by Aiden Bates
I shook that thought away. I had no reason to think that Blade was any different than the rest of them. He had cornered me in Ballast and demanded I stay, without any regard to what I’d told him about needing to get on the road. Club guys always thought of themselves first. He wasn’t really concerned about me, he was just controlling the strangers in his territory.
But… What if Priest hadn’t been talking shit? What if this club actually was different, and could help me get away from the Viper’s Nest?
Dangerous thinking. The only person I could rely on was myself. The risk of letting the club guys find out my identity was too high.
In the bathroom mirror I checked the bruise on my jaw.
“What’s going on here?”
Blade’s voice echoed in my memory, as gentle as his fingertips as they ghosted across the bruise on my jaw. His closeness, the scent of his sandalwood cologne and the soft smell of aged, broken-in leather, had made my breath catch. He didn’t smell like dirt and blood like the guys from the Nest.
Oh, this was seriously dangerous thinking. I splashed cold water on my face to refocus.
My plan was this: Get coffee. Go to shop. Inspect engine myself in case Maverick was trying to hose me. If so, fix it myself. If not, find another vehicle and get the fuck out of Elkin Lake.
I packed my bag and left Ballast rehearsing my speech: Just because I drive a shitty car doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about engines, now let me see the gasket myself before I sue, and so on. This doubled as a good exercise to keep my mind on my real goal—getting to Los Angeles—and off my dick’s goal, which was ‘see Blade again.’
I crossed the empty barroom and opened the front door to make my escape.
Blade and two of his lackeys were waiting right outside the bar, casually leaning against their motorcycles, shooting the shit. Blade was in the middle of tying his dark hair into a bun, and his t-shirt rode up his muscled torso just enough to reveal a thin strip of smooth, olive skin, and a line of dark hair that disappeared into the waistband of his fitted jeans.
“You’re awake,” he mumbled around the hair tie he held in his mouth. A broad smile shone across his face, crinkling his eyes. “Morning, sunshine.”
I stood frozen in the open doorway.
His two enforcers glanced at each other, and then stepped a few paces away, digging out their phones and pretending to ignore us. Blade approached me slowly, like I was a spooked animal, and I gave him an annoyed look. I didn’t like being handled with kid gloves. But I also didn’t like that he’d brought his posse with him. I liked being outnumbered even less than I liked being patronized.
“How was the room?” Blade asked.
I shrugged nonchalantly. “Pretty nice, for a bar. Thanks for letting me crash.”
“Can I interest you in some overly fancy coffee? There’s a place nearby.”
“Oh,” I said, slightly caught off-guard. “No, no, thank you. I just want to get my car and get out of here.”
“Come on, Logan, I’m just trying to help. Coffee is a human right around here.”
“I don’t need your help. I’m fine. I just need to get on the road.”
“You sure about that?” Blade’s gaze lingered pointedly on the bruising on my jaw and neck. “Your boyfriend do that to you? Need me to teach him a lesson?”
I stifled a surprised laugh. If my father knew his handiwork had been relegated to the work of an angry boyfriend he’d blow his top. It would be a delightful image, if that imagined story didn’t end with me getting killed. But Blade was just fishing for information, and his cheeky attitude had an undercurrent of real anger.
“That funny?” Blade asked
“No,” I said. “It’s not. But it’s also none of your business.”
“What if I want it to be my business?”
“You can want it all you want, doesn’t make it yours.”
Blade’s dark gaze burned through me. “You think so?”
I worried my lower lip between my teeth. Heat curled in my gut when he spoke low and possessive like that. Part of me wanted to trust him, wanted to tell him everything and know he’d be on my side, that he’d help me escape and start anew. And maybe if he wasn’t a goddamned club president, I could. But I was too connected to the Vipers. I was risking my freedom simply by talking to him. I wouldn’t give up my dreams for some guy I hardly knew.
“Just coffee,” Blade said quietly, almost hopefully.
I ran my hand through my hair roughly. There wouldn’t be any change in the status of my car yet, and I did need to eat… “Fine. You win. A coffee.” I nodded toward the bikes. “No way in hell I’m getting on one of those, though.”
Blade barked a surprised laugh. “No problem,” he said, then snatched my knapsack out of my hand and swung it over his own shoulder. “It’s nearby. We can walk.”
It was a risk, going into town with him, not knowing who might see us together. But in all of this turmoil and stress, maybe this could be a little gift to myself, a memory to soothe me when I started my new life alone. A bright spot in a dark time. When everything was at rock bottom, there was a gorgeous guy who was nice to me, and if we had been different people, maybe something could’ve happened.
Blade brushed my lower back with his hand as we started to walk. I shivered.
8
Blade
Logan continuously blew off my attempts to help him. And somehow that made me want him even more. He’d proven he was capable of taking care of himself, but what would he be like if he didn’t have to? If he had a safe space to really flourish and thrive, to let himself be a little softer and feel secure? My hands itched to wrap around his narrow waist. It was an instinctive urge; I wanted to claim him and show the world he was mine to protect, even though I had no reason to do so.
Logan said nothing as we walked side-by-side toward the café with Gunnar and Coop a few paces behind. I stole a few glances at Logan as we walked. He kept his shoulders curled in toward himself like he was trying to make his small body even smaller. From his pinched expression, and the way he seemed to look at anything but me, he was clearly not interested in chitchat.
But at least he’d agreed to come with me. It was odd, walking in broad daylight with an outsider, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Was this a taste of what the citizen life was like? It’d been a while since I’d gone on anything even resembling a date. Not that this was a date. Regardless of my own desires, I couldn’t get involved in a relationship right now. And if I did have the chance to get involved with someone—I could never get that close to a citizen. Hell’s Ankhor was as much a part of me as my own blood. If I ever met anyone, they’d have to know that. They’d have to feel the same.
Still, when we arrived at Elkhead Coffee, I held the door for him, which made him scoff, which made me laugh, which made him give me a dark look.
“This another club business?” Logan asked, raising his eyebrows at the wood-and-chrome counter and the reclaimed Crown Victoria bench seating booths.
“No, in fact, it’s not,” I said. “It’s citizen-owned. They just happen to like bikes and cars.”
Logan nodded, then gave himself a little shake. “What do you mean, citizen-owned?”
“Oh,” I said. “Sorry. Citizens are just people who aren’t connected to the club.”
Coop and Gunnar snagged two seats at the end of the counter, and I guided Logan to a booth just behind them. Close, but still with a sense of privacy.
“Sit down.” I dropped his knapsack into the booth. “I’ll grab coffee.”
Before he could argue, I placed a hand gently on his shoulder, careful of his injuries, and pushed him down firmly but tenderly until he was seated in the booth, resolutely not thinking about my fantasy from this morning. A blush rose in his cheeks and the pupils of his bright green eyes were slightly dilated. Desire shot down my spine like the rush of hot water in the shower earlier. I turned away before I became obviously hard in my jeans, and then bought our coffees from the b
ored-looking barista.
Balancing two mugs, I sat down across from Logan in the small booth. Logan pushed his light brown hair out of his eyes – a nervous tick I was already beginning to find endearing – and took the mug with a muttered thank you.
“So,” I said, voice low, leaning across the table slightly. “Logan. Where are you from?”
“Is this a test?” Logan asked sarcastically.
“No,” I shot back jokingly. “It’s a job interview.”
His face paled.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” I said immediately, reaching across the table to tap his hand where it was white-knuckle gripping the mug. “So, if you don’t wanna tell me where you’re from, how about where you’re going in such a hurry?”
“As far away from here as I can get,” Logan said. He took a sip of his coffee and closed his eyes with pleasure. “That’s good coffee.”
I liked that look on him. I wanted to make him look that way again, and again, and again. The desire shocked me in its suddenness. This pleased look was so different than the surly, suspicious looks I’d gotten so far. It suited him, and I couldn’t help but smile. I’d felt surges of attraction before, but not like this—not edged with this sense of protectiveness, and fondness.
“Quality’s important in this town. People care about their crafts.”
“That so.” He took another sip of his coffee.
“Where’s ‘far,’ then? Russia? Australia?”
“I don’t really think my Sundance could make it across the ocean. Nice thought, though.”
“So staying stateside,” I said. “Fair choice.”
Logan shrugged, and kept sipping his coffee.
“All right, mystery beginning, unknown destination. Cool, cool. How about who knocked you around? When did that happen?”
“Fell down some stairs,” Logan said, deadpan.
“Stairs with hands?” I asked, nodding at the finger-shaped bruises on his neck.
He rubbed at them self-consciously, unable to meet my eyes. “Look, It doesn’t matter. I’ll be out of your hair soon, anyway.”
I sighed and pressed my fingers to my temples. I ran a damn club—it’s not like there was anything he could tell me that would shock or surprise me. I’d seen it all. But I wasn’t here to poke and prod at him like it was a police interview. He looked moments away from standing up and walking out. He wasn’t a club member, and I wasn’t his president. Even if he was staying at Ballast, I had offered that as a guest. He didn’t owe me anything. And if he wanted to keep secrets, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
“Fine,” I said.
“Fine,” Logan agreed.
We sat in silence while Logan drained his coffee.
“You need a refill?” I asked.
He shrugged.
“Yes?”
He shrugged again.
“Okay,” I said. “Tell me one thing about where you’re coming from. Or where you’re going. Anything. Then I’ll get it.”
“Weird bribe, considering I have my own money, and am fully capable of buying my own coffee.” Logan seemed annoyed. “How about this? I’m going away. In my car. That I want fixed as soon as possible.”
He stood up. “I’m going to the bathroom. And I’m getting my own refill.”
This kid was going to be the death of me. I slumped back in the booth. Those jeans did not conceal his ass at all.
As soon as Logan was out of earshot, Gunnar whipped around on his stool. “Blade, dude, regardless of how nice this guy’s ass is, which it is, which I know you know because you won’t stop staring at it, he doesn’t want to stay here, and he doesn’t want to tell you why. It’s not worth the trouble.”
“You can’t always get what you want,” Coop said.
“Shut the fuck up, Coop,” Gunnar and I said simultaneously.
“Yessir,” Coop said, scooting his stool away.
I trusted Gunnar, he was my sergeant-at-arms and my best friend, but he was a pessimist trying hard to be a realist. He was suspicious by nature. If he thought something was a waste of time and resources, he didn’t hesitate to make that known.
And Coop did have a point, as much as it pained me to admit to myself. I wasn’t used to rejection.
“He needs help,” I said. “Tell me that much isn’t clear.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Gunnar said. “Doesn’t matter a bit if he doesn’t want to be helped.”
I groaned and tipped my head over the end of the booth seat, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes.
“Gunnar said you’re always collecting strays,” Coop said.
“Coop!” Gunnar snapped.
Coop shrugged. “It’s true.”
“Strays, huh?” Logan asked from where he was standing a few paces away with a fresh cup of coffee. His green eyes blazed.
I stood up then, hard enough to send the seat scraping loud across the café’s unfinished concrete floor.
Logan didn’t even flinch. “Don’t worry.” He sneered as he spoke but his shoulders curled in slightly. “This stray isn’t staying, no matter how many times you feed me.” He grabbed his bag from the booth. “I have to go call the shop.”
As the door swung shut, Coop grimaced apologetically at me.
Gunnar sighed. “Let him leave, Blade. Maverick will let us know the update.”
I sat back down in the booth heavily. Frustration chewed at me. I was the president—solving problems is what I did. So what was I supposed to do with a problem that didn’t want to be solved?
9
Logan
The neatly hand-lettered sign on the warehouse door read ANKHOR WORKS.
I double-checked the address on the card. I was in the right place.
Everything in this town was either club-owned or club-adjacent. Why couldn’t my car have gotten towed by a nice, normal person with a plain old boring shop? Instead, I got this immense converted warehouse with its heavy steel door and corrugated metal roof, surrounded by junked old cars and sleek customized motorcycles. I’d left a handful of club guys in the café only to walk into another club hangout. God. My frustration threatened to bubble over and shift into anger.
The bells hanging on the door jingled as I walked in.
“Hello?”
My voice echoed around the vast warehouse space, stuffed with plenty of lifts for cars and wallpapered with tool-heavy pegboards. Despite the amount of stuff, the floor was spacious and open.
“Anyone here? I’m looking for Maverick.”
“Give me a minute,” came the muffled response from beneath an old Camaro at the far end of the shop.
A beat-up plaid couch and a few skeletal chairs made up the waiting area near the front door. I sat down and picked through a few auto magazines and John Le Carre novels on the coffee table.
I was about to give up on waiting when the man finally emerged from beneath the car. It was the same huge bald man who’d towed my car, now wearing faded coveralls with his name stitched on the front. He wiped the grease from his hands as he approached.
“Morning,” he said. “You find a place to stay last night?”
I wasn’t in the mood for any more small talk. “How’s my car?”
“Well,” Maverick said. “Nothing’s changed since we spoke on the phone last night. I placed the order for the head gasket, but it’ll be a couple of days before it arrives.” He shrugged. “Look, kid, let me be completely honest with you. The part itself is cheap. It’s the repair that’s so expensive. I’ll have to disassemble the entire engine to get to the head gasket, and God knows what other problems I’ll find.”
“Yeah, I know what the repair is,” I said. “You’re sure it’s the head gasket? It’s not just a coolant leak?”
“What, you wanna come take a look?” Maverick asked
The speech I’d planned so meticulously now seemed unnecessarily combative. Maverick raised his eyebrows, waiting expectantly. He had no reason to lie to me. And yes, it was bizarre, and
unlikely, that my car would fail so catastrophically without any problems before now. It was also weird that it would take so long to do a repair like this, conveniently when Blade was insistent on having me stick around. But this was predominantly a bike shop, so why would they keep an obscure ‘90s car engine part stocked? Maverick was waiting patiently, hands open, ready to let me poke around the engine. Maybe I’d be able to tell what the problem was. Maybe not.
Was everyone out to get me? Or did I need to let my paranoia take the back seat for a few minutes?
I was so tired.
“What I was trying to say was,” Maverick continued, “if you decide you want to sell the car instead, that’s no problem. Think about it. You can get a couple hundred for it if you junk it. And that, plus the money you would’ve spent on the repair, you could probably get you a bike instead.”
“I’m not really a motorcycle guy,” I said.
“Just an idea.” Maverick smiled professionally, and offered his hand to shake. “I’ll call you when the part is in.”
Maverick returned to his work. I dropped back into the overstuffed armchair and scrubbed my hand across my forehead. The more time I spent in Elkin Lake, the more likely it was that my connection to the Viper’s Nest would be exposed. Should I just ditch my beloved Sundance and get another jalopy to take me another hundred miles away before it crapped out? Or – I couldn’t believe I was even considering this – should I try to get in front of it and just tell Blade the truth? Give him a heads up about what the Nest was planning, beg forgiveness, and ask for protection? Maybe he’d let me stay here under their protection until my car was ready to make the long journey to wherever I was going. Blade and the other Hell’s Ankhor members really did seem different from the Viper’s Nest. But was that really a chance I was willing to take after only knowing them for a day?
I was still weighing the options when the heavy door to the shop swung open.
