foot above my five-foot-eight height, his thick biceps straining against the fabric of his black tee under his leather cut look strong enough to lift a compact car. His chest is noticeably rock hard and massive before leading down to a lean waist. The jeans he’s wearing are loose on his long legs but tight around his…package, accentuating that area nicely. Believe me, I got a nice long look since his crotch was eye-level while I was sitting at the table.
Abe is not my type at all since I prefer clean-cut guys. But I can admit that his thick, black beard that’s long enough to tug on and the ink covering his entire right arm is bad boy sexy. Heck, every single inch of him is tough and ruggedly sexy. Although, it’s very possible that my hormones are just so excited to be this close to an available male for the first time in over a year that they’ve put blinders over my eyes.
Wait a second. Is Abe available? Not that it even matters, because he’s definitely not my type.
Still, when we get to Abe’s bike, he places a helmet on my head and I take the opportunity to look for a ring that says he’s taken, but don’t find one.
I’m starting to think that, despite her assurances, Sasha is trying to play matchmaker because she thinks I need to get back in the saddle. And yes, I do agree, which is why I signed the contract for Queen of Hearts. But the guys on the show are open to a serious relationship while I’m certain that the big, bad biker in front of me is only looking for a pair of open legs, the more the merrier. And my crushed heart doesn’t need to sustain any more damage.
Abe’s large, slightly clumsy hands fight with the narrow chin strap to get it fastened on me.
“Since this is my first ride, will you take it slow for me?” I ask him as he works.
He gives a deep, rumbling chuckle before he answers. “This bike couldn’t go slow if I wanted it to,” he informs me. “But I’ll keep you safe,” he assures me before a long pause. One where his dark, nearly black eyes stare off into the distance as if he just had an important thought.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Just realized why Chase is such a pussy,” he says with a shake of his head.
“Oh-kay,” I mutter since I have no idea what that means, and I’m definitely not used to being around men with potty mouths. My mother would slap a man for using such a vile word in front of her.
“There,” Abe tells me with a heavy sigh when the chin strap is secure. “Now hop on, Little Red, and we’ll get out of here.”
“Little Red?” I repeat with a grin.
“Yeah, as in Riding Hood,” he clarifies as if it were obvious. “You’re Little Red, and clearly I’m the Big Bad Wolf.”
“Of course,” I agree with a widening smile because he’s too cute. Enormous and scary looking with his tats, black beard and leather, but still strangely enough, cute, especially when he opens his mouth. I’m not sure if I could ever predict what might come out.
I’ll probably giggle for days whenever I think about his first words to me.
“Mercy?” he had asked in surprise when I introduced myself. “As in, Lord please have Mercy on me?”
All my life I’ve heard several versions of that particular joke, intending to be innuendo, but it was the way Abe said it, like the phrase was exactly what his dirty mind had been thinking before he learned my name.
After I figure out how to get one of my strappy heels over the seat and get situated on the bike, I tuck my navy-blue dress underneath my butt, glad that it’s a longish style that comes down to my calves. Abe pulls out another half-helmet from the
saddle bag. Taking my purse from my hand, he places it inside the compartment. As soon as he gets his helmet in place, he throws his long leg over the seat so fast and efficiently that it looks like he’s done it a million times before. And it is hot. The bearded skull patch under the words “Savage Kings” just inches away from my face is a little terrifying, though.
“Now what?” I ask him.
Abe looks over his shoulder at me with a thick eyebrow raised before he says, “You’re gonna have to come closer than that, Red.”
“How close?” I ask.
“Keep coming and I’ll tell you when,” he replies.
I scoot toward him a few inches but apparently not enough.
“Keep coming,” his gruff voice demands of me while his dark gaze simultaneously rakes upward from my crotch straddling the seat to my eyes. A shiver runs through my entire body at the sound of his voice or from the heat of his stare, maybe even the masculine smell of his leather and sweat mixing together now that I’m so close to him my thighs are nearly hugging his waist.
“Put your arms around my waist and lock them tight,” Abe directs before he looks away.
The guy is so big that, in order for my hands to meet, I’ll have to press the side of my face into his back.
“You sure?” I ask him. “I mean, couldn’t I just put my hands on the side of the bike like this?” I demonstrate the move for him.
Abe barely spares me a glance before he answers. “Sure, you could,” he agrees, making me exhale in relief. “If you want to fall off.”
Crap.
Pushing past the awkwardness of hugging a man I just met from behind, I scoot forward again and put my arms around his waist to get it over with, clasping my right hand over my left.
Holy…wow! I wasn’t expecting his stomach to feel so hard and warm underneath my left hand. As if he thinks he needs to impress me even more, I feel those washboard ab muscles suddenly tighten underneath my fingertips, causing a tightening in my own lower belly that I haven’t felt in a very long time.
