Knight (10 page)

“I can duck Temple for a while. I have an edge on them.”

Not what I wanted to hear. “An edge?”

“I have a listing of Temple’s known warehouses,  preferred routes, aliases, trucking schedules, everything. All things that can keep me one step ahead of them.”

“What fairy godmother gave you that?”

He smirked. I hated how much I liked that smile.

“Just a friend,” he said.

“You don’t have those anymore.”

“I have associates then. Mutual trust.”

“They’re fools if they trust you.”

Luke crossed his arms. The tight muscles flexed. “The men in my core are loyal. They can and will take a bullet for me, and vice versa.”

“Don’t be so naïve,” I said. “Or you’ll get that razor blade in your candy apple this Halloween.”

Now I did need another drink. He followed, hovering a little too close, lowering his voice into a whisper that reserved too much hope for my response.

“What the hell happened to us?” He made no apologies for his words. “We used to be—”

“Nothing.”

I spun to face him, revealing most of my leg. Didn’t matter. He could look, just like the others, but he long since ruined any chance to touch.

“There was never anything between
us
.” I swallowed. “There never was an
us
.”

“Might have been.”

“If wishes were dollar bills, Sorceress would have gold stitched curtains on stage.”

Luke didn’t flinch. “You never gave me a chance.”

One step too far. “When would have been a good chance? You tore Anathema apart, Luke. You cause the civil war. You caused the misery. When were you planning on making a move? Between bursts of gunfire? Did you plan to take me to dinner after the funerals?”

“Christ, Lyn.”

“We didn’t have time for chances after you chose anarchy over the club, and it’s done now.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

This was too much, too quick. Luke hadn’t backed off, and I was running out of places in the living room to shiver.

The bedroom was much warmer, much more welcoming, but not for him.

Not now.

I pushed him away, pretending only to poke his chest instead of touching the hardened, tensed abs waiting beneath his t-shirt. He retreated as I pushed, only because my robe parted. The V of my cleavage promised him one last look at the goods that would never belong to him.

“I respect you.” It was a fair admission. “You’re the only one in this damn city with a decent head on his shoulders. But it doesn’t do anyone any good now that you keep across the river and wear this...”

My hand flattened against the president’s patch. A mistake. He covered my fingers with his palm, pushing my hand harder against his chest.

His heart beat just as quick as mine.

And all I remembered was the last time we were so close. In the dark. In the quiet. The music dulled, the lights dimmed, and the dance was more for me than him.

I gave myself to him.

The breathless whisper as he entered me. The shudder of promised pleasure when we moved.

He was the only man I ever let touch me in my own club, and had his phone not buzzed, had the war not started the instant he sheathed himself in me?

I never would have let him go.

“You made your decision,” I said. “You caused this civil war, and we’re all suffering because of you.”

“I did what I thought was right.”

He was too close to me. I managed an entire year without trapping myself within his striking gaze, but every second he bared his soul rendered me more vulnerable to him than if the robe had slipped from my shoulders.

I didn’t want this.

I didn’t move my hand from his chest.

“I never planned to split the club,” he said. “I wanted to protect it. I saw this conflict with Temple coming, and I tried to prevent it.”

“Still think it was the right choice?”

“You think I
like
having those deaths on my head? That bloodshed? That I like living in squalor and watching over my shoulder every day? I expect a knife in the back at any minute. Now the only mystery is who will twist the blade.”

“You made that bed.”

“And now there’s no one to share it.”

“You’re damn right.”

“I want to keep you safe.”

I tugged my hand back and retreated to the entry, hoping he’d take the hint.

He didn’t.

He edged me close to the wall. I had been cornered before, but no man had ever managed to pin me. Wasn’t happening now. Wasn’t happening
ever
.

I licked my lips. He stared at mine as hungrily as I stared at his. “It’s not your place to keep me safe.”

“It can be if you want. I’ll shield you from Temple. From ATF.”

“Only if you had an Anathema patch on that cut.”

“They can’t watch over you.”

“Neither can you.”

“Bullshit.” Luke’s voice roughened, hard and honest. “I’d do anything for you, Lyn. Fucking anything. Anything you needed. Anything you wanted.”

I believed him. I had no reason not to imagine the life he offered, the touches he promised, and the happiness he could create. But his fingers caressed the bruises on my cheek. Those black and blue marks were
every
reason to not accept a single fairy tale he wove.

“I don’t want anything from you, Luke. Not now, not ever.”

He didn’t believe me. I didn’t believe myself.

He pushed me into the wall. I prepared to fight, but his kiss was better than magic, hotter than flame, and more addicting than the drugs I banned from my club. I gripped his arms to push him away. It only opened me to more of his touch.

His body angled against mine, his leg opening the robe—more conquering bandit than noble hero. I shivered as the cool air brushed my skin. The leather of his cut pressed against my breasts.

Felt that a lot at Sorceress, but I hadn’t with him.

Not for so long. Not since the last time he touched me, kissed me, started to fuck me…

His tongue flicked over mine. Too many memories. I pulled him close, delighting in the rough press of his lips. His fingers curled over my hips. The robe threatened to fall.

I couldn’t.

I wasn’t the one who made bad decisions—he was. I didn’t have the cut or the gang to watch my ass when I made a mistake. Despite his promises, I was on my own, and I had been since he pulled the trigger and started the war.

I pushed him away, gasping for breath as his touched shuddered too deep in my core. I pointed to the door. He didn’t move.

He tensed, ragged, suffering the same frustration and wanting that nearly crippled me. I groped to the door, flinging it open.

“Why?” His voice warmed everything beneath my robe. “Why the hell won’t you admit there’s something between us?”

My fingers tightened on the door, squeezing white enough Luke could see my hesitance.

“Because, unlike you?” My whisper hurt more than pushing him away. “I have a sense of loyalty.”

Wednesday Night – 11 PM

Washington and Fifth, heading South on the 9.

Full squad – full night run – stay clear

I wasn’t used to getting unmarked messages left in my door, and I knew better than to let the unlabeled boxes near.

Whoever sent the letter was as much a mystery as the contents.

The implications caught my attention. Gnawed at me until every nerve was exposed, raw and tight. It sounded like a warning. It also read like an invitation.

One problem multiplied, and every explanation left a bad taste in my mouth—copper and tangy.

I burned the letter as soon as I read it. I memorized the words, coincidentally penned without the courtesy of a name. Then again, they hadn’t dropped a grenade in the box with the letter, so I took it as a good sign.

Anathema was doing a run—a job with their best men. They’d be armed, dangerous, and looking for trouble.

Whoever sent it might have meant to keep my men out of their way. Prevent violence. Everyone would make it to their beds that night with whatever gash they were lucky enough to hump.

Or it might have been an opening. The club would be exposed, their members riding outside of their territory. Anathema’s wares and bikes were unprotected. Women without their muscle. A stash ripe for the picking. We were still reeling from Anathema’s last attack, when they pinned us down and stole our load of muled electronics. They lured us into the shootout and left my men to act as decoys for the damned police.

It might have been a great time to get some of our money back…unless the message was a trap.

Moving on a fully protected Pixie wouldn’t leave much meat in the street for the coroner to catalog.

I poured a drink over the note. Not even alcohol cleared it up.

Maybe the message came from some jaded motherfucker who’d had enough of Thorne’s shit and decided the grass was greener. Hated to tell him, but unless we were smoking it, ain’t no way The Coup looked better than Anathema.

“Fuck me.” I rubbed my eyes. This wasn’t a riddle. The message was part of a puzzle blown to shit by men with more guns than brains. I couldn’t trust it until I verified it.

But I wasn’t risking my men. The only ass I’d endanger was mine. And, if I was lucky, I wouldn’t have to drag it back to bed.

A man could only spend so many nights with his cock in hand and regret as an afterglow. I wasn’t sleeping well anyway. The truck hadn’t moved from outside Lyn’s apartment, but plenty of bikes drove by. Some ours. Some Anathema’s.

Some Temple’s.

I had to sort shit out with Anathema. It was the only way the woman who refused my help would finally accept it. Just offering my protection insulted her.

Too goddamned bad.

Lyn was one-of-a-kind, probably for the benefit of all of humanity. But that attitude attracted every low-life, dangerous, scum-bag to her doorstep. That included me, but at least she aimed her heels away from my balls.

For now.

It was the only thing I could ask short of her dropping to her knees and giving them the TLC they craved. I had been hard for her since the first time I watched her shimmy around a pole, and I fell in love the instant she introduced herself.

What I wouldn’t give to make her my greatest mistake and biggest weakness. Men didn’t get chances with her—they earned her respect. But she thought she was indestructible. A woman like her didn’t wilt like a flower, she fragged like a grenade. Two nights ago was the first time I saw her bleed, and that image plagued me more than the promise of what she hid beneath a powder pink robe.

She didn’t realize the danger she was in. She refused me, but she wasn’t getting rid of me. Not until I handled Anathema and Temple and made sure she was safe.

And if that included dropping the cut and taking a sedan out for a drive at eleven o’clock on a random-ass Wednesday to spy on Anathema, all the better.

I wasn’t planning on taking a bullet for Lyn—I’d do whatever I could to prevent the gun from firing.

The highway cleared late at night. It was easy for me to drop under the speed limit as the headlights of five motorcycles filled my rearview mirror.

Even reduced in numbers, Thorne managed his men with discipline. Five bikes flanked an unmarked truck, carefully guarding whatever contents they packed inside. Cigarettes. Electronics. Anathema never had a path to get into the harder trades. The opportunity for drugs and guns died with Blade.

I wore a hat, but my blood pressure spiked as the bikes thundered beyond the sedan’s window.

I recognized my brothers. Thorne led the pack. Ace and Tanner flanked the truck, part of Gold’s crew. Gold rode next to Thorne, and he was just as much a problem for The Coup as the president. Priest had a hard-on for Gold, and it wouldn’t end well.

Reaper rolled behind the truck. I didn’t trust that motherfucker without Grim to balance him out. Before the war, they shared everything—mentalities, kills, money, women. Separating them was like splitting a fucking atom. We were lucky they hadn’t lost their shit yet.

I couldn’t see the driver. I had to try my luck. Their truck took time to get to speed, and my sedan had enough horsepower to make a mess of things. I slowed enough to glance in the cabin.

Bad decision.

Gold’s boot connected with my door with an angry profanity.

I jerked the wheel and braked, letting them pass. He hadn’t recognized me, only meant to scare off any civilians who got too close, but I saw all I needed.

A fucking
prospect
drove the truck.

Anathema was down one important officer for the night. My fingers twisted over the wheel.

Where was Keep Darnell?

It was too easy for my thoughts to turn on a man I once considered a friend. Then again, perspectives shifted once the cut fell and the scarred demon feasted on those who had revered it.

Blade Darnell was dead. His eldest son followed, courtesy of Thorne. Brew wasn’t disloyal, but his bond to his broken family was a noose he tied around his own neck. He didn’t know about his father’s abuses before he did everything he could to get him out of jail. By the time Brew learned the truth, Thorne sniffed out his rat, and I lost the one connection I had to Anathema that could protect both clubs from total annihilation.