Текст книги "Burning Ember"

Автор книги: Darby Briar

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

Stop chasing the reaper. Turn around and let him chase you.

MAVERICK

I lost a lot of hard-earned respect tonight. Men who are supposed to be following me, men I’ve long considered brothers, are now questioning me, my judgment . . . my fucking sanity.

They have every right to.

I let the venom of hate I have for Dana fester and build until I’ve become somewhat of a snake myself.

With my hands braced on the sink, I stare at the stranger in the mirror.

My enlarged pupils make my eyes appear darker. Haunted. Bruises bloom across my face, and as I open my tender jaw, the gash on my lip splits open, causing blood and a coppery taste to spill into my mouth. I sheared off my hair all those years ago and every few weeks since, because I wanted to banish the man in me who’d fallen for a girl like Dana. The good guy she’d taken advantage of.

I realize I’ve finally succeeded.

I don’t see the man my parents raised anymore. The kid who attended church every Sunday. The guy who graduated at the top of his class, because learning came easy and he always had a knack for drawing steady lines and remarkable things. I don’t see the restless saint. The one who foolishly thought he could dip his foot in the river of sin and not get pulled under.

The only good I see in my reflection is the biblical stories told on my arm, and the words of God inked on my chest. He discovers deep things out of the darkness and brings out to light the shadow of death. ~Job 12:22.

Words that hold a whole new meaning for me now.

My hands grip the ivory sink as regret washes over me. I clench my eyes shut. God . . . I’ve fucked up . . .

I clung to a wiltin’ black rose. And instead of changing her, I let her change me.

Now I’m drowning in darkness . . . And I’ve just attacked the only person who’s brought any color to my dark world.

Doll.

Yet I treat her like she’s Dana.

One deserves the man I am now. The man she made me into. The other does not. Doll wasn’t the catalyst that changed me. Yet she’s the one dealing with the fallout.

She’s just lookin’ for a place to land where someone will give a fuck about her. She’s fightin’ to survive. Give her a goddamn chance to.

She’s fighting for a future. A future I almost took from her, because I was too lost in my own pain to see hers.

Cap called it when I first told him I wanted to claim Dana as my property. He knew she’d wreck me. He said, “That girl doesn’t give a shit about her tomorrows. She’s got no plan. No dreams. Cares for nothin’ beyond what gives her a rush. She’s gonna drag you down, brotha. That’s not the kind a girl you should be claimin’.”

Glancing down at my sleeve of tattoos, I see the redheaded Eve and rub my thumb over her face. I didn’t listen. I thought I’d found my Eve and I was ready to start my life.

But I’m starting to think I just fell for the wrong redheaded girl. The fake replica, not the real thing.

Pretty sure I’ve been coming to this conclusion for a while.

Doll’s gotten under my skin and made me crave more from the first moment I met her. She’s in my dreams and my waking thoughts. In a sea of flesh, a den of sex and sin, her body is the only one I ache for, the only one I want touching mine. I haven’t dared to let her in or hope for more, because I know I can’t live through my life shattering around me a second time.

But what if . . . what if this time it doesn’t fall apart?

I stare into my eyes and try to find a speck of the man I was before. Because the one I see isn’t good enough for her.

I can’t turn back time, and I can’t erase the monster Doll sees when she looks at me. But maybe . . . just maybe I can show her that’s not all I am or all I can be.

A toy can only withstand so much before it breaks.

EMBER

More and more sunlight filters into the room. I keep meaning to get up, get downstairs, and start breakfast. After all, the guys are probably waiting on me, but I can’t. Not yet. I’m fighting the impulse to pull the covers over my head, hide away and act like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Act like last night never happened.

I feel drained.

Energyless, if that’s even a word. I blame it on blood loss and lack of sleep.

Closing my eyes after Griz left last night proved difficult. Each time I did, I relived Mav breaking into the room, his dark presence looming in the doorway, and how his face transformed with fury while he held the knife to my throat.

Even now, my stomach twists with unease at the thought of seeing him today. My only hope is that like last night, he still feels remorseful. But his moods change like the current, fast and unpredictably, so who knows which version of him I’ll see today.

Griz said Mav could change. That with time, he’d start seeing me for me. I’m not sure if that’s possible. He seems too hell bent on judging me for my similarities to his ex. I only know I can’t stay here if he’s going to continue threatening the two things I have left.

My life and my freedom.

What I left Warner to protect.

Now, in the light of day, I’m a little more leery of leaving the clubhouse and trying my chances on the street. Maybe voluntarily diving back into that black abyss isn’t the smartest thing. I don’t know where I’ll sleep, or how long the money will last. I’ll be alone again, something I can’t stand to be, and jobless. And I’ll have to be careful. There’s still a chance someone could recognize me and turn me in. More of a chance if Davis follows through on his threat.

After quite a bit of self-prodding, I finally force myself to leave the bed. I wince as my neck screams in protest with each small movement. I head into the bathroom and stop short when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It’s bad. Possibly worse than I feel. My hair is in knots and frizzy, and my eyes are glazed over. Even my skin looks pallid. Truth be told, I look like a doll.

Yeah . . . a rag doll.

Maybe not exactly a four-year-old’s plaything, but definitely something played with carelessly.

Ragged. Marked. Certainly abused.

A shower sounds like the perfect remedy though, so I stagger in, careful not to get my bandage too wet. And once dry, I dress in worn jeans, a loose gray T-shirt and leave my hair down so it can somewhat conceal my bandage.

I’m prepared to find a bunch of hungry, angry bikers by the time I enter the main room, but that’s not what I find at all. No. Instead, I see HOCs laughing and stuffing their faces. Eating donuts. And Donut, himself, is attacking a cardboard box on the floor, shaking his head from side to side and the box with it. However, the jovial mood shifts as the guys notice me.

I hate it. The attention. The pity. Their stares feel like worms under my skin. I try my best to play it off, but even I can hear the insecurity in my voice. “I leave you guys alone for a few hours and you’re already cheating on me. Figures.”

Dozer walks toward me. He pulls me into him and circles his arms around me. I shift uncomfortably and expect someone to say something, but no one does. “Thought you could use a break this mornin’.”

“Thank you.”

Leaning away from me, he plants his hands on my shoulders and his steely, gray eyes narrow on my neck. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

His brows pinch together. “You sure, babe? I could kick his ass a second time for you?”

“Yeah . . .” Whoa . . . wait . . . a second time?

Griz points his donut at Dozer. “Mav’s the one who sent you to get the donuts. Don’t be takin’ all the credit.”

While D’s distracted, I shift out of his arms and circle around the bar. I reach for the box of donuts. I need both the pick me up and the sugar.

“Didn’t know if he’d pitch a fit s’all.”

Taz smirks at me from his where he’s sitting at the bar. “Sorry you had a rough night, little stray. You good?” My mouth falters on its way to my donut. Not only is Taz eating his donut awkwardly, but also did he just ask me if I’m okay? I eye him questioningly.

He just grins wider and keeps eating. Finally, I ask, “What are you doin’ to that poor donut?”

He chuckles at my response, and rips off another piece of the inside of the donut, then shoves it inside his mouth. While he chews, he says, “Just eatin’ ‘er from the inside out. I always eat the best part of my meals first.”

I scrunch up my nose and mouth, which has one corner of his mouth curling to reveal a hint of a dimple.

Griz comes up next to me, and speaks low. “Doc will be here ‘round three to stitch you up. Long as he doesn’t get called in.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

He studies my face. “You havin’ a change of heart?”

“I haven’t decided . . . yet.”

“Well, you already know my vote, sweetheart. This place needs ya. Anything I can do to sway ya, you just let me know, yeah?” He pulls me into his side and squeezes his arm around me once then lets go.

“When are the old ladies coming? Um, so I can make myself scarce?” I ask.

Dozer leans back on his stool and pats his stomach. “Around five.”

Someone lets out a high-pitched whistle, like a catcall. Probably Bodie because he follows it up by saying, “Whew’weee, check out Mr. College Boy.”

I lean forward to get a glimpse of what they’re looking at, but I think deep down I already know.

Luce.

He’s exiting his office carrying an oversized briefcase in one hand, and a round cardboard tube under his arm. As I take in this new version of him, the rhythm of my heart wavers and low in my belly a small bird flutters its wings. He no longer looks like a bad-boy biker. If anything, he looks like the devil in red. Enticing and dripping with magnetism.

His crimson button up shirt is ironed to perfection. The color pops next to his tan skin and inky black hair. He’s also wearing black slacks, and expensive-looking shoes. And he’s shaved. Yes . . . shaved!

Maybe he’s trying to cause a massive epidemic of brain and heart failure.

I can’t help but lust and loathe simultaneously after him, although I know I need to find a way to shut off the attraction I feel.

As he gets closer, I see bruises marring his beautiful jaw, and his left eye. And it gives me some kind of sick satisfaction to think I’m not the only one who got abused last night. But the sad fact is, even banged up Mav’s still the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. More so now because his chiseled features are on full display for public consumption.

Closing my gaping mouth, I clench my teeth together then spin around and put my back to him. I need to tamp down my awkward heart palpitations caused by his appearance, and attempt to turn this river of warmth flowing through me into a cold wall I can put between us.

The staring. The attraction. The small bit of hope that I may have found more than a temporary pit stop. That’s all done with now. If I stay, I stay for the money and that’s it.

I pour a glass of juice. Very. Very. Slowly. Hoping he’ll be out of the room by the time I turn around.

No such luck.

I feel warmth at my back. It travels up my spine and the air in my little bubble charges. Heady cologne, both carnal and spicy, invades my senses and my legs feel unstable underneath me. My body starts to sing as his proximity sends bolts of heat and need coiling through me. He clears his throat and it’s as if he’s throwing static because the hairs rise on my arms and stand on end. And it pisses me off that I have absolutely no control over my reaction to him.

None.

I don’t understand it. The red flags and warning signs, telling me to stay clear of him are all there. But I’ll be damned if I can get my body to comply.

“We need to talk,” he breathes against my neck, his accent thicker than ever.

Um . . . no . . . no . . . We definitely do not need to talk. Talking is not staying away. Talking is face to face. In close quarters. Which is something my body and mind can’t handle right now. Not when my emotions are all over the place like this.

“No,” I say under my breath. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Doll?” he sighs. That name sends both irritation and shivers tumbling south.

I keep my head down so I don’t have to meet his gaze in the mirror. The mirror that was shattered sometime in the night.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I tell him.

“Last night—”

“Last night you were drunk.”

“Yeah I was, but. . . .”

“You were drunk and you thought I brought drugs into the clubhouse. Even though I told you I’m not a druggie. And I promised never to break your rules. But I can see how the red hair makes me a liar, and untrustworthy. So no worries, I completely understand.” I sound like a bitter bitch, venom spewing out of my mouth as if I’m the girl on the exorcist. Just blaaaaah all over the place.

He exhales. “Jesus.” And out of my peripheral vision, I see him lifting his arm, probably to scrub his hand over his head, a habit of his. He’s quiet for a moment. When he reaches forward to touch me, I draw back. But it doesn’t deter him. He moves strands of my hair and lays them behind my shoulder so he can have a clear view of my neck. Then, with his thumb, he moves my chin up and away.

“This.” He strokes his thumb over the edge of the bandage sending an electric current straight to my core. “Won’t happen again.”

Ignoring my racing heart, I pull away and huff, “You’re right. It won’t.” I pull my hair back over my shoulder. “Because I’m not staying. I’m leaving later today. I’m just sticking around to see the doctor.”

Well, I guess I’ve made my decision.

I don’t know what he thinks of my little declaration, because I can’t see his face. And he’s silent. But a minute later, he grabs my elbow. “What about our deal?”

Stunned, I finally look up at him in the mirror. His head is less than an inch away from mine, and his eyes are so lit up they’re molten.

“You should be happy. This is what you wanted, right? Me gone,” I say sharply. “Well congratulations. You’re going to get your wish.”

He glares back at me, or at least multiple broken pieces of him do.

A stool screeches across the floor. Mav’s head snaps toward the bar. He barks out, “Sit the fuck down, and stop eyeballin’ me. We’re just workin’ shit out.”

He turns back and burns me up with the way he’s looking at me. I see lust and loathing there too. Does he see the same in my eyes?

“Yeah? And where the fuck you gonna stay?”

“I’ll find somewhere. And you can find someone else for Edge. Someone better. Someone not so plain. You were right, I don’t belong here.”

“Fuck . . . I didn’t . . .” He sucks in a deep breath. “We had a deal. You stick around until the party, and I’ll make sure you’re set. You need the money and I . . .” He’s fingers tighten on my arm. “Three more days. That’s it. You stay, and I swear I won’t give you any more shit. I won’t lay a hand on you. No one will.”

I glance down to the death grip he has on my arm. I quip, “Yeah, call me crazy, but I don’t believe you.”

He lets go of me and rubs a hand slowly down his face. Halfway down he pauses. His hand falls. “Two thousand dollars.”

My eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

“You stay. You follow through with the deal. I’ll give you two thousand dollars.”

Two thousand dollars . . .

I mentally calculate how far that will get me. That’s food, shelter, clothing, and time to look for a decent job. For a second, I let the moral guilt hit me. Sleeping with a man for money makes me a whore. That’s what Mav’s asking me to do. Be his whore. But I’m a desperate girl who needs options. A desperate girl who doesn’t have the luxury of turning down an offer like this.

I’ve tried to live up to society’s laws and standards for years. But my life doesn’t fit in that mold anymore. If I do this, the guilt will be mine and mine alone. For enough money to start a new life, I think I can bear it.

Purely out of spite, I bite out, “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”

The corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s fighting a smile. “Yeah. You do that. I need to get to work, but we’ll talk later.”

With that said, he stalks off.

I watch him cross the room in the shattered mirror. He stops once to whisper heatedly to Taz and then he’s gone, out the front door. Probably to go do whatever seedy job it is he does for the club. Maybe run a sex slavery ring or the club’s brothel. Something I know motorcycle clubs are famous for.

Later, after most of the guys have left for work, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I ask Griz, “Why is he dressed like that? He’s a pimp, right? Please tell me he’s a pimp.” I want to hate him so I’m hoping Griz will give me something.

Griz lets out a loud barking laugh that quickly turns into a cough. I get worried and pat his back for a second until he waves me off. When he finally recovers and can breathe normally again, he says with humor in his tone, “Nah. He’s doesn’t work for the club. The boy went to college and he’s a savvy businessman now. He designs houses mainly. But commercial buildings too. He owns Parson’s and Gunn Construction.”

I remember Mav being bent over drawing something when I first met him, when Dozer and I walked into his office that day.

“Our man’s the money and the design of the biz. His partner handles the sales and build work.”

He laughs when I scowl at him for his word choice. Our man. I try to wrap my head around this new information. Dammit. I wanted it to be something that didn’t appeal to me. But no. Instead, I find out he’s smart, educated, and talented.

What in the hell is he doing here? Why is he a member of a club? Why would he choose this kind of life if he has so many other options?

Stop it . . .

Done. Remember. He’s a safety hazard.

I stand and start cleaning up. After gathering all the dirty glasses, I head into the kitchen to wash them. Taz follows me. He doesn’t say anything but leans back on the counter, arms folded.

In a voice laced with suspicion, I ask, “What are you doing?”

He shrugs. “Standin’ here. That a crime?”

“Why?” I draw out the word.

“Makin’ sure you don’t leave. Mav gave strict orders to keep you here.”

I put down the dishes before I drop them. “He can’t do that.”

Taz reaches into his pocket and pulls out a toothpick, which he pops into his mouth. “Actually, he can do whatever the fuck he likes.”

“And if I try to leave?”

The side of his mouth lifts. “You can try. But I’ve been given permission to tie you up if you do.” He uncrosses his arms and grabs his belt buckle. He also gets this crazy look in his eyes like he’s imagining it. “Just say the word and we’ll make some memories, little stray.”

A shudder travels down my spine. Mav is definitely evil. He knew this would get to me. He’s pulling my strings. Bit by bit he’s controlling everything I do. It’s as if I’m traveling down the slippery little slope with Warner all over again.

I’m so mad I feel like I’m going to explode. “God, Luce. You’re such an asshole. I’m not your doll. You can’t just make me do whatever you like.”

The energy I lacked this morning is now surging through me. I clomp around the kitchen, slamming cupboards, hissing under my breath, and bake like a mad woman. Because that’s exactly what I am. A. Mad. Woman. What he’s turned me into. I’m losing control. I’m losing my freedom. And I don’t know how to put a stop to it. The only thing I can do is leave and now I can’t even do that.

MAVERICK

My secretary’s chin hits the floor when I walked in to the office this morning. She said she couldn’t remember the last time I came in to work all dressed up like a boss—her words, not mine.

It’s been months since I came to the office. Maybe a year or more since I last cared enough to look professional while doing so.

Tim, my business partner, nearly fell out of his chair when he looked up to see me standing in his doorway. He gave me some shit for slipping on my end of the work, and not returning his calls, but not one to dwell on the negative, he quickly moved on, shook my hand, and welcomed me back. For the next few hours, he updated me on what I’d missed, and what we currently had in our pipeline. I gave him the go ahead on the large Sandia project I’d been putting the brakes on. And after calling the bank to wire the money he’d need to purchase the lots, we set a deadline for two months. By then I’d get him the designs for the brochures and the blue prints for the model home.

For the rest of the day, I work in my office, drawing. Even after all these years, it never gets old. Taking something as simple as an idea and making it a reality is what hooked me on art at a young age.

I felt a kinship to the God my parents taught me to worship. I had created something from nothing and made it beautiful.

The hidden story behind a building, the history within its walls, is what attracted me to architecture. But I wanted to be the one who set the stage, crafted the walls, and designed the foreground from the very beginning. It was a rush and still is today.

There’s nothing like building someone’s dream and handing over the keys so they can begin making it happen.

Maybe that’s why I settled for Dana. I lacked patience. I wanted to start my own story. I had plans and I was sick of waiting for the right woman to come along. So I found one I was attracted too and tried to make her what I needed.

My mother often told me my lack of patience would be my undoing. I doubt this is what she meant, but it’s true all the same.

When I’m done for the day, I leave my office with a sense of rightness flowing through me.

I’d forgotten this feeling. The satisfaction one gets from finishing an honest day’s work.

I know I have in no way fixed the chaotic mess that is my life, but it feels like maybe I’ve shoveled one pile of shit off my shoulders. I still have a lot more wrongs to right. Starting with Doll. And Edge. And fixing my standing with the club. But I’ll have to take it one day at a time. One shovelful at a time.

Driving back to the clubhouse, I tap my thumb on the steering wheel. I’m jonesing for a cigarette. Quitting this morning may not have been the best decision. Especially if Doll stays prickly and feisty toward me like she was this morning.

That’s if she’s even still there . . .

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I flip it open and reread Taz’s texts.

T: shes pissed. did u no she calls u luce.

T: Wuz up with that

Me: The fuck if I know.

T: just a guess but i don’t think its a complament.

Me: Yeah . . . me either.

Ten minutes later, I pull my truck into the courtyard. Kendra and Blaire are getting out of Kendra’s SUV. The back doors open and all the kids pile out. They take off running to the back of the clubhouse where we have a swing-set, a shed full of toys, and a whole lot of room for them to get crazy while their moms plan the party.

“You’re lookin’ nice, Mav. You work today?” Kendra, Septic’s old lady, asks as she comes up to me, gives me a half-hug and a kiss on the cheek. She has large Spanish features, brown hair, and she’s extra curvy. Just how Septic likes ’em.

“Yeah.” I return her hug.

“Although it looks like you had a rough night,” she adds. She’s fishing for details. Details she knows I won’t give.

Blaire is average height with white-blonde hair and blue eyes. As usual, she’s dressed overly modest and uncomfortable. Five years ago, she was a college girl going through a rebellious stage. She and her friends came around the club looking for a good time. What she got was pregnant, with Bodie’s kid. Bodie claimed her, married her, and two years later they had their second child. But their relationship has never been solid. Blaire doesn’t approve of our lifestyle. Like me, she was raised in a very religious family. Unlike me, she still wants to live that kind of life. She’s been pressuring Bodie for years to split from the club. Only knowing Bodie like I do, it’s not the club he’ll be splitting from when it’s finally time to choose one or the other.

We talk for a bit until a red Mercedes pulls into the lot. Nick. She’s driving and Grandma Pepper, Cap’s mom, is sitting in the passenger seat. Taffy, Cap’s daughter, peels into the lot right behind them in her green Mini Cooper.

I greet everyone and then get the hell out of there. Being caught in a hen-fest is not my idea of a good time. Plus, I need to get inside and make sure everything is as it should be.

Entering the club, I see brothers at the bar, playing pool, chilling at a table, drinking beers, looking like a couple of saints. Not a clubpiece in sight. The place is so clean I doubt the old ladies will recognize it. Not to mention Cap and Edge when they return.

Platters of various baked treats and sandwiches line one half of the bar. Enough to feed an army. The clubhouse even smells fantastic. Like cinnamon and just the thought causes my taste buds to tingle. I’m sure Doll’s responsible and the smell tempts me to seek her out.

Taz steps into my path. His jaw is tight, his eyes are black and throwing lethal intent, and he’s biting down on the toothpick in his mouth. He’s also flexing his muscles like he’s about to enter the ring and go a few rounds with somebody.

Fear slithers down my spine. Oh fuck, she gave him the slip. “Where is she?” I grind my molars and look down and into the hallway.

“Had to pull Lo out of Bodie’s bed not two goddamn minutes ago. Fucker’s trying to get caught.”

Fuck. A relieved breath whooshes out of me. He damn near gave me a fucking heart attack. “I’ll talk to him.” Taz gives me a curt nod but doesn’t looked pleased in the slightest.

Griz slaps me on the back. “The girls are all locked in the room. No one’s gettin’ in or out.”

The implications of what he said sinks in. “You locked Doll up?” I take one step toward the hallway.

Griz coughs and speaks up behind me. “Doll?”

My jaw tightens. “Pumpkin.”

“Oh . . . well . . . no. Didn’t see the need to. She’s learned her lesson about breakin’ the rules last night whether she broke them or not. And she’s not officially a clubpiece yet. Not jumpin’ from bed to bed yet, so the old ladies should have no beef with her, yet.”

My blood heats. I don’t know which part of his comment makes me want to punch him in his smug face more.

He holds his hands up as I glare at him. “Just tellin’ it how it is, brotha.”

“Yeah . . . well . . . don’t for once.”

Upstairs, I stall at Dozer’s door. It’s deathly silent behind it. I raise my hand to knock, but falter before my knuckles hit the wood. She could be sleeping. In fact, with all that happened last night and everything she’s done to prepare for the party, I wouldn’t doubt if she was.

At least that’s what I tell myself so I don’t have to man up and face her right now. So I don’t have to come to terms with what I’ve done and pay the price for it, which by her reaction this morning is exactly what she’s going to make me do.

In my room, I change back into my regular clothes and head back downstairs.

“I see Donut’s still alive,” Nick teases as we watch the kids play in the backyard. Nick’s a Barbie lookalike, tall, with blondish-gray hair and gray-blue eyes. She’s slim and sexy for an older woman. But you can tell the life’s taken its toll on her by the hard lines around her eyes and mouth.

“Were you really worried?” I ask.

“Considering the last time he visited the clubhouse, he came home drunker than a preacher’s son on Sunday, yeah.”

“That wasn’t me. That was every bit your old man.”

She laughs, “True. God, bless that bastard.” Then she spares me a glance and asks, “So what happened to you? You have a run-in with a Mack truck?”

I snort. “More like a bulldozer.”

She raises an eyebrow as she quickly looks up at me. “Ethan did that to you? And you’re not gonna tell me why, are you?”

“Nope.”

She eyes me for a minute. “I’ve been hearin’ a lot of things about this new clubpiece. Does it have anything to do with her?”

I watch the kids and let the question hang out there.

Nick knows me well enough to know if I don’t want to talk about it, she’s not getting anything out of me. She sighs and changes the subject. But not to a better one. “You look tired. Too many women keepin’ you up at night now that you’re sittin’ at the head of the table?”

“No more than usual.” I rub my hand over my head. My turn. “How’s Cap?”

She snorts at my subtlety. “Same. We just came from there. We’ll wait until Edge has a chance to see him, then the doctors will do what they can. He’s either gonna pull through or . . . take his final ride. I’ve done all I can do for him.”

I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her into my side. “I know you have. You’ve done good. He’s tough, Nick. He’ll pull through.”

She pats my chest and pulls away. “Yeah? He fuckin’ better. Then I’m gonna shoot his ass for puttin’ me through this.”

The crazy thing is . . . she really means that. If Cap makes it, he’s gonna have hell to pay for cheating and almost dying on her. I saw how scared she was at the hospital when they brought him in. I saw how much it stung when the cops told her he wasn’t alone, and who the woman with him was. Becca wasn’t just a clubpiece. She’s was Cap’s side piece. His girlfriend. I think at that point, Nick wanted to turn her back on him, let Cap lay in the bed he’d made. But she didn’t. Couldn’t.

Maybe it was for Taffy and Dozer. Or us. Cap’s our father in a way. At least, he is to a lot of the guys, as well as our brother. And that makes Nick the queen of this band of misfits. Together we’re whole.

Nick might not be the nicest woman in the world, but I respect the shit out of her for supporting Cap and the club for all these years. I respect her even more now for putting her hurt aside and giving Cap the best care she can, and giving him a chance to live. One he probably doesn’t deserve.

“Who do I thank for orderin’ the food?” she asks.

The back door shuts and we turn. Lil’ Bird walks toward us, her usually confident swagger missing. “Sorry I’m late. One of our bartenders no showed—”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were comin’. No worries. You weren’t missed,” Nick interrupts her. It sounds both bitchy and casual. Exactly as it was meant to sound.

Lil’ pauses and her eyes dart to mine. Her face flushes with color, something I’ve never seen happen to her before.

Looks like Nick’s found herself a new punching bag. Fuck. Not good.

Lil’ has never had a problem putting a bitch in her place. But this is different. To get accepted by the old ladies, she needs Nick’s vote of approval. And I don’t doubt Lil’ Bird’s getting an extra dose of bitch from Nick because she’s been with Cap, and most of the other brothers.