Heart Ties (Club Ties Book 2) (20 page)

“I couldn’t find the color we need.”

Ever came to look over the boxes. Finally she selected two. “We’ll mix it.”

The next hour was spent dying the young girl’s hair back to a color that was so close to her original, Delta couldn’t see the difference. Then Ever produced a makeup box and they set to work.

“You have terrific skin. You should play up the glow.” Ever used a fingertip to dot highlighter on Breezy’s high cheekbones. Delta selected a light rose color for her lips and a green shadow that made her hazel eyes sparkle.

Ever leaned back, gazing at Breezy’s face. “Wow. Now we need to get you out of this tank top.” Breezy’s top was black and hot pink, sporting the words “dirty rotten blonde.”

She looked down at herself and giggled. “Guess I’m not blonde anymore.” She touched her hair, which had a nice shine and more body since their ministrations.

“I’ll be right back.” Ever disappeared for a bit, and Breezy and Delta were left alone.

“I heard Trina yelling today,” Breezy said.

Delta pressed her lips together and wished she could sink into the floor.

“After Jamison got them out of the MC, Carol Ann was talking to the other old ladies. I guess Trina had talked about Strother wanting you.”

A sick ball of lead took up residence in her stomach. “I don’t like to cause trouble.”

“I think you can hardly help it—you’re gorgeous and all the guys are lusting after you.”

Delta opened her mouth but had no idea what to say.

“It’s not so bad having guys want you. It takes away some of the pain—for a little while.”

Or causes a lot more.

Ever returned with a few tops draped over her arm. “I borrowed these from Ellie. She’s closest to your size. But after a month on burgers and fries, I’ll take you shopping for your own clothes.” She spread the tops on the kitchen table, and they all looked them over.

Delta inwardly sighed with relief that her conversation about men and lust was over. They chose a simple white top with flowy sleeves that probably looked gorgeous on Ellie’s dark skin. On Breezy—Addy—it was angelic.

Ever bounced on her toes. “Let’s give her a peek then send her into the main room.”

She steered Addy through the kitchen into a bathroom, where the girl cried as she fingered her hair and leaned close to the mirror to peer at her more natural and flattering makeup. She looked healthier, and Ever was right—a month of good food would fill out the hollows in her cheeks and hips. It sounded as if Addy was purposely starving herself to fit an image the men probably didn’t want either.

They sent a happier, more confident woman into the front room, where she did pirouettes to show off her new look while the guys fought to earn her attention.

Ever threw her arm around Delta and pressed her cheek to hers. “I like making people happy.”

“You’re in a good place in life. You have the ability to share your happiness.”

Ever’s eyes leveled on hers. “You’re almost there, sis.”

Just then engines roared up to the front of the building, and they all spilled outside to greet the brothers. A grinning Drake was showing off his new bike and the guys were clapping him on the back, making jealous noises.

Drake looked up and gestured for Delta to come to him.

Her heart did an odd flip as she went to pose on the back of the vintage Harley, which he’d had fitted with a small leather seat for a rider. The guys hooted, and Drake’s stared.

Happiness flooded her. She knew that look on his face. For once she didn’t mind belonging to someone.

•●•

Drake stuffed the few items he and Delta were traveling with into the saddlebag and fastened it shut. He had all he needed—toothbrush, girl, and bike. They could pick up condoms on the way.

Memories of her demands crashed over him and his jeans grew uncomfortably tight.

“C’mon, Princess.” He raised his chin at her, and she gave him a sultry look. It made him think she couldn’t wait to wrap her thighs around him either.

She pushed the long fall of hair over one shoulder and hugged her sister goodbye. When they pulled away, Ever swiped a finger under her eye. “We’ll see you soon. You’re not going far.”

She nodded but didn’t speak. Jamison hugged her next then came forward to clap Drake on the back.

As they rode out of the parking lot and headed north, Delta fitted her body against Drake’s and rested her head between his shoulder blades. Placing a hand on her thigh, he focused on the miles ahead of them.

Delta was safe for now. While she’d showered and dressed for their flight from the MC, the police chief, Colin Rhodes, showed up.

Jamison and Drake had spoken with him in depth about the drugs they’d just cracked down on at the edge of town. Harris and Franklin had played a role in helping rid the town of the scum. Also, Rhodes confided that the feds were looking into illegal alcohol and to watch their backs.

He didn’t mention the gambling ring or Russians, so the Hell’s Sons had time to take care of shit before the law poked their noses in. But Rhodes did mention some Raiders had turned up in a car shooting.

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Nope. Back luck for them,” Jamison said.

Rhodes nodded. “I’d like to keep the Raiders out of our town. One MC is enough for Heller’s Gap.”

Drake snorted. Rhodes knew damn well the Sons weren’t totally on the up and up, but he overlooked things because of how the MC helped the police force.

“I almost forgot.” Jamison leaned against the pool table, giving Rhodes a good view of Morgan strutting by. Rhodes’ eyes bulged at Morgan’s long tanned legs and short Alabama shorts. “Ever’s organizing a fundraiser.”

Since Rhodes was speechless, Drake asked, “What kind of fundraiser?”

“Child victims of violence. Mostly orphans who lost parents to violent crimes. She’s planning an event. Food, game booths, raffles, music. The police chief wouldn’t want to donate some food, would he?”

Morgan twisted around and dropped a wink.

Rhodes wet his lips. “Yes, he would. We’ll talk later.”

“Come by anytime.” Jamison’s invitation meant the chemistry between Rhodes and the sweet butt would go somewhere. Keeping the police on their side was good. They couldn’t be too careful right now. Strother was taking club business into his own hands more and more. The Russians needed watching, and the counterfeit money kept out of view.

When Rhodes left, Drake cornered Jamison. Ace joined them with drinks. Whiskey for them and Scotch for Drake. Very carefully Drake formed the words in his head—words to refuse the Scotch—though everything in him was screaming for a drop.

“Not tonight, brother.” He gestured to the bottle, not trusting himself to touch it. Ace looked at him as if he’d grown a new leg, but Jamison offered a crooked smile. Ace took it off the table and some of the burning need left Drake.

“What’s the deal with Strother, man? Why are you hesitating on the vote?” he asked.

Ace leaned forward to hear their VP’s answer.

Jamison slicked his fingers through his hair. “Not that easy.”

“We’re listening.” Drake leaned back in his chair to get away from the burned sugar scent of whiskey. Some dark animal uncurled in his gut, clawing.

“Strother’s gunning for the Raiders, but we can’t let him drag the Sons into more shit. We will not put more of our women at risk.” Jamison swung his gaze to Drake. “He thinks he’s doing the club some good with the Rx division. Let him believe that. I’ve got Paxton deep in the trenches, and we know a lot about the Raiders’ transactions.”

He didn’t expound on the shit he knew, but neither Drake nor Ace pushed him.

Jamison looked between them. “Strother won’t go down easy. We’re not going to just vote him out and he retires with his old lady to Pensacola. He’s a Lifer. You don’t just take back a patch and black out a tattoo on a man like Strother without some major bad shit happening. We all know what he’s capable of.”

Hurting women and getting Sons killed.

Drake extended a fist into the center of the table, and Jamison and Ace raised theirs too. They fist-bumped. “We trust you, man. Carry us.”

“I got it, bro.”

The road stretched. Delta was shifting behind him. Not a lot, but enough for Drake to notice. He looked over his shoulder. “You okay?”

“I have to pee.”

Chuckling, he pulled off the exit ramp and cruised through a small town to the first gas station he saw. He peeled off some bills and handed them to Delta for her to get drinks or food then watched her hips twitch away from him.

Fuck, he was in trouble. He was getting too attached to the tattooed vixen. When she’d taken control in bed, he’d given up a little—and found a secret door opening.

He leaned against his new bike and thought of war and how it had changed him. He’d given up a lot of his sanity for his country. He’d left Afghanistan with little peace in his soul, and lost the rest of it to alcohol.

Having Delta with him, taking care of her, and keeping her safe… Right now he needed those things.

She came out smiling, holding two sodas. He took the bottle she offered him and noted the changes in her.

Her shoulders weren’t so tense, and she looked him in the eyes without dropping them a dozen times as she had at first. After stowing the drinks in the saddlebags, they climbed on the bike and were off.

The north charter of the Hell’s Sons had opened their door to Drake and Delta. As an added bonus, his Marine buddy was there, and Drake would get to witness his patch-in ceremony.

He worried a bit about the after-party, though. All that booze, and he couldn’t risk drinking around Delta. He needed his wits to keep her safe.

He issued a sigh. He’d deal with that shit later. Right now he had her warm arms around him.

Before they reached the north charter, he stopped and bought her more clothes. They’d recovered her few things from the saddlebags of his ruined bike, including the fuck-me boots. She needed a leather jacket to go with them, so they bought her one.

If they didn’t have a shortage of space, he’d doll her up with a closetful of clothes that showed off her hot body. Then he’d parade her around and let the Sons see what they were missing.

When he pulled up to the MC, he cut the engine. Delta tightened her hold on him. “Sons?”

“Yeah.” He pointed to the huge insignia of a skeleton riding a bike with flames shooting from the tailpipe that was painted expertly on the front of the concrete block wall surrounding the club. “They’re expecting us.”

What he wasn’t expecting was Delta to charm the hell out of every member.

She smiled and spoke to the women. Smiled and greeted the men.

“Drake, you old jarhead. Heard about your leg.” His Marine buddy, Waite, tapped Drake’s titanium leg and grinned.

“It’s good to see you.” Good, but memories were flooding back. Of men flat on their backs, staring sightlessly at the sky. Waite had survived the thick of it with Drake, and the loss of their friends had bonded them.

Waite thumped him on the back. “Who’s this?” His gaze tumbled slowly over Delta then back up. She flushed and plastered herself to Drake’s side.

He placed an arm around her, allowing no question that they weren’t together. “My princess. Delta.”

She twisted her face into his cut for a brief second, the tips of her ears beet red, winning over Waite too.

Waite leaned close. “You lucky SOB.”

In celebration of their arrival, a party got into full-swing. Longnecks were pulled from ice buckets and shot glasses lined on the bar. Drake waved off all alcohol, not trusting himself with even beer.

His friend missed nothing. “Clean now, bro?”

“Not exactly. I can’t protect
her
if I’m falling-down drunk, though.” He raised his chin toward Delta. She was holding court with a group of ladies. One was feeling the buttery-soft leather of her sleeve, another exclaiming over her fuck-me boots.

“Those’re some boots.” Waite scrubbed a hand over his jaw. He’d been laid out and awakened to a concussion and nineteen stitches on his chin, but his beard covered the scar now.

Drake lowered his eyelids as he stared at Delta. Every red-blooded man in the MC was looking at her and wanting those black boots around his ears too. She glanced up and right into Drake’s eyes.