Wild Ways (7 page)

Crimson shot Scotch a venomous look, creasing the lines he already wore on his Neanderthal forehead. “You’re late.”

As his chapter’s president, it was Scotch’s responsibility to get his guys to Church on time. “We had some trouble at one of our local bars early this morning. Two of our members were shot. One took a bullet across the scalp; he’ll make it. Another took one in the chest. We’re not so sure about him. Doc’s working on him now, but it don’t look good.” He found the St. Louis chapter’s president among the sea of men in dusty leathers and black vests. “One of yours died at the scene. Another had his bike shot out from underneath him. He’s at the shop getting it pieced together again.”

Crimson walked over to Scotch, his boots scraping the concrete. “Was it the Purgs?”

“Wasn’t a club at all. This woman’s been—”

“Woman?”
Crimson interrupted. “Are you saying a woman shot up three guys?”

“Naw, but it started with her, the broad that’s been looking for her sister.” Scotch ran his fingers down his beard as he gave them the whole story.

There was a barrage of questions about injuries and deaths, then silence as the men digested the news. Most of them knew one another, even if they belonged to different chapters. Death and injury were a part of the OMG lifestyle, between road accidents and gang violence. Scotch had already attended seven funerals that year, and it was only July.

The president rattled the chain ominously at his belt. “You shoulda taken care of this nosy sister a long time ago.”

Scotch shook his head. “A broad like her disappears, and it would bring attention. Cops. She’s no runaway, no addict.”

“But she’s now a bigger threat than some nosy cops. Look, chick walks into a beehive, she has to figure on getting stung. As long as we leave no proof, we’ll be fine.”

“Maybe we could use her at the Ball,” another guy suggested. “Pump her up with meth, and she’ll be as willing as the others.”

Crimson’s mouth twitched beneath his silver-streaked beard. “Two birds with one stone. We have a shortage this year, not enough strays. Get rid of these two guys. We don’t need that kind of shit this close to our biggest moneymaking event of the year. You hear what I’m saying?”

“I’m on it,” Scotch said. The so-called Ball did earn big bucks for the club, but he thought it was too big a risk. “You all need to be on the lookout.” He gave them a description of the woman and her cohorts, least what little he’d seen of them. “These guys are dangerous. If you see ’em, take ’em out.”

* * *

Mollie rose from scattered and diametrically opposed dreams, some of violence and the last of a sexy Latin guy sliding his hands across her body. She sorted that from reality as she rose to wakefulness. No sexy guy touching her. Julian sat on his bed studying a map.

He turned at her movement, and his smile made her heart hitch. “The sleepyhead wakes.”

“What time is it? How long was I asleep?” She scrambled out of bed, searching for the clock.

“It’s a little after fourteen hundred hours. Don’t look so panicked. You obviously needed to rest.”

First she’d had to convert military time to standard time. Two o’clock! She ran her fingers through her hair, a makeshift brush. “What I need is to find my sister. I hate wasting time sleeping.”

“
Chacha
, if you’re going to be any good for your sister, you have to take care of yourself first.” He flicked one finger up. “Sleep.” A second finger. “Eat.” A third finger. “Take care of your soul.”

“What did you call me?”

“
Chacha
just means girl, short for
muchacha
. Don’t get your hackles up. That’s just the way my family talks: girl,
mami
, and for talking to someone we care about,
querida
, which means loved or beloved.”

“Usually when someone uses ‘baby’ or ‘sweetheart,’ they have something in mind.”

“I don’t.” He opened the curtains wider and patted the place on the bed beside him. “Come sit.” He raised an eyebrow when she hesitated. “To figure out our plan.”

He turned back to the map in front of him. The sun washed over his back and skin as smooth as café latte. She’d never been this close to someone like him: tall, dark, and dangerous. Yet his smile was completely disarming. His hair was thick and had a slight wave to it. One leg was bent, pushing his knee out through the hole in his jeans, and his arm rested on that knee. She felt dizzy, off-balance. She shouldn’t even be noticing his attributes, shouldn’t want to sit next to him on that small bed.

He looked her way. “I’m not going to bite. You’ve been dealing with outlaw bikers. You can’t be afraid of getting close to
me
.”

She was, but not in a way she could articulate.

“Sit.”

This time it was more of an order, and she found herself complying. She kept a couple of inches between them, as much as possible in the limited space. “What do you mean by take care of my soul?”

“What fulfills your soul?” he asked instead of answering. “A fine wine? Good meal? Bubble bath?” He waved at the room. “Fine accommodations?” His laugh was like honey sliding through her veins. More so when he took her in with soulful eyes. “I bet you haven’t taken any pleasure for yourself since your sister ran off.”

“Of course I have. I’ve …” But she could think of nothing.

“That’s what I thought. What makes you feel good?”

There was nothing openly provocative about the question, and yet it tingled through her. She searched and came up with precious little. “Chocolate, I guess. A good, dark chocolate bar.”

He waited, then said, “That’s it? That’s all you can come up with?”

“I’m a little distracted right now.”

He hooked his arms over his bent knees. “When I was in BUD/S, the training program you go through to be a SEAL, I kept focusing on things that made me feel good. A cup of Bustelo coffee in the morning. My mother’s
platanos
, so crisp at the edges, sweet and soft inside.” He rolled his eyes in pleasure at the mere thought, apparently. “Swimming in water that wasn’t sixty-nine degrees. Soaking in a hot tub. Sex.” He looked as though he were going to go on but closed his mouth instead.

The last word, spoken in a casual way, still swirled inside her. “I’ll focus on that after I find Di. Not sex, the other stuff.” She forced herself to study the map in front of him, bracketed by his spread legs. “What’s the plan?”

“While Chase hunts down leads on Brick, we’ll try to run him down as well. I have a feeling you’re like me, unable to sit around and wait.”

She nodded, probably a bit too vigorously. Waiting around in this motel room with Julian was not what she wanted to do. She wished he’d put a shirt on, for goodness’ sake.

Hmm, soaking him in as that bit of soul pleasure he was talking about?

No. Don’t even go there
.

He ran his finger around the downtown Oklahoma City area, where the Ship’s Inn was. “This city’s too hot for us right now. The Kings are going to be out for our blood. Rath asked our friend, who’s fixing your car, about club activity. Thorny owns a bike shop down in Texas, so he has friends in some of the local clubs. A tiger doesn’t change his stripes, so Brick might hook up with some other club. Thorny thinks the Vipers might be a logical group to move to. They’re a soft rival of the Kings, meaning they don’t play nice, but they don’t go out of their way to annihilate each other. The Vipers are still one-percenters—outlaws—but they’re not as violent as some of the other clubs. Rath and I came across them during our trip across old Route 66, and they were cool. So we’ll track down some Vipers in Tulsa.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She probably scooted off the bed a little too quickly, but his energy felt overwhelming.

He folded the map, stood, and stretched. And caught her staring at the way his muscles coiled.

She quickly shifted her gaze to the tattoo. “I like the eagle. I didn’t notice before that the wings are the pattern of the American flag.”

He touched the tips of his fingers to it. “Thanks. It was my way of saying, ‘I’m an American.’ People tend to lump Puerto Ricans in with Latino immigrants, forgetting that we are actually part of the U.S.” He dug through his bag. When he pulled on a black T-shirt, she could see angel wings imprinted on the back.
Fitting. He is your angel, after all
.

Within seconds he had on black steel-toed boots, a pair of sunglasses propped on top of his head, and the bag slung over his shoulder. Now he looked all badass again. She’d been so caught up watching him, she hadn’t done a damned thing to get ready to leave.

She packed her few things, tied her hair back, and was ready. Except maybe she wasn’t, by the way he was assessing her with a frown.

“How many biker bars have you gone into?” he asked.

“Three, but usually during the day when it’s not as busy. The Ship’s Inn was the first I went to at night, but I wasn’t planning on going inside. Detective Boyd warned me that it was very dangerous to go into one of those places once people were stoned and drunk. And as I sat in parking lots watching for Di, I saw that it was true.”

He gave her an affirming nod. “Knowing the dangers is a good start, but you need to understand the dynamics of the people who inhabit this lifestyle. First of all, you have to meld into the subculture.” He stepped closer and tugged on the belt loop of her jeans. “You’re too white bread. You’re also too pretty and healthy, but there’s not much we can do about that.”

She might have flushed at his compliment, but he was all business. “I brought clothing that wouldn’t draw unwanted attention. Especially
that
kind of attention.”

“Not a bad idea, but you don’t fit in. And now you’re with me, so you don’t have to worry about being manhandled. Take your jeans off.”

She raised an eyebrow even as his order shivered through her. “Pardon?”

“You have to drop that polite vernacular, too. Take off your jeans so I can do some damage to them. They need to look more road worn.”

She took her bag into the bathroom and traded the jeans for some shorts before coming out.

He took the jeans and went outside, where she watched him kneel down and rub them against the concrete curb. Threads splintered at the knees and the waistband. After a few minutes, he stood and handed them back. Then he assessed her again, his gaze on her chest. “Now we work on the top. Come back inside.”

She put her hand to her collarbone as she followed him. “What are you going to do to it?”

Julian reached behind him and brandished a wicked-looking knife. Then, of all things, he crooked his finger for her to come closer. That intimate gesture shot both fear
and desire through her.

“Mollie,” he said, and even that sounded intimate. “You have to trust me if this is going to work.”

“I do trust you.” Reluctantly, she stepped closer. He took the scoop collar of her shirt in one hand and pulled it away, his knuckles brushing her skin. Then he drew the knife down the fabric with the other. It split apart all the way down to her cleavage.

She looked up at him, which put his mouth an inch from hers. He paused, taking a measured breath as his gaze locked to hers. Did he feel the pull, too? He stepped back to survey his work, making her feel all kinds of self-conscious. Especially when his green eyes heated. “Now you’re rocking the look.” He stilled her hand as she tried to tug the shirt up. “You’ve got a fantastic body, Mollie. A biker chick is going to make the most of it.”

A fantastic body. His words tightened her throat. “Di was always the one who flaunted her body. She’s curvier, prettier. And she knew how to work it.”
I, on the other hand …

“You went the other way,” he guessed. “Conservative. Responsible. But don’t underestimate yourself. You’re a beautiful woman.” Their gazes held for a moment, as she tried to form a reply. A thank-you? Denial? Before she could think of what to say, he went on. “You need to be my BOB.”

“BOB?”

His mouth quirked. “Bitch on the back. Biker term for the girlfriend or wife. The clubs have one view of women—they’re possessions. Property. Not only their women, but all of them. You give them any indication that you’re interested, they will claim you. I’ve seen fights break out because some chick started partying with the patches. Her boyfriend or husband comes in trying to get her to go home, but she’s drunk and enjoying the edgy attention. Her guy gets all hot, and the bikers go nuts on him. Rath and I broke up a few of these altercations. To avoid any misunderstandings, you don’t walk over to someone by yourself, strike up a conversation, or by any means accept a drink. We don’t want any questions about who you’re leaving with, got it?”

She gave him a slow nod, still trying to wrap her head around it.

He pursed his lips, nodding toward the door. “Let’s roll.”

At the bike, he set both his bags down, settled her helmet on her head, and cinched the strap, his fingers brushing her neck. “If it’s a tight-knit place, they’re on alert when strangers come in. They’re thinking: Cops? Rival club members? Trouble? Rath and I always got watched for the first twenty minutes or so. You and I, as a couple, should look less suspicious. We sit at the bar, have a beer, put the people at ease. When I feel it’s the right time, you hit up the bartender with your question about Diana.” Again, his mouth was only inches from hers as he checked the helmet’s fit.

She pulled her attention away. “So this is where I obey you.”

His gaze met hers, and he let the word “yes” settle between them for a moment. “For both of our safety. And for the sake of our mission.”

Julian put on his helmet and mounted the bike. She settled behind him, resting her hands on his hips. How did BOBs hold on to their men? Tight or loosely?

He clipped his phone to his hip and plugged in a pair of earbuds. He rubbed them on his shirt and handed her one. “Tunes for the road?”

She took it, plugging it into her ear, and he did the same with the other one. Which meant she had to lean closer because of the cord length. After a few swipes of his fingers on the phone’s screen, music filled her ear. She wasn’t familiar with the song, though she’d heard something similar in a nightclub Di had dragged her to a couple of years back. The high energy beat was perfect for dancing, with its electronica dubbing. They headed onto an expressway, the afternoon sun searing her left side.