Hermes had turned his bike around and headed out of the station, his brothers following. We’d pulled in behind them, riding down several rural roads that took us further out into the country. One long drive took us to an abandoned farm. We’d continued riding to the barn in the overgrown fields beyond the ruins of the house. The barn had looked as if it wouldn't take much to make it collapse; the dry, rotten wood of the structure was leaning at a slant.
I’d turned my bike off and sat there for a minute, hoping like hell that we hadn't just ridden into a trap. None of the usual warning signs had been present though, and I'd always been lucky when I followed my gut instincts. Demon hadn’t seemed overly concerned, either, if his indifferent demeanor was any indication. Eventually we’d all dismounted our bikes and headed toward the opening of the barn.
Martin and the two men with him were kept in a tight circle as they were led to the barn. The low mumblings of the Sacramento Reapers cut into the silence of the night, joining the crickets and the frogs. I hadn’t been able to make out the words, but the tone was clear. They weren't going to hold anything back when it came to dishing out punishment. I, along with several others, had used the lights on our phones to lead the way, and once inside the barn, rusty, old fashioned lanterns were lit. A quick glance around had revealed old, weathered farm equipment and tools, along with hay and a couple of stalls. The lanterns had been placed at various locations around the barn, hanging on vertical wood beams.
Martin and the other two were roughly pushed into the center of the barn and encircled by their brothers. One of them stumbled, but caught himself before going down.
"This is bullshit!" Martin had hissed, his first words since he’d been led away from the gas station. "You tricked us into coming back so you could make an example of us?" He’d held himself taut, his hands fisted at his sides, as if expecting to be attacked at any moment.
"It's bullshit when a brother thinks he's above the rules of the club and does what he wants. You've been a member long enough to know I don't tolerate that shit."
"When we left we didn't think we were coming back," one of the others with Martin had explained.
Hermes had turned his anger toward him. "Then you shouldn't have, Crook. Because now you and Spook are going to be taught a painful lesson. Snake will be the last brother you'll follow into shit that doesn't concern the club, and if you don't learn your lesson this time, next time will be your fucking last."
Crook's eyes had filled with fear as he deciphered Hermes's words. He knew that he was about to get beat down, a punishment that usually ended up with missing teeth and permanent scars. The Sacramento Reapers were standing silently by, waiting for orders from Hermes, looking as if they were eager to get started. Some of them were flexing their knuckles, which were adorned with the typical clunky rings bikers were known for wearing. I had a few on myself.
"What do you think, brothers? We teach Crook and Spook a lesson first, or show them what happens to brothers who go their own way while wearing our colors?"
"I think seeing what we do to Snake will have a bigger impact," an older, grizzled brother had snarled. "I don't know about the rest of you brothers, but I'm eager to get started breaking some fucking bones." He’d turned his head and spat, and then ran the back of his hand over his wet mouth.
Murmurs and nods of agreement had moved around the brothers.
"You gonna give me a fucking chance?" Martin had practically shouted, his face turning red. "One-on-one, or you bastards gonna gang up on me?"
Hermes had stepped up to him, getting into his face. "We're an outlaw MC, Snake. Since when have we ever not done shit as a brotherhood? A team? Maybe if you'd remembered that and brought your issue to the table for a vote, we wouldn't fucking be here now."
Martin had snorted with contempt. "Why waste the club's time? We vote shit down when it doesn't benefit the MC. This was my issue to take care of!"
"What about the woman you took? Kidnapping women is not what the Sacramento Reapers are about!" a man wearing the VP patch had snarled. He resembled Hermes, but he was a younger version and in much better shape.
"And you're my issue now!" Hermes had growled. "And we have rules for a reason. Breaking them will get you killed."
There had been so much meaning in that one statement. All MC's had rules, and if a brother broke them without going through the proper channels, which usually meant that they brought it to church and voted on it, it could bring danger to them and the club. Martin had made a big mistake misjudging Hermes.
"Enough wasting time," Hermes had finally said, stepping away from Martin. "Remove your fucking cut."
Martin had glared at Hermes with hatred for a few seconds before taking off his cut, spitting on it, and throwing it to the ground.
The VP had stepped forward and picked it up. "Fuck, Prez, look at this." He held the side up that showed the Desert Rebels’ logo and colors. "A two-sided cut."
Hermes and a few others had shaken their heads with disgust and disappointment. Any chance that Martin may have lived had just died with proof of his traitorous actions--wearing another MC's colors for his own gains.
"Brothers," Hermes had said sharply, addressing his men, "show no mercy."
That appeared to be the signal for his men to begin. One by one, they’d closed in on Martin, letting him get in one solid hit to each man before they went at him like a pack of wild, hungry dogs. They’d jumped Martin without mercy, throwing hit after hit on his face, head, and torso without giving him a chance to get in another solid hit or take a breath. They hadn’t let up, even when his face had begun to resemble hamburger meat. Martin's grunts had sounded out with every punch, blood and teeth spraying the air and the hay on the floor, the hits to Martin so rapid and violent that they had kept him on his unsteady feet, even when his knees had buckled. Eventually they had allowed him sink to his knees, the punches continuing until Martin went down and didn't move.
I had stood with my arms crossed, watching impassively as the Sacramento Reapers stood over Martin, blood dripping off their brass knuckles and his flesh imbedded into their embossed rings. Martin was a dead man, even if there was still breath left in his beaten body at the moment. No one could survive the hits he'd just taken. I’d been satisfied by what I'd seen, and hadn’t needed to hang around to see what they were going to do with the other two.
"I've seen enough," I’d told Demon. His chin nod was a silent agreement that he felt the same way. I’d caught Hermes' attention and exchanged the same, silent communication with him, before turning and leaving the barn.
"What about the other two?" Bull had inquired as we’d walked to our bikes.
"By the time Hermes gets done with them, they'll have learned their lesson." I’d mounted my bike and started it, my thoughts drifting to Bailey and how I was going to make her understand that when it came to her, I was going to do whatever it took to keep her safe, even if she didn't agree with it.
She was going to have to come to terms with the kind of life that I led. I wasn't just the owner of a bar. I took on jobs that were dangerous, jobs that could land me in prison if caught. I couldn't afford to have a woman who couldn't deal with my having to leave at a moment's notice, or who couldn’t handle the times I returned home beat to hell or hurt in some way. Most of all, I needed a woman who wouldn't let fear rule her emotions, but stood strong in spite of it.
I knew that Bailey was a strong woman. She'd revealed her independent spirit more than once, living up to her flaming hair and Irish temper. The truth was, I liked her fire. I liked the challenge of taming her. When it mattered though, she needed to do what I asked her to do without question, and not give me a hard time about it. I wouldn't always have time to soothe her fears and calm her down.
She was going to have to learn to trust me.
If she couldn't do that, we were going to have serious problems.
****
Bailey
A scream woke me. I bolted up in bed, clutching my cov
ers against me as if they would protect me. I was breathing hard and shaking badly, and it took a few seconds for me to realize that I'd been the one to cry out from a nightmare. I'd gone to bed exhausted, but sleep had evaded me at first, and when I'd finally dropped off it was to relive the nightmare of what I'd gone through with Martin. Worry over Moody had contributed to the turmoil spinning like acid in my belly. I ran my trembling hands through my hair and let the tears come.
I was allowed a few tears, wasn't I?
Without warning, a giant shape filled my opened doorway, but I at least had the presence of mind to realize that it was only Cole. He didn't flip on the light.
"Jesus, honey, you okay?" His tone was deep with concern, and sounded as if I'd just awakened him.
"I'm sorry if I woke you." I tried to make my voice sound normal so that he wouldn't know I was crying. "I had a nightmare." A sob escaped me before I could stop it.
Cole hesitated for only a moment before leaving the doorway and making his way to the bed. He sat down next to me. "You're allowed to have a nightmare after what you've been through. Come here."
I reached up to wipe at my cheeks. "I could use some comfort right now." The nightmare had seemed so real to me, only this time Martin hadn't been stopped from molesting me. There'd been no interruption.
Cole wiggled down into bed and then took me into his arms, holding me against him. "You want to talk about it?"
I laid my arm across his wide chest, feeling the heat of his flesh against mine. "You'd better have bottoms on." I yawned loudly.
He snorted. "Didn't think you'd want my naked ass on your sofa cushions," he teased back.
A quiet minute passed between us. "I had a terrible nightmare about Martin."
Cole released a harsh breath. "Figured that. You're safe now."
I nodded against him. "Thank you for keeping the monsters away." I yawned loudly again. I was grateful to Cole for offering me comfort, something I hadn't received from Moody when I'd needed it most back at the restaurant. He'd been too concerned with going after Martin. I could understand that, but at the time I'd had too many mixed emotions running through me, turning me into the kind of clingy, weak-minded woman that I detested.
Something told me that I should send Cole back to the sofa, but at the moment I just wanted to feel some form of comfort. I felt my eyes growing heavy, and I could tell by Cole's breathing that he'd drifted off to sleep. I closed my eyes, willing myself to do the same. Thoughts of Moody were on my mind as I entered the dreamy state between sleep and consciousness.
I prayed that he'd be okay.
I prayed that he came back to me.
Most of all, I prayed that he'd understand my insecurities and forgive them.
Chapter 36
Bailey
"What. The. Fuck."
My eyes flew open at the sound of those three very clear, very distinctive words being uttered in a grisly voice that I was coming to know all too well. Even in my slightly dazed state, I was able to comprehend the seriousness of the situation, and Cole was way ahead of me, detangling my arm from his body and jumping from the bed as if it were on fire.
Surprise widened my eyes, captured by the angry glint in Moody's condemning black orbs as he stared down at me. He looked like he was about to lose it. I'd never seen his expression so savagely raw and tight before, and I could clearly see the angry muscle twitching in his clenched jaw.
"It's not what you think, brother."
Moody's glare moved from me up to Cole. "And what do I think, brother?"
Cole held his arms up and palms out. "Bailey woke screaming from a nightmare. I just offered comfort."
Moody's gaze moved over Cole. "Naked?" he hissed.
He wasn’t exactly naked, but he was close to it. I was able to see the body-hugging boxer briefs that Cole was wearing, and the implicit outline of his impressive package. His body was almost as beautifully muscled as Moody's was. But I knew better than to reveal that I was making comparisons, much less checking him out. Moody looked fit to kill and I knew that the slightest provocation would set him off.
"Moody—"
He turned back to me like a rabid dog. "Don't say a fucking word," he snarled.
All that did was fire me up. How dare he! I pushed back the covers and moved from the bed. Moody’s razor--sharp gaze raked over me, taking in my boy shorts and sleep tank. What, had he been expecting to see me in nothing but my underwear? I crossed my arms and faced him with growing fury.
"Not a good time to face me down, Bailey." I hardly recognized the gritty, sandpaper sound of his rigid tone. "I walk in to find you in bed with a brother? Didn't take you long to find comfort in another man's arms."
"That's all it was!" I practically shouted. "And in case you forgot, when I needed comfort from you, you took off."
His eyes darted to Cole. "You know better. Offering comfort is one thing. Climbing into her bed is taking it too fucking far."
"Brother, you think if it went any further that I'd still be here?"
"Don't give a fuck."
Moody moved before I saw it coming, but Cole had been expecting him and easily blocked his first punch. Moody managed to land the second hit to Cole's cheekbone. Before I could draw breath and had the wherewithal to act, the two men were going at each other as if they were life-long enemies.
"Stop!" I demanded, trying to stay out of their way. "This is insane!" They were exchanging hits to their faces and upper torsos, grunts filling my small bedroom. "Moody, stop! Nothing happened!" I had a feeling that that didn't matter to him, and even if it did, he wasn't paying any mind to me. "Stop before I call the police!" It was a hollow threat. Apparently they both knew it, too, because they didn't stop fighting. They didn't even slow down.
"She's my woman," Moody snarled, a well aimed punch sending Cole slamming into my dresser. Everything on top rattled and fell over.
"You're the one who told me to bring her home." Cole pushed Moody against the wall with several rapid hits to his torso, causing a picture of an old farm scene to crash to the floor and break.
I glanced down at the broken frame. Damn, I'd liked that picture, too.
"Home. Not bed, asshole." Moody's fist clipped Cole beneath his chin, the force sending his head snapping back.
"Then maybe you shouldn't have left her." Cole's tightly closed fist smashed into Moody's right eye.
"I thought I could trust you," Moody growled with a punch to Cole's cheek.
"You can, dumbass. Nothing happened."
"You still touched her."
"I only touched her outside her clothes." It probably wasn't a good idea for Cole to taunt Moody. "Besides, you know of another way to comfort someone without touching them?"
"Ever heard of using words?" Moody snarled.
Cole snorted. "That's priceless, coming from a man who, until recently, hardly spoke a full fucking sentence!"
"Fuck you!" Moody snarled, punching Cole in the nose and breaking it.
I winced at the sound and jumped up onto my bed to stay out of the way, but when I began to see blood I'd had enough. I screamed at the top of my lungs. "FIRE!" Both men halted instantly and swung their eyes my way. "Stop this fucking madness!" I swore, reaching my limit. I pinned my angry gaze on Moody. "I wish something had happened so that this fight wasn't for nothing! And if you were so worried about me finding comfort in another man's arms, than you shouldn't have left me at Denny's!"
In my anger I was still able to take in their injuries. Cole’s nose was clearly broken, both eyes were blackened, and bruises colored his muscular torso. His broken nose was bleeding profusely. Moody had one black eye and a split lip, the blood dripping down onto his shirt. I was willing to be that his torso was just as bruised. I shook my head in a mixture of disbelief and disapproval. I wasn't sure that I was okay with any of this, but one thing I did know was that I couldn't take any more in this moment. It was too much too soon, and I was about to lose it.
"You both look like hell." I
jumped down from my bed, shaking, I was so mad. "And I'm done. I want you both out. I need some time alone." My words were meant for both of them, but my eyes were on Moody. It was hard to gauge what he was feeling.
"That what you want? To be left alone?" he asked gruffly, his eyes hard.
My stomach began to hurt and I pressed my hand against it. Suddenly I felt overwhelmed with everything that had happened, and I just wanted some normalcy back in my life. I didn't answer Moody because I didn't know what I wanted in that moment. The fierceness in his hard eyes was burning holes into me, and I knew in that intense moment that he was ready to walk away and not look back.
Damn his fucking pride! I had pride, too. The difference was that I wasn't willing to let it overrule what my heart wanted. I was willing to fight for him. It saddened me that Moody didn't seem willing to do the same, or he just didn't know how to. He was so hard and unbending that he couldn't see how I felt about him.
In an instant, I knew that I was going to be sick.
I was in the bathroom when I heard the front door slam. I guessed that it was Moody leaving, since he was already dressed. It hurt my heart that he hadn't even said goodbye. But then I put myself in his place and realized that I probably wouldn't have either. I'd practically thrown him out. A tear slipped down my cheek when I thought about the possible consequences of what I'd done. There was one good thing in all of this, though--if Moody leaving meant that I no longer had to worry about Martin. I instinctively knew that he would never have left me if Martin were still out there. I would have thanked him if I’d been given the chance.
A light rap on the door startled me as I was rinsing out my mouth. "What?"
"You okay in there?"
Cole at least cared enough to ask. I was certain that both he and Moody had heard me throwing up. "Yes."
Furious (Nomad Outlaws Trilogy Book 3) Page 27
