by Jaci J
The thought thrills me and makes me feel sick.
T nods, his face still grimly blank. “Victor’s not there.”
“How do you know?”
“Got eyes on him now. Wouldn’t send you in if he was.” I nod. “Need you to go in there, get into his office. Put in a mic and grab whatever you can, anything that looks important. You have to do this. I would if I could, but you won’t look out of place there. I will. I want this shit to stop, and I can’t bring it to the club without evidence. Wouldn’t ask you to do this if I could fucking do it myself, baby, but…” He sighs heavily, dragging a hand down his face. “Fuck, I need you, Bailey. Need your help.”
“I can get in through the back door, the employee entrance. I still have my key. That way, security out front won’t see me,” is all I say. It’s a yes without the words.
_______________
I never thought I’d be back here. After the last week, I resigned myself to the fact that I was done stripping, done walking through this door.
Being back inside The Pink Cat pulls on something in my chest, the feeling good and bad. It’s like leaving a bad relationship, you’re mourning what could have been while celebrating what’s to come.
The back hallway is empty, the sounds from the main floor rolling down the hall toward me, filling the emptiness around me.
I try Victor’s door handle.
It’s locked.
Shit.
In the hall, I look around me.
Nothing.
I’m failing before I’ve even started.
I contemplate ramming the door, maybe kicking it with my boot, but know that’s not going to work. I’m tough, but not that tough.
Walking toward the exit, unsure of what to do, I remember a fire extinguisher in the dresser next to the door, sitting on the floor.
Turning back around, I walk into the dressing room and run directly into Stormi. I’m hit with crippling guilt, the feeling sitting directly on my chest as I look at her.
“Bailey!” she squeaks, surprised. “What are you doing here?” she asks, looking around, confused.
I don’t know if it’s the look on my face or what she sees reflected in my eyes, but she nods, understanding without me opening my mouth. “Never saw you. But expect a call from me soon and a lunch date after that,” she says before she walks off, smiling at me from over her shoulder.
“Stormi,” I call out.
She stops and looks at me.
“Pick a loud song next, okay? Please?”
Stormi winks, and I mouth a huge “thank you” before watching her walk away.
Pressure lifts from my chest and I can breathe again.
Grabbing the fire extinguisher, I walk to the door, looking around before walking back out into the hall.
Standing in front of Victor’s door, I raise the red metal container above my head and bring it down as hard and as quick as possible, the bottom hitting the knob, jostling it just enough to make the lock pop.
I refrain from cheering, proud of my damn self.
Putting the extinguisher on the ground, I push my shoulder into the door as I twist the knob and shove against it.
The door swings open.
I waste no time.
Pulling the small wireless mic T gave me from my pocket, I put high on a shelf, wedged between books before heading to his desk.
Opening drawers and thumbing through stacks of paper, I settle on a few things: a book full of names, addresses, and numbers, a file full of receipts, and a set of keys.
Stuffing the shit under my sweatshirt, I walk out, leaving The Pink Cat for good.
31
T
ON THE FOOT of the bed, tossed at the end, is my cut. The leather old and worn, my patches starting to fade from the sun and wear. My top rocker, my club, my family. The bottom rocker, my home, where I lay my head at night. My middle patch, everything I fucking stand for, everything I fucking earned in this life. The Hell’s Disciples—my blood, my family, my home.
My first fucking love.
Lying in my bed, wrapped up in my sheets and wearing my tee, Bailey stretches, the sheet pulling away from her smooth skin. I look at her body, from the top of her head and all that long dark hair, down her slim neck to her shoulders. From her curvy thick hips down to her round ass, her toned thighs and long legs, all the way to the black polish on each of her fucking toes. She’s perfect. Through the crazy, the wild, the lies, the drama, the fucking attitude.
My last fucking love.
I don’t know who the fuck I am anymore.
I wear the cut, I ride the bike, I belong to the club, but it’s not who I am anymore, not solely.
The Hell’s Disciples aren’t my only reason anymore.
The idea is fucking scary.
I’ve lived for the brotherhood, the blood, and the bike. I’ve lived for the wild parties, the fast money, and the quick highs. I’ve lived for my club. I’ve lived for myself.
It seems like I’m living for something else now.
An ache builds in my chest and I rub at the pain.
Fuck.
Looking at her makes it hard to fucking breathe.
I’m losing touch, losing my edge, losing my goddamn mind.
Needing some air, I leave Bailey in my bed, my cut at her feet, and walk outside to find Rocky standing there.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he huffs, lingering on the porch, looking at me when I walk out.
Pulling the door closed, I look at him. “Why the fuck you think something’s wrong with me?”
“Known you a long time. You’re making a face like you caught a boot to the sack.”
I’m sure this makes me some type of bitch, and there’s a good chance Rock will take my fucking man card away, but I ask, “You ever plan on marrying El?”
He shakes his head, sitting in one of the plastic chairs outside of my room. “This shit makes a little more sense now,” he muses, patting the stack of shit Bailey snagged from Victor’s office.
“What makes fucking sense?”
“You doing this shit behind the club’s back. Didn’t understand it fully until you asked that question. You’re serious about her?”
“Yeah, I’m fucking serious about her.”
“Can’t blame me for questioning shit. You’re not known for your long-term relationships and shit, man.”
He’s not wrong.
I like women. I like one in every fucking flavor for every day of the week, but I wasn’t into repeats.
I don’t know if it’s the chase.
I don’t know if it’s the feeling.
I don’t know if it’s the way she looks at me.
But Bailey is different.
She has been since the beginning. Since the moment I laid eyes on her.
The bitch pushes my buttons, makes me question my sanity and works my last goddamn nerve, but I can’t imagine myself without her now that I’ve had her. I can’t imagine not seeing those dark eyes, can’t imagine not feeling her skin or hearing her voice.
She’s changing me.
“Shit’s different this time.”
Rock nods, getting it. The motherfucker loves El. He always has.
“Clearly. You’re pulling shit you usually wouldn’t.”
“Like?”
“Doing this shit behind the club’s back.”
“You think if I come to the club with just accusations and shit after what happened out in the lot the night of my old man’s birthday, that they’re going to take me seriously? That they’re gonna drop everything and go in hard? The club just thinks I’m fucked in the head over Bailey and looking for reasons to take Victor down for touching her.”
“Are you?” he questions.
“Am I what?”
“Just fucked in the head over her?”
“You think I’m just making this shit up? Blowing smoke? I saw that goddamn rusted out truck in their warehouse, same truck that was on surveillance out front, taking shots.
Heard it from the Riders. Yeah, the Russians are looking to fuck me back because I fucked their game, but this doesn’t have fuck all to do with Bailey and everything to do with me.” I hear my voice getting louder, the anger wrapping around my neck, strangling me.
I’ve never gone against my club.
Never done shit other than what was asked of me.
But this time, I’m going to do shit a little different.
“Don’t think that. Just worried about where your head’s at.”
“Where’s it at?”
“On her. Need it on the club, brother.”
“Always,” I grunt, pulling out a smoke.
“Is it?”
Fuck.
“Is yours?”
“Fuck no. But the club knows that. They know El is my old lady. They know my shit is split. You? They’re expecting you to be in one hundred percent.”
“I’m one hundred for both.”
“Are you?”
“Yeah, I fucking am.”
“Suggest something?”
Taking a drag from my smoke, I nod.
“Before you make any more moves, make sure she’s one hundred.”
Fuck.
BAILEY
“Get up, baby. We’re leaving.”
His short, clipped words wake me up.
“What’s wrong?” I yawn, sitting up in his bed.
“We’re leaving. Get dressed.”
T grabs my bag off the chair, stuffing my sweatshirt into it before handing it to me.
Not even out of the bed, I stare at him, blinking a couple of times. “What’s wrong?”
I watch his jaw tick, the muscles tightening under his tan skin. “Not a goddamn thing, Doll Face,” he tells me. I know he’s lying to me. “Get up. Put something on that’ll keep you warm because we’re leaving.”
I don’t push.
I don’t prod.
I do what I’m told.
Looking at T’s face tells me all I need to know—don’t test him.
Throwing on a pair of black jeans, I knot T’s shirt to fit me better, and then toss on a jean jacket before sliding on a pair of Chucks and following him out the door, my hand in his as he pulls me after him. Passing, I try to grab the door to close it but miss, leaving it wide open.
“The door—”
“Fuck the door,” he bites out, walking me through the gravel lot.
Walking past a couple of the guys, a woman steps out of the group and walks toward T.
She looks vaguely familiar.
Wearing a pair of skintight leather pants and a string bikini like some rocker chic. “Baby,” she murmurs, her voice smooth and sweet. “I was looking for you.”
“Don’t have time for you,” T growls, his hand tightening around mine.
“No?” She laughs. “Since when?”
“Since I stopped fucking you eight goddamn months ago.”
“T,” she pleads, her voice softening.
“Keep fucking moving, bitch.”
She looks like he slapped her. Her wide eyes dart to me, like it was me that hit her.
Bitch.
I feel less bad for her the more she keeps talking.
“She got something to do with it?” the girl spits, following after us, her eyes raking down my body, sizing me up. “Huh, T? She the reason you’re not answering my calls and shit? She the reason?”
She.
That one word.
That fucking pronoun.
Pulling my hand from T’s, I do something I haven’t done since high school. I haul off and sock the bitch. My fist hits her cheek with enough force to knock her on her ass, all before T has a chance to react.
The skinny blonde lands on the dirt with a thud, her hand gripping her cheek. “What the fuck, you crazy bitch!” she shrieks, staring up at me.
Her voice attracts the attention from the group of men she’d just left.
They wander toward us, all chuckling when they see her on her ass in the dirt.
“Baby,” T chuckles, grabbing my hand. “The fuck you doin’? You’re gonna hurt your hand,” he tells me, holding my hand in his and tucking my thumb under my other fingers. “Next time, don’t tuck your thumb.”
“T!” the girl whines, holding her hand out. “What the fuck! You better take care of that bitch or I will!”
He says nothing before he turns and walks away, taking me with him.
Putting my ass one his bike, he leans down, his arms on either side of me, trapping me against the seat.
“You fucking hauled off and hit that bitch.”
“And?” I ask, chin up and out.
“You’re fucking crazy, Doll.”
“Apparently, I have a lot of pent-up anger, and I blame you”
“You’re not the only one who blames me, beautiful. Damn near knocked her out, though.”
“Are you mad?” I ask, batting my lashes.
He chuckles, grabbing my jaw in his large calloused hand, tipping my head back to look up at him. “No, baby, I’m not mad. Couldn’t give a shit less actually.”
“If I hit you, will you be mad at me?” I ask sweetly, fighting the smile tugging at my lips.
Shaking his head, he kisses me roughly. “Let me do something to piss you off first, then you can put me on my ass, yeah?”
“Okay,” I sigh, loving the way the stubble on his chin and cheeks rubs against my face.
“You ready?”
32
T
SLEEPING IN THE front seat of my truck, her head resting against my shoulder, I resist the urge to wake her up.
It’s two in the morning.
She’s tired.
But fuck, I just want to hear her voice suddenly. I want to hear her tell me that all this shit will be worth it. I want to hear her say she’s fucking in and that she loves me. I want her to tell this isn’t all for nothing.
Rock planted a seed and that shit has grown, infecting my brain.
Is she in this one hundred percent?
Is she in this like I am?
My hand on her thigh, I squeeze, my fingers tightening. “Bailey.”
“Mmm?” she murmurs, her voice soft, filled with sleep.
“We’re almost there.”
“Good,” she yawns, her head remaining on my shoulder.
Fuck, do I want to ask more, but I leave her be. I let her sleep, my eyes on the dark highway in front of me.
_______________
An hour later, we’re pulling off the highway, the truck lurching to the side when the tires hit the old pothole filled gravel road.
Bailey jerks awake.
Blinking slowly, she looks at me. “Where are we?”
“The beach,” I tell her, pulling down the long driveway and throwing my truck in park.
“Why?”
Pushing open the door, I get out, holding it open and nodding for her to do the same. Sliding toward me, her feet dangling from the side of the truck, she takes my hand and I help her out. Standing between me and the truck, she looks up at me, all five foot five of her dwarfed by my frame. Looking at her brings out some primal protective instinct. I know I’d kill for her. I know I’d fucking die for her. I know I fucking love her.
That shit is scarier. Scarier than anything I’ve ever lived through.
“Wanted you alone.”
Her eyes grow soft. “Had me alone at the club.”
“No one can hear you screamin’ out here.”
“Planning on making me scream?”
“Only if I’m doing it right.”
She laughs. “It’s cold out here.”
“It’s fall.”
“I know.”
“Then why the fuck you just standing out here.”
Rolling her dangerously dark eyes, she purses her lips. “Could be because you’re standing in front of me.”
I step aside, letting her pass.
We’re at my grandparent’s house, a place that’s been in the family for seventy-something years. A sma
ll A-frame on the Pacific Coast. It’s tucked back into the rocky shoreline, hidden behind the pines and between the dunes. The place is a fucking shack. Nothing but two rooms and a bathroom, but we’re not here for the house, we’re here for the view.
“It’s beautiful,” Bailey sighs contentedly, walking down the winding path toward the front door.
“It’s a piece of shit.”
“It’s the view, though.”
“It’s the view, though,” I agree, following her.
Unlocking the door, I hold it open for her and watch as her eyes widen. The other side of the cabin, the one facing the ocean, is nothing but windows, and Bailey is fucking awestruck.
I like the look on her face.
“I’ve never seen a view like this,” she tells me, looking over her shoulder as she walks to the windows. I watch her stand at them, both hands pressed against the glass. “It’s endless.”
“It’s cold.”
“How cold?”
“High forties.”
Turning around, leaning back against the window, Bailey gives me a sly little smile, and I know exactly what she’s going to say before she says it. “Wanna go skinny dipping?”
“Got a better idea.”
I leave our bags on the floor and take her hand, leading her down the small hallway.
“Sex in the bathroom?” she teases when I stop at the door.
In the corner, in front of a set of large French doors, is an old clawfoot tub. Dinged and dented, it’s been here for years, something my grandpa hauled up here for my grandma years ago. He put the fucker right in front of the doors, right in front of the best view in the place.
“You wanna skinny dip, you do it in there.”
Bailey looks up at me, her eyes dancing. Without breaking her stare, she pulls off her jacket, and then goes for her jeans.
“Want me to fill the bath for you?” I chuckle, watching her pull at her shirt next.
“You’re not already?” she giggles, getting naked for me.
BAILEY
My skin is pink, my muscles are relaxed, and my body is floating. Soaking in a tub, both doors open to the cedar deck overlooking the ocean, I inhale the smell of salty clean air, letting my head fall back onto the rim of the tub.
I’ve never been more relaxed.
I’ve never been more in love.
T’s standing a few feet away, across from me, his back leaning against the deck railing as he takes a drag from his blunt.
