“Yes,” she answered simply, and it seemed to be enough because he pulled her in for another kiss.
***
Po’Boy
“Oh, hell yeah.” The man handed Po’Boy another beer, nodding vigorously. “I’ve seen that kind of shit before. Man, you better believe somethin’ like that can tear a club apart, all over pussy.” Po’Boy’d seen a bike broken down on the side of the road and stopped to help out. Together he and the rider solved the electrical problem and when they were done working on the bike, met up at a nearby bar so the man could express his thanks. They were relaxing on the patio, shooting the shit when Po’Boy had asked a casual question, and this man latched onto it like the outcome was important to him. Interestin’.
Twist top removed, the man tossed it in the general vicinity of the large trash can in the corner and then gestured with the bottle of beer. “Seen it happen to brothers. Good brothers. Good until they get pussy in their beds, and then that pillow talk shit starts to pull them in. A woman holds the keys to the kingdom if a man lets her.” He gestured with the beer again. “Next thing you know, this brother’ll be missin’ church, askin’ you to fill in his place.”
Po’Boy studied him. Medium build, middle of the road looks, unremarkable voice. His tattoos all covered up once he put his shirt and plain vest back on after layin’ in the dirt under the bike. This was a man it would be easy to forget, and he appeared to play that angle. The only distinctive feature Po’Boy’d seen so far on this self-proclaimed gypsy biker was a massive branded burn on his back.
“Pussy winds down to a brother missin’ church, huh?” Prick coulda been talking about Incoherent, thinkin’ he had everything just right with what’s been going on with Twisted. Prick’d be wrong, but this is…interestin’. Po’Boy glanced down, not wanting to bring attention to his question, hoping it could run under the radar, but he needed to know. “Tell me, what comes next?”
Chapter Eleven
Penny
“Drop me at my place,” Ty told her, leaning forward from where he sat, ass resting on the edge of the bunk. Bell was in the passenger seat, angled back against the door, socked feet propped on the dash. She glanced that way to find both men looking at her, and Penny grinned at how different the expressions on their faces were: Ty, tired and grumpy looking, ready to be home; Bell, attentive and watchful, focused on her.
She and Ty had done this routine a dozen times; he would tag along on a run when he didn’t have anything else going on. This was the first time she’d picked him up out of state, and she frowned, thinking she never had a chance to ask him about that, or follow-up about him helping with her search.
“Can do,” she responded, glancing over at Bell. The look on his face was intent. He seemed to be studying her, which made her oddly nervous. Looking out through the windshield, she waited a moment, then, hoping she hit the casual tone she was aiming for, asked, “What were you doin’ up in Yankeeland, Ty?” From the corner of her eye, she caught movement and turned to see Bell had tensed, pivoting away to glare out his side of the wide windshield. Nervously, she reached up, tucking a short strand of hair behind her ear, hating that the motion telegraphed the importance of her question.
She glanced at Ty, and he stared back at her, pain moving through the expression on his face, sharp and profound. He whispered, voice so quiet she could barely hear him, "Fuck. I miss your hair, Penny."
That hit her like a freight train, bowling her over, and her eyes filled with tears so suddenly she couldn't see the road, couldn't blink them away fast enough. In only moments they had overflowed, streaming wet down her cheeks. She whipped her head around to face front, turning away from the pain, trying to route around it, find a different pathway. Through these seconds, she kept the truck steady, hours and miles of experience allowing her to hold them in place. She heard Bell give a quick, clipped, "What the fuck?" He sounded shocked, but she didn't have any time for that, no time to manage him or what he might learn, because Ty's voice was low and growling when he continued, careless of their audience, "I’m gonna fucking kill Gollum."
This time, when it came, Bell's voice was no longer shocked. It was hard as stone as he asked, "What in fuck does she have to do with Gollum? And whaddya mean, you miss her goddamned hair?" Ty made a noise and from the corner of one streaming eye, she saw both men disappear from view, curtains swaying in their wake. Voices, low and quiet, but no less intense for that, came from the bunk. Swiping at her cheeks with a palm, she struggled to regain her composure, straining to listen to their muttered conversation over the whine of road noise.
Bell roared wordlessly, and the cab lurched, and—knowing what that might mean—so did her stomach. If they were fighting again…
I can’t do this. Motions jerky and abrupt, Penny turned on her blinker and headed up the next off-ramp. She parked the truck on the broad shoulder, the sudden stop causing the empty trailer’s tires to lock up, leaving trails of blackened rubber in their wake. “The fuck, Penny?” Bell shouted.
It took a single motion to knock the gearshift into neutral, and another to set the air brakes. Sobbing, she opened her door and was already jumping down before the vehicle had even stopped rocking in place. Ty yelled, “Get back—”
She staggered, slamming the door as she tripped over her own feet, making her way to the side of the road. Bent double, she had her arms wrapped around her body as if she were in enormous pain. And she was, anguish rolling over her in waves. With just a few words, Ty had torn away the protective wall she had worked so hard to build up over the past months. The knowledge crawled up her spine that she had given herself away for nothing, and to a man as vile as Gollum; it settled into place in her head, finding the home it had made for itself still waiting.
As she stood, heaving great breaths in and out, trying to keep her feet, strong arms wrapped around her from behind and Bell’s voice was there. His touch, the sound of his voice: those were anchors she could use to beat back the pain. As he turned her, drawing her close, she wrapped her arms around his chest, holding on, taking what she needed from him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered softly into his neck, feeling his beard scratchy against her cheek.
“For what, darlin’?” His answering whisper was just as soft, tender with care for her.
“For being such a dramatic wuss.” She hated how her voice hitched in the middle of that short sentence, hated that they were standing on the side of the road on display, hated even more that he had seen her like this. All her life, she had done her grieving and healing in solitude, because feeling exposed like this felt wrong. Vulnerable. Made her a pathetic crybaby.
“Wrench told me, Penny. With what he said happened, you have every right to be angry and upset, pissed as hell. Don’t be sorry. It ain’t weak. You ain’t weak.” He knew what she meant, how she felt. “You take your time, get it together. I got nowhere to be but right here with you. Take your time, Penny.” His arms tightened around her securely. He held her, helping her brave the memories stirred by casual words. Fuck, I miss your hair. “I’m right here.” His head moved, beard shifting across her face and she felt his lips touch her cheek. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.” His hand moved, sliding up to cup around the back of her head. “Right here with you.”
***
Twisted
Twisted held her for a long time. Wrench came over, murmured he’d called a friend and then even before Penny could respond, turned and walked back to the truck. Twisted didn’t look at the assclown. He wasn’t sure he could right now without losing his goddamned mind. Yesterday the man had told him what Penny’d done, and with the awareness she was looking for her uncle’s killer, Twisted understood it. Didn’t like it. Really fucking didn’t like it, but he could agree with using whatever leverage you had in order to advance a cause that meant a lot to you. He’d done it, time and again. He understood believing the cause worthy, making that calculation and then gladly paying the cost.
But that was before he knew what motherfucker W
rench was talking about. Without a name, it was easy to make the bastard faceless, mentally make it less pain-filled than it really was. With a name…shit was about to go down that Twisted wasn’t sure his little slice of the world was ready for.
Gollum.
Twisted knew the depths of his own capacity for handing out pain. Knew he could be a mean son-of-a-bitch. Had destroyed lives without losing one moment of sleep. Squinted one eye as he sighted down the barrel, bracing for the sound about to come, ready for the spray of heat that would hit him when he pulled the trigger. Walked across the broken backs of his enemies to get where he wanted to be, grinning the whole time, fingers poppin’ and snappin’ a jive, ready for thimbles to drag across a tuned rubboard.
Five years ago, he would have fucking roared. He would have laughed until he had tears in his eyes if anyone described the last twenty-four hours, and told him it would be his lot. No way would he travel 800 miles to meet up with a fucking chick. She’d come to him, or she wouldn’t get his dick. No chance he’d ditch a club cage without a second thought, leaving it so someone else had to travel the same road to retrieve it and clean up his shit.
He would have flat refused to let a fucking bitch drive him around, even if it were her fucking truck. Never fucking fight over said bitch with someone he didn’t have a beef with, other than the bitch herself. Get the bitch off, then lay there with a pounding, throbbing dick in his pants, listening to her sleep and fucking smile because she sounded content. Fucking exchange vows of goddamned love. Stand on the side of this damn road without his goddamned cut on and hold her because she was sad.
Jesus, grow a pair of balls, boy. He could imagine his Papaw telling him that on a laugh, even as he let one of the house’s fender bunnies snuggle into his side. Grandma had been gone before Twisted met her. She'd died a long time before he was born. The story of her death etched on his soul because it started the path that led to him. Crooked and turning, but still a pathway he wound up treading. He didn’t know her, but knew she wasn’t club. His grandma had never set foot inside any clubhouse. She’d barely been Papaw’s bride when he left for the military, staying behind while he proudly served his country. Then, still a young girl, she'd been unsure what to do when the man returned to her was so changed. Papaw didn’t talk about her much, but when he did, the expression he wore was sad. Lost. After getting to know Papaw, as a teen Twisted would imagine seeing them together, wanted to have had the chance to see them, so he could learn more about them. More than the few pictures he’d seen.
Yeah, Twisted could be ruthless. Gollum, however, wrote the fucking book on it. Over the years, their paths had crossed. Neutral parties or gatherings, both of them in the background, circling the other like junkyard dogs, itching for any chance at a sic 'em command. Wanting it so badly they could taste it. The thought of his Penny in that man’s bed curdled his stomach, sending bile racing up his throat.
Twisted had seen the aftermath of Gollum plowing through enemies. He'd admired some of the more efficient techniques, even while wincing at the brutality. Standing here today, holding Penny, he remembered laughing about the story of how the man treated one bitch who went willingly to his bed. Remembered telling Po’Boy she got what she earned, giving a man like Gollum her pussy. And his Penny had done the same, gone to the man’s bed and laid down of her own choice. Her first.
Red. That’s all he saw when Wrench said what he did. Twisted ran his hand up her back again, cradling and turning her head, pressing her cheek against his chest, fingers working gently through her short hair. Wrench’s voice sounded again in his head. Hair so long, she could sit on it. So fucking beautiful it’d take your breath away. He knew what happened to it. Not two weeks ago around the burn barrel at a party, he’d joined in the laughter about a story told about Gollum. The man had his bitch take another woman’s hair and make him a memento. Stupid bitch. That had been the consensus, but which woman it was about had been in question, the bitch who donated her locks, or his bitch for putting up with his shit.
My Penny. A vehicle pulled up near the semi and sat, idling. Wrench called out his good-byes and Penny stirred, her hand lifting from Twisted’s back. He assumed she waved, but he didn’t turn to watch the motherfucker go. Wrench’s words continued to play through his mind. You need to find out what he told her. She’s not going to stop until she knows, and you can save her that because you already meted out justice, man. Memories swam to the surface, and he saw her face, flushed, eyes half-lidded, smile languorous. Another vision started bleeding through, his imagination painting her with eyes widened in fear, lips twisted in pain. Pale and drawn. Fuck.
She made a soft noise and pushed against his hold. Her voice was quiet when she said, “We should probably get off the side of the road. DOT will be stopping soon, see if anything’s wrong. I hate to give them any reason to inspect.”
He lifted his head and looked around, blinking against the setting sun as he watched the trucks and cars zooming past down on the interstate. Wordlessly he turned, started them walking back towards the truck, guiding her to the passenger door. She looked up at him, and he shook his head, not yet ready to trust his own voice. Their gazes held for a moment, and then she shook her head with a half smile that didn’t contain any humor. “Of course, you know how to drive a semi.”
Thirty minutes later, Penny stirred and took her socked feet from the dash and turned, sitting sideways in the seat as she murmured over the engine noise, “Tired.” He nodded and jerked his head towards the swaying curtains before glancing over. A pensive look was on her face.
He directed a smile towards her and gave her the encouragement she needed. “You should lay down then, darlin’.”
Eyes on his face, she sat there then said, “I’m just…drained.”
“Happens when things come crashing down on your head. Get a nap in. We’ll be home in a couple of hours.” They hadn’t talked about what happened, what caused her to pull over, why she fell apart. He wanted to get her to a safe place first; somewhere he could control her reactions better than in the bunk of a truck.
Right now, she was exhausted and compliant, but he knew from the little experience he had with her that it wouldn’t last. So he needed to get her home, get her into his house, and get himself under control so he could work through this at her side.
“Home?” Her mouth pulled sideways, and he didn’t know her enough to read that expression at all, so he studied her. Glancing between her face and the road, he tried to impress it on his brain so he could decipher another part of the mystery that was Penny. He wanted to hold every nuance of her.
“Yeah.” Puzzled, he reached out a hand, gratified at how she immediately took it. Gripping tightly, she held on. Fingers folded around his hand, giving and taking the security of that connection. “Home.”
“How do you know where I live?” Her head tipped to one side as she asked the question before she straightened as if giving something away she didn’t want to. She wanted him to have looked that far into her, wanted him to already know, which he did. They just weren’t going there today.
“My home.” Tugging on her hand, he pulled her from the seat and across the space separating them. She stood beside him, looking down from her small advantage when he said, “Want you in my house, darlin’. Takin’ you there.” He tightened his grip when she would have pulled free. “Got plenty of space to park a rig, you’ll see. More than. Go get some sleep,”—he squeezed and relaxed his fingers slightly—“but kiss me before you head to the bunk.”
He thought she might argue, was ready for it, but instead, she simply bent, pressed her lips to his and tightened her grip on his hand before releasing her hold. A swish of the curtains, shift of the truck chassis, and she disappeared into the bunk.
Parking the rig beside the big barn to the south of his house, he thought the sound of the brakes setting might wake her, but when he looked into the bunk, she was still sleeping. Hands pressed palm-to-palm, shoved under her head, she rested on her
side facing the front of the bed, but even in repose, her face wasn’t relaxed, tiny lines creasing between her brows. He took a step towards her but paused when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Yanking it out, he saw Po’Boy was calling. Torn and feeling guilty, it still only took him a moment to reject the call, sending a quick, canned text response that he’d call back in twenty minutes.
Easing onto the edge of the bunk, he traced along her hairline with his fingers, brushing the backs of his knuckles across her cheek. “Wake up, sleepyhead.” She sighed and shifted, a small smile curving the corners of her lips upwards. “Penny, darlin’. We’re here.” He retraced the glide across her cheek, the softness of her skin mesmerizing. “Penny.” He swept the short strands of hair back from her face, gritting his teeth when Wrench’s voice sounded in his head again. Fuck, I miss your hair.
As if in response to his thoughts, her eyes flashed open and before he could react, she had shoved away from him, back to the corner of the bunk, a wild look on her face. “Hey,” he called, not sure what had set her off. “It’s just me, baby.”
On a shaky exhalation, she whispered, “Sorry. I just…”—she lifted her hands and scrubbed at her face with her palms—“I’m not used to having folks in my space like that.” Dropping her hands to her lap, she offered him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Sorry,” she repeated.
“No worries.” He waited for a moment, but she didn’t move from where she had retreated to. “So Wrench didn’t wake you up?” He didn’t know where that came from and watched her blink in surprise.
“Well, yeah, he did.”
“So it’s just me in your space that freaks you out?” That came out rude and sharp and immediately he tried to soften it with a joke. “I’m not that bad-looking, am I?” Pushing his bottom lip out, he gave her his pouting smile, relieved when she grinned back at him and started scooting her way to the front edge of the mattress where he sat.
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