Dirty Mother (The Uncertain Saints MC Book 5)

by Lani Lynn Vale

  Something had caused it to part.

  Then I saw the beard…and the tattoo on the hand that was crossed over one giant arm.

  And that shaggy, needed-to-be-cut-two-months-ago hair.

  “Shit,” I said to no one in particular.

  My eyes went down to the ground, and in the process, I caught my first look at James’ hand.

  “Your hand’s in a cast,” I said to him.

  James snorted.

  “Yeah, got that lovely little diddy last night, too,” he said. “I’ve never, not in my life, broken a bone. Then last night happens. It hurt like a bitch, too. Who’s that man coming towards you?”

  I licked my lips.

  “My brother’s coworker…and the man I have a major crush on,” I whispered.

  I didn’t know why I was whispering.

  But with the way Ridley was coming at me, I felt it was warranted.

  I didn’t want him to hear what I had to say.

  It seemed so juvenile of a thing to say, and I didn’t want him to know.

  It was just a crush, and I was sure I’d grow out of it.

  Several people stopped Ridley before he could actually get past the line that separated the crowd from the competitors, but he brushed past each one with a few words.

  “He looks kind of rough,” James observed.

  I took in Ridley’s attire.

  He was rough.

  Or at least he looked it.

  He was wearing faded blue jeans that had holes in the pockets from where whatever he’d been carrying in them had worn through the denim.

  I could see part of the red underwear that he was wearing beneath his jeans, making my mouth water.

  Then there was the black shirt and his cut over the top of it.

  To finish off the ensemble he had on a pair of black boots and a red ball cap that declared him a Texas Rangers’ fan.

  “He’s had better days,” I agreed, knowing that to be a fact.

  He would have had to have driven all the way from the prison, which was two hours past Kilgore. Then he’d had to drive all the way down to Houston, which added another five hours onto his drive.

  Add into the fact that he’d just gotten out of prison the day before and that was the very definition of a long day.

  I guess I should be lucky he’d at least taken the time to change.

  “You did good, you know,” James continued as he watched Ridley prowl towards him like he’d taken his favorite bone straight out of his hands.

  “Thank you,” I replied softly. “It was luck.”

  “No,” James said. “It was skill. We’ve been telling you that for a very long time.”

  I shrugged, not wanting to get into it with him.

  “Do you think you can take my rifle to your place and store it for me for a couple of days?” I asked him.

  He stared at me for a few long moments, then nodded abruptly.

  “You’re ever in trouble and you need my help, you know where to find me,” he ordered.

  And it was an order, not an offer.

  Men like Ridley and James, they didn’t say the things they did for shits and giggles. They said them because they expected to be obeyed.

  “Got it,” I nodded, walking to my gun and getting it unloaded and into its case.

  My brother had a heavy-duty case for his sniper rifle.

  He’d been shooting competitively for a very long time and had started when he was younger and had just joined the military.

  The bug had struck him, and even though he’d left the military four short years after he’d gotten in, he’d kept up with the long distance shooting he’d grown to love.

  He and James shared their love of long-distance shooting by competing, and that’s how I eventually met him.

  James had shared quite a bit of knowledge with the both of us, and he’d been there just as much as my brother and I had.

  I hadn’t shot with my brother because I enjoyed it like he had.

  I shot with him because it gave me the chance to share in something my brother was passionate about with him.

  When you love someone, you do what they like to do because you want to experience their joy, and that’s what I’d done with Corey.

  I’d experienced joy after joy with him, and didn’t regret a single thing about all the hours I’d had to put in with him at the shooting range.

  “You got my number, right?” James asked.

  Ridley was only a scant few feet away when he asked, and I could tell Ridley had heard.

  “Yes,” I said in exasperation. “You know I have it.”

  And he did.

  James had my number just as I had his.

  I had his wife’s number.

  And his daughter’s number.

  It wasn’t out of the ordinary that we spent time with each other.

  Hell, once a month I had a book club meeting with Shiloh and about ten other ladies at a coffee house in town.

  James had said it because he wanted Ridley to know I had backup if I needed it.

  And Ridley realized it, acknowledged it with a nod, and offered his hand.

  “Ridley Walker,” he introduced himself.

  James took his hand.

  “James Allen,” he shook Ridley’s hand.

  “Know who you are,” he replied, not blinking an eye at James’ battered face.

  James smiled.

  “I know who you are, too.”

  Ridley shrugged and turned his eyes on me.

  “That was amazing,” he informed me without preamble.

  A blush started to climb up my face.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  His eyes took in the blush, and he grinned.

  “Never expected that out of you,” he said. “You’re such a tiny little thing.”

  I bared my teeth at him and James laughed.

  “Gotta go,” he patted my shoulder with his uninjured hand, then picked up my rifle and carried it off without another word.

  Ridley didn’t say another thing until James had made it back to his wife, but his eyes said more than his words could ever convey.

  “What?” I asked softly.

  “How’d you get here?” he asked.

  I raised a brow at him.

  “I rode with someone,” I lied.

  I rode on the bus.

  But he didn’t need to know that.

  Luckily, I’d been able to get a hold of Shiloh before I’d left, knowing that she would be getting here later in the day with James once he got off shift.

  She’d taken the rifle for me so I didn’t have to do some clever explaining to the bus driver.

  “You rode the bus,” he challenged.

  I narrowed my eyes at him.

  “If you already knew,” I wondered, “then why’d you ask?”

  “Because I wanted to know why the hell a woman would take a bus all the way here if she had a car,” he growled by way of explanation.

  I sighed and rubbed my eyes with my hands.

  I didn’t really want to get into that right then.

  In fact, I just wanted to go home.

  “Speaking of buses,” I said, picking up my purse, “I have to go take a few pictures, and my bus leaves within an hour.”

  I tried to skirt around Ridley, but he grabbed me by the shoulders before I could even get a step past him.

  “Why are you running?” he asked.

  Because I made a fool of myself, I thought.

  What I said, however, wasn’t anywhere close to the truth.

  “I’ve got to go home and work,” I told him.

  And in truth, I did.

  I’d called in sick today, citing a headache.

  I hadn’t really thought it all the way through at the time, otherwise I would’ve realized that calling in sick then going to a nationally publicized competition that was the biggest in the state wasn’t the smartest t
hing to do.

  But whatever, that was neither here nor there.

  I had a lot bigger fish to fry at this moment in time, than my boss.

  “You don’t work until tomorrow,” he said. “You called in sick, remember?”

  I ground my teeth together.

  “Is there anything else you would like to answer for me?” I asked him. “How about what color my underwear is? Or whether or not I’m hungry?”

  Ridley narrowed his eyes.

  “Check the attitude,” he said. “You scared me.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  He pulled me forward until my body was almost pressed up against his.

  Our mouths were less than six inches apart, and if either one of us put forth the least bit of effort, our mouths would be touching.

  “Because your house was a freakin’ mess. You threw a wall-eyed fit to see me yesterday. I tell you to go home and wait for me, and when I get there you’re gone. Your house has been tossed. Your gun safe was emptied. What else was I supposed to think?” he growled.

  I absentmindedly started stroking my hand up and down his bicep, staring at him apologetically.

  “My house was tossed by me,” I said. “I was looking for a check that I’d meant to deposit last week, and couldn’t find it.”

  Not completely true, but close.

  I’d actually been looking for the flyer about the competition.

  The invitation that was extended to my brother.

  This event was one of the elite. Only the best of the best came, and I was still on cloud nine that they even allowed me to enter.

  Whatever the reason, I was grateful.

  With the check that I’d be getting in less than ten minutes, it’d be enough to pay off my mortgage and Corey’s mortgage with ease.

  Except my hopes were dashed moments later when that huge fake—the real one to be coming in the mail in a few short weeks according to the officials—check, the size of a small house, was presented to me, and pictures started to flash in front of my face.

  “Well congratulations, Colette Capone,” the host of the event, Mark Suchha, said with enthusiasm. “This is the first for us to have a female winner, and I can’t say that I’ve ever been more pleased.”

  I tried not to grimace at the use of my name.

  I hated it.

  I hated even more that my father had given me that name because he was so saddened by life’s outcome.

  The coordinator gave me the huge check as we all posed for pictures.

  My eyes darted to the side where Ridley was staring at me from behind the photographer.

  His eyes were blank as they studied the commotion.

  My gaze snapped back to the coordinator as he started talking about my brother, and how he’d won the competition last year.

  That was when I realized I was on TV.

  Fucking wonderful.

  “Was that why you decided to come to this event, Ms. Capone?” the reporter asked.

  She had really big hair, almost as if she were stuck in the 80’s.

  “Yes,” I lied. “That’s exactly why I came. In my brother’s memory.”

  In all actuality, I came because Craddock had somehow slipped his dirty fingers into my pies, trying to ruin everything that I held dear.

  And I would do anything to make it so that would never happen.

  Craddock could kiss my ass.

  ***

  I stared at Ridley’s bike.

  “I’m not getting on that,” I denied forcefully.

  I hadn’t been on a motorcycle since I was a teenager, and dumb enough not to realize how badly I could be hurt if I got on one and an accident were to have occurred.

  “You already missed your bus,” he pointed out, sounding almost cheerful about that fact.

  I glared at him.

  “I know,” I said.

  It had been his fault, too.

  He’d held me up talking to a few of the members of his club that rode down with him, and I’d let time get away from me.

  So, I’d missed the bus, and now I had no other option but to ride with him or wait for the next bus. Which wasn’t until tomorrow at two in the afternoon.

  I couldn’t wait that long, either.

  Gritting my teeth, I held out my hand for him to hold on to, then I mounted the bike behind him.

  And I got a good look at the patch on his back.

  The Uncertain Saints lettering was curved along the top of the top curvy patch. In the middle was a grim reaper, and on the bottom it said Uncertain, TX.

  My belly clenched as I read those words.

  A long ago memory of my brother and me talking after one of our many fights about him riding a motorcycle had centered on The Uncertain Saints MC.

  Mainly, my brother had been considering joining their club, and I kind of lost control.

  I wouldn’t say it was one of my finest moments.

  Now, I wished I could take back all the ugly things I’d said about The Uncertain Saints.

  Now that I knew Ridley, anyway.

  I’d only known Griffin, Wolf and Peek for about two hours now.

  I could only go by what I’d learned over these last couple of hours, but impress me they did.

  “You’re going to have to get closer to me,” Ridley said, his voice rumbling softly.

  I scooted forward until my thighs were just barely touching the outside of his thighs and ass.

  He chuckled.

  “More,” he said. “You can get further away once you’ve learned how to lean with me. Until then, I need you plastered to my back. Your crotch up against my ass.”

  I licked my lips and scooted forward more, not stopping until there was nothing left between us but our clothes.

  “Better,” he said. “Just hang on.”

  I nodded, pressing my face against his leather vest.

  It was rough against my skin, making me yearn for his bare skin against mine.

  Things started to throb to life…things that hadn’t had any life to them in a very long time.

  And then he started the bike.

  I moaned and closed my eyes, the vibrations ripping through my body like live wires.

  Everything tingled.

  “God,” I whispered.

  “What was that?” Ridley yelled.

  I felt his growly voice as well as heard it, making me shiver.

  “You didn’t give me a helmet!” I lied through my teeth.

  He reached forward and pulled his helmet off his gas tank, handing it to me without another word.

  I took it and strapped it on, but I fumbled the buckles one too many times, causing Peek, who was still standing next to his bike, to come over to me and fix the straps with smooth, practiced movements.

  “Thank you!” I yelled over the roar of the engine once he was finished.

  Peek smiled, making me tremble.

  He was older, yes, but he was still handsome.

  “You’re welcome, girl,” he said.

  And that Irish accent of his did funny things to my hoo-ha too. Not anything like Ridley’s words did to me, but still effective enough that I was very aware of how nice the vibration of the bike felt against my body.

  Ridley’s hand on my thigh had me turning to him.

  His face was turned to the side, and he was studying my interaction with Peek.

  I bit my lip so he wouldn’t see me smile.

  He was jealous.

  I could read that easily on his face.

  Then I frowned when I realized I’d taken his helmet.

  “You need a helmet, too,” I told him harshly.

  He shrugged.

  “I’ll stop on the way and get one,” he said unapologetically. “You can have mine until we get it.”

  I leaned forward slightly, pulling my phone from my back pocket as I did.

  Then I quickly Googled bike shops in Houston, finding one within tw
o miles of where we were currently located.

  “Here’s one,” I said, showing him the map.

  He snorted and yelled something at Peek I didn’t quite catch, then we were merging into traffic.

  My heart raced, pounding so hard that I wondered if Ridley could feel it.

  The bike accelerated and I tucked my chin down, resting my head against his broad back, right over the grim reaper patch.

  I watched traffic pass us by, breathing starting to come in shallow pants as adrenaline coursed through my veins.

  By the time we arrived at the Harley Shop, less than five minutes later, I was actually starting to enjoy the ride.

  Bikes pulled up next to us scant moments later, and I smiled at Peek who did nothing to hide the charming smile that graced his sexy face.

  Then Wolf came up behind me, drawing my attention to his dark and dangerous face.

  He really was beautiful.

  Way hotter than any man I’d ever seen before.

  But it was in a haunting, don’t get too close, kind of way.

  Ridley was sexy, sure. But Wolf was to die for.

  But he also gave off an ‘I’ll kill you’ vibe that I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.

  And the tattoos were really disconcerting.

  Not to mention he didn’t talk at all and happened to be Ridley’s best friend.

  Something I’d learned through our lengthy text message conversations over the last months.

  Ridley took my hand, capturing my attention once again, and pulled me into the store behind him, not letting me go the entire time.

  He headed straight for the helmets, completely ignoring the salesperson who’d given him a greeting upon entering the store.

  I waved at her, and she smiled politely at me.

  It was nothing like the smile she’d given Ridley when he’d entered the building, though.

  “Pick one,” Ridley ordered.

  My eyes roamed over the multiple helmets, automatically stopping on the most girly one there.

  It was black with hot pink swirls spanning the length of the helmet, and on top was neon pink spiked faux hair that was shaped into a Mohawk.

  Then I saw the price and blanched.

  My modest twenty-three dollars an hour wasn’t anything to sneeze at, but spending five hundred dollars on a helmet wasn’t something I could fathom.

  Instead I looked at the cheaper black helmets meant for women, finally choosing the one that was cheapest.