Full Heat: A Brothers of Mayhem Novel (3 page)

A hurt look crossed her face. He felt uncomfortable knowing he’d caused it, but he really needed to leave. Hugs were not his thing, if he was fast enough to prevent them. He hated the touch-feely way some people were, especially women. He preferred to be the one touching. Why would any woman want to touch him?

“I’m really sorry this happened,” she said softly.

She stretched out to touch his hand, but he reached up to brush hair from his eyes. Embarrassment flushed her face. “It’s the least I could do since you had warned me it wouldn’t go good for you. I should’ve listened. I thought if I stated that there was no way you could have done it; that you were with me the whole time, and you hadn’t met Jimmy before that moment, they would believe me.”

He accepted her apology. Regular people were always amazed when their honest alibi wasn’t believed.

“Don’t worry about it.” He turned to go and a light pull on his sleeve stopped him. His hands fisted. He really hated being touched, especially unexpectedly. A glance over his shoulder eased the tension.

“Mr. Ryder…uh, Storm, I will certainly understand if you turn me down, but I still need your services. Your club’s services that is.” Her smile faltered as her flush increased from the unintended double entendre. “The Thirty-Second gang is still threatening me. Our Petty Street branch was vandalized last night. The writing on the wall said if Jimmy’s death wasn’t enough, they would teach me a lesson.”

Moving far enough away for her to not touch him, he pulled out his cellphone from a front pocket. A glimpse confirmed it was two in the morning. Toro hadn’t called, as the asshole on Jimmy’s phone had assured him he would earlier.

“I’ll think on it. They shouldn’t bother you tonight. Go home with your lawyer.” Without looking her way again, he strode down the hall and out the glass doors. He had to get away from her. His gut kept saying she was nothing but trouble. After the short life he’d led so far, he already knew trouble would come for him without anyone else’s help.

Whatever attraction he felt for her had to be dampened. She wasn’t from his world and his lifestyle was hard on women.

Not slowing his stride, he jabbed his arms into his vest as he trotted down the wide marble steps in front of the building.

Probably would be best to call her when he reached the clubhouse and tell her to find someone else. Shit. He really didn’t need her kind of trouble. He shook his head. Who was he trying to convince?

As he expected, several of his men stood across the road hanging in the shadows of an alley near a bar. That most likely drove the cops crazy. MC members loitering near their jail and their favorite dive. He was tempted to walk inside and order a drink just to annoy them. But then again, he didn’t drink. Funny thing. A lot of people were allergic to peanuts, bee stings, and pets, but he was allergic to alcohol. One beer made him deathly sick.

At that moment a low-riding sedan came around the far corner, someone rapping as the bass thumped, punctuating each word.

Storm started across the street, stopping in front of the car’s path. The sedan stopped. The engine revved as they threatened to run him over. The windows were tinted so dark, even under the streetlights, Storm could only make out the silhouette of two people in the front seat and neither were shaped like the massive Toro.

He knew they wouldn’t hurt him. Word on the streets was that Toro wanted to keep the pleasure of running over his ass for himself. The Brothers of Mayhem and the Thirty-Second gang had a mutual animosity.

The whining noise of the engine grew louder. A couple off-duty deputies started walking their way. Smoke began to bellow from the rear tires. Storm felt the heat from the grille and hood. His groin was inches away from the powerful car. He lifted his arms over his head, bowing his back, and shot them double birds, as he glared at the driver, daring them to move forward.

One deputy hollered, “Hey! Cut that out! And you”—he pointed at Storm—“get your sorry ass out of the road!”

Another deputy was talking into his two-way radio at his shoulder as he edged around to catch the tag numbers.

Storm grinned at the dark windshield, waiting for the driver’s next move.

When several more deputies came out of the building, the tires on the sedan squealed as it shifted into reverse. The driver drove backward up the street and then turned, lifting one side as he did a two-point turn.

Chuckling, Storm ran to where the Brothers had parked his bike and quickly started it. In seconds, before the first deputy reached him, he raced away with his crew inches behind his Harley. As the streetlights flashed overhead, he remembered catching a glimpse of Mary Jane’s wide-eyed stare as she’d stood next to her lawyer on the steps of the county’s courthouse.

Damn! Why did he feel like he was deserting her?

Mary Jane walked out of the elevator into the courthouse’s parking deck. Lights shone bright enough on the sparse number of cars parked in her level for it to seem like midday. Her lawyer had asked if she needed to be walked to her car. Mary Jane laughed and asked if she needed the same. They chuckled as they parted. Her lawyer slung a purse over a shoulder and exited the elevator one floor earlier, her Prada pumps clicking on the cement.

With the well-lit deck and security cameras in several areas, Mary Jane felt relatively safe.

A few steps from where she parked, she noticed a man standing up straight. He’d been leaning against her car on the opposite side. Blond hair fell over his ears and slightly darker gruff covered his face. Storm Ryder. Her heart picked up speed, not from fear, but because of the intense way he watched her walk toward him. The man radiated animal sexuality.

She asked, “What are you doing here?”

Why wasn’t he holed up in his headquarters or wherever he lived?

He darted a heated look her way and then without a word, he moved back to the other side of the car and brought his bike around to the driver’s side of her Corvette.

“Get on,” he ordered.

“What?” Surely she’d misunderstood what he’d said.

The roar of the motorcycle being cranked echoed off the cement surrounding them. Then more bikes came thundering from the level above them and around the turn, coming to a stop next to her. A Mayhem Brother had a younger male riding bitch on a small raised seat behind the driver. The man nearly landed on his ass when he was pushed off. The back of his vest read PROSPECT.

“Prospect, get her keys and drive it to the address Twofer gave you. Venom’ll pick you up.” Storm shouted over the rumble of the engines.

The man held his hand out. When she narrowed her eyes at Storm, trying to figure out his angle, the prospect jerked her purse off her shoulder.

“Hey, give that back to me.” She balled her fists and glared. Looking at the dangerous men surrounding her, what did she think she could do? She was outnumbered, and probably most of them, if not all, were armed.

“Mary Jane, look at me,” Storm said in a firm voice.

Put out, but more mad than afraid, she met his gaze. Maybe she was stupid to not feel threatened, but so far they hadn’t harmed her. Deep inside, she sensed Storm wouldn’t let anyone touch her.

“Yes?” She waited for a moment and then looked back at the prospect digging through her purse for her keys, wondering when he would realize she held them in her hand. What woman didn’t have her keys ready before walking out of a building?

“Give him your car key. You’re coming with me. We’ll talk when we’re at a safe place. If you decide not to hire us, I’ll take you home after you take on someone else.”

It all sounded reasonable. She looked at Storm and then at the faces around her. Their expressions varied from leering to bored. Was she crazy to trust him? Then she remembered how he’d tried to prepare her for how the deputies would react when they showed up at Jimmy’s home. He’d been on the mark. They’d treated him as a suspect and been wary with her but kind. She suspected the law officers would’ve been more demanding if he hadn’t been there, drawing their attention.

“Here.” She thrust the key toward the prospect and jerked her purse away.

The prospect lifted his hand as if to backhand her.

“Prospect! Touch her and you’ll be picking up your fucking teeth from the ground.” Storm straddled his bike. “Venom, when you follow, make sure that he doesn’t go over the speed limit or mistreat her car.”

The man with a shaggy beard and hair nodded and moved his bike to the side.

“Now, Mary Jane. Don’t make me come after you.” Storm zipped up his vest and stared straight ahead. He obviously expected her to follow his orders.

She could protest and refuse to do it his way, but curiosity had been a blessing and affliction all her life.

“Fine. There’s one problem.” She waited until his gaze rested on her. She pointed at her narrow skirt. “Maybe it would be best if I drive to my house and you follow. Then I can change.”

He stared at her legs and then he looked up and crooked his finger at her.

She stepped closer, holding her breath. His gray eyes this close showed specks of blue near the edges. He motioned her nearer. Her legs brushed his jeans, and he leaned down. Oh, my! What did he plan to do?

The ripping sound echoed in the nearly empty parking deck, even over the sounds of the rumbling bikes. He’d pulled apart the small slit on one side, turning it into a long one, almost showing her panties.

The men hooted and whistled.

“Are you insane? People don’t do things like that.” She clasped the slit together.

“Get on. Or next, I’ll tear it off and make you ride in your little white panties.”

He’d seen them!

The other bikers laughed harder and shoved or hit the nearest Brother’s shoulder.

He held out his helmet to her.

“Put this on tight.”

Deciding not to provoke him further, she adjusted the strap and pulled on the helmet. Then she carefully threw a leg over and slid in behind him. When she wrapped her arms beneath his sternum, the first thought that came to mind was how rigid his torso felt. Was he that angry?

Wait. She should be the one angry at him, but she was glad he’d come for her. She dreaded going home alone and dealing with Jimmy’s death. She had seriously thought of going to a hotel for a while. So on seeing Storm, she’d done what she had all her life: She looked at his offer—she refused to think of it as a command—as another adventure.

She peeked at the deadly-looking men surrounding her.

Then again, maybe she’d better find a moment to call someone and let them know where to start searching for her body in case she should go missing.

Storm gritted his teeth. He hated feeling pressure against his spine and wrapped around his torso. Usually, he would begin swinging with no more than a tap on the shoulder, but the softness of her breasts pressed to his back and the smallness of her hands relieved that need a little. Though cotton and leather separated them, he still wasn’t sure if he was experiencing heaven or hell at that moment. He was certain his cock didn’t give a damn.

Christ! He was a sick fucker.

The prison psychologist had called it haphephobia. Storm considered it to be a defense mechanism. Most times he could handle his distaste for being touched as long as no one came in contact with his back or touched him unexpectedly. Yet, there he was, inviting her to lean against him and hold on. He refused to let the fucking hang-up keep him from enjoying having her body pressed to his. The barrier of clothes helped a lot. He drew the line at skin-to-skin contact.

Struggling to think of something else, he asked himself the question he hadn’t been able to answer for the last fifteen minutes.

Why had he changed his mind about helping her?

A large dip in the road jostled his passenger, and she shifted her hold. He gritted his teeth as his cock stupidly hardened and stretched to the left. He had plenty of pussy to choose from at the bar any day or night of the week. So despite his body’s reaction, he hadn’t changed his mind for that reason.

She interested him. He’d never dealt with a girl like her before. She appeared to be around his age, but she acted years older, and certainly nothing like the old ladies of the club. Her reaction to everything she’d been through for the last twenty-four hours said a lot about her character. Even after he’d threatened her and torn her skirt, she’d calmly accepted his offer of protection.

Maybe she wasn’t so smart.

With three years in prison and six months of parole behind him, he’d learned not to trust people, but she appealed to him. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to know more about her. Sure, he could ask Twofer to check her out on the Internet, but the public persona was bullshit. He wanted to know the real person.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off her whenever she was near. Even while he’d sat in the interrogation room, he’d only thought of her. He’d never before been so obsessed by a woman, any woman.

Wolf pulled up beside him. “Hey, Boss! Where are we taking the woman?”

“The clubhouse!”

His VP gave him a quizzical stare and then drifted back into line.

Storm understood his confusion. If the men wanted to hang with or fuck a woman in public, Skull and Bones, the Brothers of Mayhem’s favorite bar, was where they could go. There were plenty of dark corners, or bright spots, whichever was their preference. For those moments when a Brother wanted privacy for a quick snatch, they could retreat to the back offices. But one of the first declarations he’d made as president was that no women were allowed at the clubhouse. Several of the members and old ladies protested, but Storm held his ground. Women were bad about showing up in his bed uninvited, and he hated their drama when he kicked them out.

Yet he didn’t want Mary Jane far from him. All he could think about was having her in his room, alone. His cock jerked. Taking a deep breath, he worked on his control. Think of anything else. Think of the weather.

The chilly air felt good against his face. He smelled rain. Perfect. The breaks in the black clouds overhead showed a smattering of stars. He loved riding during the early morning hours before people clogged up the roads in their metal cages as they drove to their soul-sucking jobs. The freedom of feeling the elements against his skin was one of the few pleasures he indulged in without the past shattering the moment.

By the time they arrived at the clubhouse, his anger at the abuse he’d endured during the day’s events had slipped away in the wind. Every muscle that had been bunched up lengthened and relaxed. Even his cock had stood down, which was mind-blowing, considering Mary Jane’s warmth against his back. He had expected her touch to bother him more than it had. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her move off the bike and then struggle with unfastening the helmet. Her soft hair had become entangled in the chinstrap’s buckle.

He reached over and lifted the helmet out of her hands. She bent her neck, trying to keep him from pulling her hair.

“Be careful. My hair’s stuck.”

“Hold still.”

He held on to the strands of her hair and jerked the helmet away.

“Hey! You didn’t have to do that!”

“I wasn’t going to stand out here all night while you played with your hair.” She opened her mouth and he added, “And I wasn’t going to leave you out here without protection.”

“Next time give me a few seconds to unbuckle the strap. My hair would’ve let go then.”

She demonstrated as she unbuckled it and several hairs fell to the ground.

He pursed his lips and nodded. Then he grasped her upper arm, pulling her behind him toward the door.

“Wait a minute! I can walk in without your help.” She jerked her arm away and glared.

She had a point, but he liked keeping her near. Such a strange impulse. He’d never wanted clinging women around him, and there he was clinging to her.

Surreptitiously, he wiped his hand on his pant leg.

“Keep up,” he said. “I wouldn’t want one of the boys to think you’re hanging back to keep them company.”

Her eyes widened as she looked around. Most of the Brothers had already walked into the clubhouse. Only a handful remained outside, and those ignored her as they tended to their bikes or puffed on a cigarette or joint.

In long strides, he walked inside. The usual smell of sweat, beer, and pot smoke greeted him. He headed straight to the makeshift bar down one wall and wrapped his fingers around the bottle a prospect pushed his way. The icy beads of water helped relieve the panic that was beginning to surround him.

“So this is what an outlaw MC clubhouse looks like.” Her disappointment was plainly written on her face.

He looked around. A couple of worn-out, sagging couches lined the opposite wall from the bar. Various colors and types of chairs were arranged haphazardly around the room with a few around a scarred table in one corner. The newest item in the room was a large flat screen above the bar. The Brothers had to watch NASCAR and college football; it was expected.

When she turned to face him, he realized she didn’t have a drink.

He snapped his fingers at the prospect serving the drinks. Pronto, a cold one was placed in his hand.

“Here.” He thrust it at her.

She caught the bottle before it fell to the floor. “Thank you, but I’m not much of a drinker this early in the morning.”

“You don’t want a root beer?” He knew where her mind had gone. He lifted his and gulped down the sweet brew.

Grimacing, she eyed the drink and laughed. “I’m more tired than I realized. I thought it was a regular beer. Rethinking this, maybe it would be best if I go home and rest up a bit. Obviously my mind isn’t clear.”

“I don’t drink alcohol. So they keep sodas for me.” From the pity in her gaze, she believed he was a recovering alcoholic. She was so far off the mark it was hilarious.

“You can rest here.”

“I need clothes, not to mention a shower, and later this morning, I have meetings.”

He guzzled down the rest of his soda and slammed it down on the bar.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying here.”