WHEELIE (Southside Skulls MC Romance Book 9)

by Jessie Cooke

“This is Bella,” Wheelie said. “My niece. Bella, this is Angel.”

  “You’re an angel?” Bella asked her in that innocent way only three-year-olds had.

  “Yep,” Dax said, putting his arm around Angel from behind. “She’s my angel.”

  Wheelie looked over at Bri, who was standing near the table where the barbecued feast had been set out. The club was having a celebration...of sorts. It was supposed to be Hawk’s welcome home from jail. He hadn’t made bail at the same time all the other guys did two months ago because he’d gotten into a fistfight the day Darwin and Angel were working to get them all released. The judge had refused to grant Hawk bail that day and he’d been sitting in county jail ever since. Dax had announced at church the day before that Darwin had finally gotten his case read by another judge and he was being released on bail at last. So far there was no sign of him, or the two prospects that had left early that morning to go to the Suffolk County Jail and pick him up...but the bikers were never ones to waste a good party.

  Wheelie watched Bri talk and laugh with Gunner and Tammy, and his chest swelled with more love than he ever knew he was capable of. He finally understood what Dax and Angel had, because he finally had it too. He’d learned so much from her, the main thing being that love isn’t about who you are, where you come from, or what the other person can do for you. It’s about loyalty and trust and being willing to lay your own life on the line for someone else, because you value them and their happiness more than your own.

  Bri had been his savior in so many ways. After he got out of jail he began to suspect that maybe she’d had something to do with her father’s decision to suddenly drop the murder charges against him. She denied it at first, but he was relentless and finally she admitted that she had, in her words, “simply reminded him that all he needed to do, in order to convince himself that no one was perfect, was look no further than his own back patio.” She had used a deep, dark family secret as a bargaining chip for Wheelie, giving him more proof that family was about so much more than blood and DNA.

  “Here,” Gunner said, walking over with a plate of barbecue chicken and potato salad. “Your old lady said to give this to you.” Bella climbed off his lap and Wheelie took the plate. Gunner reached down and ruffled Bella’s hair. She looked up at the tall, dark biker and said:

  “How do you make your hair like that?”

  Gunner held out one of his dreads and with a smile he said, “I don’t wash it.”

  “Ew!” She wrinkled her little nose and Gunner laughed.

  “Just kidding. I’d show you how to do yours like this, but I’m not sure your mama or your uncle would like it.”

  “Nope,” Wheelie said. “I like your pretty hair the way it is. Now sit down there and eat your lunch.” Bella climbed up in another chair and Wheelie handed her the plate. While she dug into her chicken with her fingers, Wheelie stood next to Gunner and said, “Where’s Hawk?”

  Gunner kind of half smiled and said, “He won’t be joining us, again.”

  “Why? Did something happen?” Wheelie had been out of town for a couple of days. Sylvia finally agreed to let him take Bella for a while, and he’d flown out to North Carolina to pick her up. He knew she was only letting him see the little girl for her own selfish reasons, but he didn’t care, as long as the end result was a relationship with his niece. His brother Chris was sitting in jail in New York after being picked up on a bail violation. Sylvia had found out during the past couple of months that most of their accounts were in his name only, and the ones that hadn’t been frozen by the authorities had already been mostly tapped out to pay his legal fees. Sylvia had to get a job, and finding someone to watch Bella while she looked for one was proving difficult. She didn’t do difficult, and Wheelie found it funny that he’d never realized that before either. When he thought back on it, he could see how she was always moving from one person to the next, whoever could make her life more comfortable. He worried about her moving on with another man too soon, but only because Bella’s well-being was at stake.

  He glanced at Bella and smiled. She was all the good parts of Sylvia, and even his brother, and she was as much of them as he needed. “What’s going on with Hawk?” he asked, returning his attention to Gunner.

  Gunner shook his head. “Stupid old man shanked one of the Blades on the yard yesterday.”

  “Oh, shit. Did he kill him?”

  “Nah, the guy got airlifted out of there, had a punctured lung. But Hawk won’t be coming home any time soon. They had to put him in protective custody to keep the rest of the Blades from killing him.”

  Wheelie didn’t know the full story between Hawk and Dax, but he knew there was something there...everyone did. Hawk was about the most unlikable person that Wheelie had ever met, and there was bad blood between him and Dax’s father for years when Dax was growing up. He would be the last person that any of them would suspect might sacrifice himself for the sake of Dax, the club, or anyone else. But it seemed like that was what he was trying to do. Maybe he was thankful after all that Dax hadn’t killed him, after Hawk had systematically destroyed the club and left it for the Skulls to rebuild. Something happened for Dax back then that made him want to keep Hawk close, but no one had ever figured out what it was. He was like an “honorary” member of the Skulls, present at every major meeting and along on most of the more important rides. He even handled a lot of the money that came in through the legitimate businesses the club owned in town. Nobody, except Dax and Hawk of course, knew what the old man had done to convince Dax he could be trusted...but no one questioned it either. If Dax trusted him, then the rest of them had to as well. It was that simple. And the way that Hawk had stepped up and taken responsibility for what was found in that tunnel on the ranch was evidence that Dax’s trust hadn’t been misplaced.

  “So, do you think he’s doing this stuff to keep from getting out?” Wheelie asked Gunner.

  “Yeah, I think he’s trying to do all he can to distract that FBI chick, keep her so occupied with him that she doesn’t have any energy left to focus on Dax and the rest of the club.”

  “You think it will work?”

  “Maybe a little. I mean, if he’s confessing to things and he actually has details she can’t really ignore it. I’m sure she knows there’s not too much that goes on out here...if anything...that Dax isn’t aware of. But proving that is going to be a bitch. Do you know she talked to each one of us that day we were all arrested and tried to offer us all kinds of shit to flip on Dax? She’s fucking crazy if she thinks that’ll ever happen.”

  “I never thought I’d say this, but I guess I feel kind of bad for old Hawk.”

  “Yeah,” Gunner said. “Me too.” He looked around again and then leaned in and said, “You didn’t hear this from me, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Hawk found out a few weeks ago that he’s going blind. He won’t be able to ride anymore...shit, he’s seventy years old, he won’t be able to do much of anything anymore. I think he found a way to get taken care of for the last days of his life...and help Dax out in the process.”

  “Wow.” It was more proof to Wheelie that you just never knew about people. When he looked back over at Bri, she was coming toward him with two plates in her hands. Two months into their relationship, a day hadn’t passed when they didn’t make love...or just flat-out have wild, unbridled sex at least once...sometimes twice...and on really good days, multiple times. She was smart and beautiful and funny...and fucking hot. He had no idea how he’d gotten so lucky, but he would die before he ever did anything to screw it up. He took one of the plates out of her hand and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, babe.”

  She smiled. “You’re welcome.” She looked at Bella. “How is it?” The little girl looked up with barbecue sauce all over her little face and smiled.

  “Good. I like using my hands.”

  Sabrina laughed. “I’m glad you like it,” she said. She dropped down into one of the lounge chairs and Wheelie took the one next t
o her. He leaned over and whispered in her ear:

  “I like using my hands too.”

  She giggled and said, “I’m glad you like it. I liked the way you used them this morning.”

  “Wait until you see what I have planned for tonight,” he told her with a smile. “And for the rest of your life.”

  He had his lips close to her ear and he felt her shudder. “The rest of my life, huh?”

  “If you’ll have me...” He lifted his head and looked at Bella and then all around them at the people he’d grown to love, trust, and wonder how he could ever live without and said, “If you don’t mind taking all of us because I’m beginning to understand that we come as a package deal.” Sabrina didn’t answer him with words, but the kiss she gave him said it all. He’d never been so happy, or so convinced that no matter what life threw at him, he could face it, as long as his family had his back.

  Excerpt from Jigsaw

  Chapter One

  He was freezing and his clothes were wet. He could feel his hair sticking to his face, frozen to it. He shivered and a ripple of pain tore through his body. It took a crazy amount of effort, but he was finally able to open his eyes. When he finally got them open, he was frustrated to realize it hadn't done him much good. He was surrounded by darkness, and quiet. The only sound he could hear was the stridor of his own breathing inside his head. He had the eerie feeling that he was trapped in some kind of void...but where? Where the fuck was he?

  He could feel that he was lying on his back, and whatever was underneath him was wet and spongy and colder than hell. There was something heavy laying on top of his right leg. He reached down to push it off but his hand slapped against something cold and hard, like metal. He managed to get a weak grip on it with his aching hand and tried to use it to help himself struggle upright. As soon as he did, a wave of dizziness and nausea assaulted him. Everything was spinning and he felt like he was going to throw up. He closed his eyes and fought it, and when he opened them again the dizziness had receded, slightly. He sat very still, listening for sounds and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The shape of what was laying on his leg began to emerge at last. It was a motorcycle, the back end of a Harley. At least he thought it was the back end. The metal and chrome were so mangled that it was hard to tell. He'd been in an accident, that much was apparent. Maybe someone was looking for him, or someone had called an ambulance?

  Just as he entertained that thought, a flash of light in the sky caught his eye. He looked up toward it and when he did, the quiet and stillness of the night was broken by the sound of a car approaching. There was a road above him, and as the car came around a sharp bend, the guardrail alongside it came into view. It was split wide open like something had barreled through it. That something must have been him. It was nothing short of a miracle that he was still alive. As the sound of the car disappeared and the eerie quiet returned, he felt even more discouraged. There was no way that someone in a car could see him from up there, even if it were daylight, and the road was at least twenty feet above him. A steep, rocky embankment and at least an acre of trees stood between him and it. Even without a crushed leg and in the daylight, that would be one hell of a climb.

  He looked around and tried to see through the trees on the other side, wondering if there was anything beyond them. The icy wind felt like tiny needles piercing his face and arms, and his ears and head were throbbing. He could feel soft tufts of snow fluttering around his head and, now that his eyes were used to the dark, he could see it sticking to the trees around him. He might not have known much at that point, but he did know he'd never survive a night in the woods in below freezing temperatures, a short-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. Where the hell was his coat, anyway? Who rides a motorcycle, at night, in the snow, without a coat? And, why wasn't he wearing gloves? Had he left wherever he came from so quickly that he hadn't had time to grab them? He wished he could remember, but he didn't have time for all that right then. He had to get this damned motorcycle off his leg and go find help. The rest, he could figure out later, if he survived.

  He wrapped his cold hands around an icy steel piece of the motorcycle, flinching when he felt it press down harder against his leg. His jeans were soaked with blood and his leg lay at an odd angle from the knee down. He tried to block that out while he pushed, pulled and tried to lift the heavy steel up so that he could pull his leg out. It was taking so long and he was working so hard that he was covered with sweat and he felt like he couldn't breathe. He wasn't sure if it was the cold or if he was choking on his own frustration. At one point he yelled out angrily into the trees, howling almost like a wounded animal. All that did was make the throbbing in his head worse.

  He almost gave up more than once, but at last he felt the excruciating pain shoot all the way up into his groin as he was able to move his leg enough to get it out from under the bike. The pain brought back the nausea and he felt like he was going to black out. He reached up and slapped at his own face, he'd be damned if he was going to pass out now that he was finally free. Now came the nasty business of trying to stand up on a leg that was twisted sideways. He had to roll onto his stomach, and the cold penetrated his shirt and gripped his chest tightly as he pushed up on his sore arms. He almost collapsed, laughing like a lunatic, at what seemed like hours later, when he was still doing push-ups and hadn't made any fucking headway. He finally crawled to the nearest tree, dragging that worthless leg behind him. The bark scratched and tore at his flesh as he held on tightly and shimmied himself up until he was standing on his one good leg. He was so proud of himself for being upright, that he almost forgot about his injury. He took a step and his leg gave out...right after a bolt of pain threatened to knock him out, and then he went down on his face. He lay there and felt like he might cry. The process of getting back up seemed too daunting to face, so he began to crawl.

  He crawled until his palms bled and then he'd find a tree, get up on his one good leg and he'd hop and hobble for a while. The pain was excruciating and the cold even worse, but his only other option was to lay down and die, and he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He pushed on and when the faint little light came into view, he wondered if he was imagining it. He stood still, gripping onto a tree and staring at it for a long time, waiting for it to disappear. When it didn't, he pushed forward again, this time with something to focus on and a tickle of hope.

  He couldn't have said how much time passed, but finally a house began to take shape in front of him. He had to duck through a barbed-wire fence to get to it, and the wire left deep scratches on the exposed parts of his body that weren't already open and bleeding. Still, he kept going. He could see the light up close now. It was a lamp in a small window on the bottom story, and it seemed to be the only light on in the house. There were six windows, and a balcony on the side of the house facing him, and in the center of the bottom windows was a narrow door, painted bright red.

  He hobbled up to the cement steps and standing at the bottom, he leaned his head into the door and slowly raised his fist. He let it drop onto the door a few times...and it barely made a sound. His muscles were so sore and tired and cold that they all wanted to refuse to work. He couldn't give up now though and freeze to death on someone's back porch. He lifted his head and raised his fist again, this time giving it everything he had as he slammed it into the wood. After four or five knocks the door was pulled open. At first glance he wondered if he had died along the way and this was heaven. The woman who stood at the door had on a nightshirt that barely came to the tops of her thighs. Her long, thick brown hair hung disheveled around her face and her lips and cheeks were flushed like she'd been sleeping...or having sex. He almost laughed at himself. He was all fucked up, but still happy that part of his anatomy seemed to be working.

  “Who are you?” she said, as another woman appeared behind her in the doorway. That one was hot too...but, she had a gun. He opened his mouth to try and say something, when the one with the gun said, “Kimber call Dax.”


  He was still trying to form words with his cold lips when a gray curtain seemed to descend all at once, and the last thing he heard as he fell forward was the sound of a woman's screams.

  When he woke up again, his first thought was that at least he was a hell of a lot more comfortable...and warm. He was still in pain, but his leg was wrapped tightly in something and the pressure helped. It was also propped up on something soft and his aching head was laying against a pillow. He pulled open his eyes and found himself looking up into the most intense blue ones that he'd ever seen.

  The eyes were looking out at him from the face of a man that didn't look happy about being pulled out of bed at whatever the fuck time it was. There was a deep crease between his brows, and he had to wonder if they would have cleaned him up and made him so comfortable if they planned on killing him.

  “You awake?” the man with the blue eyes asked. He opened his mouth to talk again, this time nothing came out because it was just so damned dry. The big, blonde man nodded at the angel who had answered the door. She had on a robe now, but she still looked just as hot. She held a cup near his lips with a straw sticking out of it and the big, blue-eyed man slipped a hand under his neck and lifted him up off the pillow. The woman put the straw to his lips and he sucked the cool, refreshing water into his mouth. It soothed his tongue and throat and he was disappointed when she pulled it away. The blue-eyed man seemed to still be waiting for an answer to his question, and although it was obvious, he said, “Yeah.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “I-I walked...”

  “From?”

  “I think—I was in an accident, I think...”

  “You think?”

  “I was—there was—a lot of trees, and a road way up over my head...the guardrail was broken...”

  The man with the blue eyes suddenly had a look of disbelief on his face. “I-95?” he asked. He may as well have been speaking a different language as far as the man in the bed was concerned. He didn't know what, or where I-95 was.