Breaking It All: A Hellfire Riders MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs) (34 page)

I stare at him. Some of that was obvious—like Stone not wanting any enemies to find him. But protecting me? “You’re serious.”

He gives a solemn nod.

I laugh a little, because it does sound exactly like Stone. Then I quiet because I realize, “The Iron Blood found me really quickly.”

“Yeah, they did.” A frown pulls his dark brows together. “Though maybe that was easier. They were looking for you, not Stone.”

“And they could find me in public records?”

“Yeah.” That comes out like an agreement, but his frown is deepening, and he’s sitting up.

I slide off his chest, kneeling on the bed beside him. “Gunner?”

“Just thinking.” Staring across the room at nothing, his hand absently stroking my back. “Just thinking about bad arguments. And how they found you so quick. How they knew to even
look
for a sister. Because Stone would have never given them that. Not your name, not nothing. Not even to Cherry, if she’d been fishing for info. He was always careful. Especially with you.”

Dread prickles my naked skin. “And what you’re thinking isn’t good, is it?”

“No, sweetheart. Not good at all,” he says roughly and when he meets my eyes, the pain there is a razor across my heart. “I’m thinking you need to tell me everything else you’ve heard while you’ve been around my family.”

Gunner

The sun is low in the sky when I reach the farm. I wonder if this is how David felt, riding up to Mama’s house that last day—thinking about how your own family hurt the person you love more than any other. Seeing her face bruised and mouth bleeding. Seeing her fear for her brother, and knowing he’s going through fucking hell, and that’s on your family, too.

Every second, hoping you’re wrong. Every second, knowing you’re not.

And all the while filled with a hurt and rage so fucking deep, it’d be easy to pick up an ax. It’d be easy to swing it.

But today I’m swinging something a hell of a lot stronger.

Three dozen Hellfire Riders roll in behind me, led by Thorne. Three dozen Riders at my back, even though I’m wearing a kutte boasting the wrong damn colors. Three dozen Riders, sent without hesitation after a single call to the prez early this morning.

The only delay was the miles between us.

Mama’s out on the porch when we ride up the east hill, frowning and shading her eyes against the sun as she watches us come. Maybe preparing to rip the skin off Adam’s ass for bringing the Few to this side of the farm before realizing she’s looking at a different club. Then her gaze settles on me, and she waits quietly as I cut my engine, walk up to meet her.

There’s relief in her eyes when her gaze flicks down to my kutte, but her smile is tight. “Friends of yours?”

“Yup. Just riding through and wanted to see how I was doing,” I tell her. “So I invited them up to meet my brothers. I just texted Six-Point, so they all ought to be on their way.”

And it’s all quiet now behind me. Every engine off, and I know without even looking around that they’re all just sitting on their bikes. Watching me, waiting for a signal.

I don’t want to give it. But I will if I need to.

“Let’s have a seat, Mama.” I point to the porch swing. “The sunset’s going to be real pretty.”

Her fingers are clenched as she sits. A little uncertain, but mostly angry. “What is this, Zachary?”

“Just doing my job as a member of the Notorious Few,” I say and set the swing into gentle motion. When my brothers arrive, at first they’ll just see the Riders sitting there. But the movement will draw their eyes here, which is where I need them to be looking to make sure shit doesn’t get ugly real fast. “Because the Few promised to help get info regarding Stone’s whereabouts. So that’s what I’m doing—getting info regarding Stone’s whereabouts.”

Her cheeks are pale with high spots of color on each one. “From whom?”

“From Strawman, I figure.” And I should have fucking known a week ago.
A real bad argument.
Just like Anna, Stone wouldn’t automatically associate the name with a scarecrow, like I do. ‘Straw man’ would mean something else to him. “But how badly I have to hurt him before he tells me what I want to know will be up to you. Because he does love you, Mama. And he’ll keep his mouth closed until you tell him to open it.”

She stares at me as if never seeing me before, then turns her face away on a deep, shuddering breath. “This is my fault.”

“Because when he called you up from Arizona and said he know a way to bring me home—you told him to do it?”

Have his friends in the Iron Blood grab Stone, then make sure I know there was a connection between him and the Cage. But what Grace told Anna about him consulting Mama before every decision was likely true—he would call up Mama first. Not just for permission but for approval.

I don’t think any of my other brothers knew—like little boys, not sharing—but Mama would have.

“No,” she says softly. “My fault because whatever this weakness is in you, it must have come from me. Outwardly, you are so much your father. But inwardly, you are nothing like him.”

“I’m not sorry for that.”

“And David was, as well.” She looks at her wrist, fingers tracing the veins beneath the fine skin. “Some weakness in me. Some poison.”

“That’s a good thing, then. Because if a disease is bad enough, sometimes they use poison as medicine. And the way I see it, Prophet was a cancer. So if your blood is what poisoned me and David, I’d also say that’s what saved us.”

“Your
father
a cancer?” Her laugh is hollow. “If anything is, these girls are. What they did to you, to David.”

“So now it’s the girls at fault—and not your blood?” I shake my head. “I imagine you’d say anything is at fault, as long as it’s not Prophet. So let me give you someone to blame, straight out: Me. I’m at fault for the way I am. And I’m not sorry, because everything you’ve got here on the farm sure looks pretty, Mama. But it’s nothing except racist ideology festering on Prophet’s corpse,” I tell her evenly.

Her chin goes up, eyes snapping anger. “This is how you talk to me? Your mother? How you talk about your father?”

Of course. I sigh, pinch the bridge of my nose, then look up as the sound of my brothers’ bikes draw nearer—then revving higher as they spot the Riders.

Led by Adam, because Strawman wouldn’t be that stupid. He’d have slowed down, looked for Mama and made sure she wasn’t in immediate danger, then called in for reinforcements from the rest of the Few at the clubhouse. But Adam, he just opens the throttle and charges in.

Gravel flies under their tires all the way up the house. Then Adam’s off his bike, roaring, “What the fuck is going on here?”

I’d get up from the swing, but I’m not sure whether Mama would find a way to stab me in the back.

“Had some friends come by,” I say evenly, and he’s instantly turning that rage toward me. “Because we were interested in what Strawman had to say about one of their brothers who went missing.”

That was not what Adam expected. He shoots a glance at Strawman.

Who knows exactly why I’m here. His gaze is steady on Mama, waiting.

She’s not looking at him.

“Because I think he knows where Stone is being held—or at least the general vicinity. I think he’s a little friendlier with Chef than he lets on. What I also think is that he’s not going to say a word until Mama here tells him to.”

“What the hell, Zach,” Six-Point spits out, his entire body tense. “You’re going to hurt Mama?”

“Hell no. Thorne there”—I point to the Riders’ veep—“is going to blow a hole through Strawman’s knee unless he starts talking.”

Muncher’s shaking his head. “You’re threatening your own brother? While wearing that kutte?”

A laugh rocks me forward. I meet his eyes, then look to Six-Point—the only two brothers I even give a damn about. “You’re fucking kidding me. You remember what favor you asked of me only a goddamn week ago?”

“That’s different,” Six-Point says.

“No. The only difference is that I’m asking the same favor from the Riders.” I lean back again. “But Mama just has to say the word and our brother doesn’t lose his leg.”

Still straddling his bike, Strawman’s just staring at her. Waiting.

I look to Thorne. “Count of three.”

The older man drags the shotgun out of his scabbard on
one
. Pulls back the hammers on
two
.

Just before
three
, I say, “Point it at Adam’s knee, instead.”

And Mama shoots forward off the swing, crying out, “Tell him, Jacob! Tell him what he wants to know! He wants to call other men his brothers? Let him. And he will never again be welcome back to this home because this impotent devil is no son of mine!”

Good enough. Rising from the swing, I remove my kutte. On the steps of the porch, Adam’s looking at me in angry confusion.

“You’re patched in, little brother.”

“You said permanent!” Six-Point explodes at me, stalking closer. “You’re not fucking leaving now.”

“I’d have stayed on as one of the Few. I would have fucking
stayed
,” I tell them. “I came in on good faith and one fucking condition: that my obligation to Stone had to be respected. But he”—I jab my finger toward Strawman—“broke that faith from Day fucking One. By sending that trouble to Stone in the first place, so I’d be forced to come here for help.”

Six-Point stops midstride to stare at Strawman. Muncher’s up off his bike, shaking his head.

“You did that?”

His face tight, Strawman looks to Mama before nodding. “I did that.”

“Goddammit, Jacob!” Dragging his hands through his hair, Six-Point yells at him. “Our brother was here with us! Making us better!”

“He’s not our fucking brother anymore,” Adam says coldly, walking back to his bike. “You heard Mama. So I’ll leave you to tell him what you need to tell him, Strawman, and he needs to get the fuck out of here. Six-Point, Muncher. We’re heading back to the clubhouse.”

Expression torn, Six-Point looks helplessly at me.

Muncher doesn’t move. “I think we’ll stay until these Rider bastards are gone, brother. Make sure Mama’s safe.”

“Suit your fucking self.” Engine roaring, he heads out.

The house’s screen door slams. So Mama’s gone, too, and as soon as she is, Strawman’s shoulders slump a little.

Probably he would have preferred having his leg blown off than seeing how Mama leapt to Adam’s defense, but was all too willing to sacrifice him.

But I can’t be fucking sorry. I walk over to him, toss my kutte over his handlebars. I don’t need it anymore. “So you got something to say?”

On a short breath, he nods. “There’s a property just east of the California-Nevada border, not far off Highway 395.”

I pull out my phone, call up a map. “You show me exactly where.”

It takes him a minute, following some tiny route he zooms in on. Finally he points out a location and I drop a pin.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” I tell him. “You’re going to give me your phone and you’ll be the special guest to a few of my friends until we’ve got Stone home. Not one of them will touch you; I just don’t want to have to worry about you giving Chef a heads-up, yeah?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah.”

Because it’s not like he has a fucking choice. I look to Muncher and Six-Point. “You got any issues with that?”

“No,” Muncher says.

“All right,” I say before turning to Strawman again. “Not one of them will touch you. But
I’m
not one of them. And you sent Chef to rape
my
woman.”

His eyes widen—then my fist slams into his jaw and he flies backward off his bike, drooling blood, spitting a tooth. Rolling over on the ground, he holds up his hands. “I didn’t, brother!”

“Fucking bullshit.” I advance on him, wishing I had that fucking ax, but my fists work just as well and will take a lot longer. More pain for him. Better for me.

“
Think,
you little shit!” Strawman’s laughing on his back in the dirt. “Why’d you bring her here? Because she got hurt! And the last fucking thing Mama wanted was her coming with you! I had no idea they’d sent someone to rough her up.”

I pause. That has the ring of truth.

He still deserves to have his ass beaten to a pulp, but I forgot this about him—he
will
keep laughing. Laughing and enjoying every bit of pain. So I either make it quick or I don’t do it.

I crouch beside him. “Just so it’s clear, brother—you not knowing is the only fucking thing saving your life now.”

He spits blood, wipes his mouth, still grinning. “Yeah. I figured.”

“Give your phone to Muncher, then the Riders will escort you to where you’re going.” Quickly I frisk his legs, take his knife, his gun. “Don’t give them any shit.”

“Hell, I’m looking forward to a vacation.”

I bet. I wait until he’s on his bike again, then glance at Thorne. The Riders all start their engines. The roar is deafening and calls to my blood, calls me to ride. But I’m not done here yet.

With a wave, Thorne pulls out. Strawman falls in and I watch them until they vanish round the bend in the road.

Then I head over to Six-Point and Muncher.

Muncher’s eyes are locked on mine. “We didn’t know. And we could still use you, brother. No matter what Mama says. You’re good for the Few.”

“Maybe,” I tell them. “But being here isn’t good for me.”

“Fuck.” Six-Point links his hand behind his head, turns in a taut circle as if containing all his frustration in that small space. “Because we just saw what you have—and they didn’t even have to say one goddamn word. Every single one of those fuckers was ready to die for you, and kill for you. The rode four hundred goddamn miles for you. But they’re not your blood and you weren’t even wearing their kutte. And facing them, most of the Few would have scattered. Hell, they wouldn’t even come around if it weren’t for the pussy. So what do we got to do?”

It’s real simple. “You’ve got to open up your goddamn eyes and look at what’s outside this farm—not just go along believing everything you’re told. You gotta look and see what brothers really are. Because it’s not this. This is just blood. The legacy of a dead man. A brotherhood is a living, changing thing. And Mama says you’re looking to the future but you’re not. This whole place is chained to the past and to Prophet. So if you want to ride free? Really ride free? You gotta break those fucking chains. You’ve got to bring in good men who aren’t Coopers, give them a real place in the club. You’ve got to start making brothers who aren’t blood. You gotta start listening to your wives instead of to your dicks, especially if you care about them at all—because figuring out what matters to you after you’ve already lost it is a shitty way to keep moving forward. And all that’s only where to
start
,” I tell them.

“Shit.” Six-Point rubs the back of his neck, laughing. “I like things easy.”

“It won’t be. It’ll be real damn hard to keep going. But it’ll be worth it—and I got to tell you, just by admitting that you like it easy, you’ve already got a jump ahead, because you know all the rest is work. You can’t pretend it’s not. But there’s a lot of fuckers who say they want to live free, yet what they really mean is they want everything to be easy. Easy riding, easy pussy, easy beer. But that shit’s the
reward
. And anyone who isn’t willing to work for it, you’ve got to boot them the hell out of your club—and that includes brothers who get everything handed to them easy, just because they’re firstborn.”