Lock and Key (22 page)

“Nothing changes, pretty.”

I nodded. “Nothing changes.”

“We’ll talk again soon.” His hand slid down to my hip and squeezed. “You give little Jake my best.”

My limbs stiffened, and I glared at him. He ignored me and jerked his head at the two bikers behind me. They grabbed my upper arms once more, turned me around, and the second we got outside I gulped in air. Dime was on his bike waiting for me. They shoved me on the back, and he gunned the engine. I leaned into the curve as we tore out of the gravel road.

The engine vibrated through me as if I were made of hollow tin. I tilted my head up at the dark sky streaked with ghostly clouds. The cold wind beat at my skin, and I knew that all my dread about returning home for a long list of reasons was utterly insignificant in the face of Vig threatening my nephew. Would we ever be free of this shit?

I had to make us free.

The bike suddenly took a turn off the main road. We were at the bar parking lot again. Lock stood over three men on the ground, their hands bound behind their backs, their faces swollen. Blood ran down one side of Peg’s face, his lip was broken. Lock had his gun on them, his jaw cemented closed. The bike slowed down, and he charged over to us. His lips were pressed into a thin hard line, his eyes hard as stone. He raised his gun at Dime.

The engine cut and Lock pulled me off Dime’s bike and into his arms, his one hand fisted in my hair. His gun remained on Dime.

“Relax man, they just talked,” said Dime.

“Fuck you! Grace, you alright? Did he touch you?”

“I’m fine.” The words came out tight.

A shadow passed over Lock’s eyes as they swept over me in the dimly lit parking lot. He pressed me back into his chest.

“Cut us loose, fucker!” yelled Peg from behind us.

“We’re gonna follow your asses over the border and then call it a night,” Dime said. Lock motioned at him with his gun, and he hopped off his bike and sprinted over to his brothers.

“Grace,” Lock breathed into my neck and his hands dug into me. I took in the beautiful aroma of his skin and clung to it, filled my lungs with it.

“Let’s go, I’m okay. Let’s just go!” I said.

His hands smoothed over my shoulders, arms, over my rear, my legs, up around my hips and around my torso.

“Lock?”

“They might have put a bug on you or a tracking device, fuck if I know. Did that fucker touch you? Did any of them touch you?”

I bit the inside of my cheek, and my eyes strained under his hard gaze. My hands moved over everywhere Vig’s hands had touched me. Nothing.

Lock let out a snarl as he stood up before me. “Let’s move.”

He took my hand in his and tugged me over his bike. I shoved the helmet over my head, and leaned into his broad, leather-covered back, my arms around him. I forced my wobbly thighs to tighten around the Harley as the engine roared to life. Within minutes the Demon Seed bikes rode next to us then behind us for the fifteen-minute ride to the North Dakota border at Fairview. I pinned my eyes on the road over Lock’s shoulder.

The large green sign declaring our entrance into North Dakota loomed ahead. The back of my throat stung. Lock’s hand gripped mine at his waist. The Demons Seeds, eerie figures against the multiple fingers of lightning cracking the black sky, u-turned on the road to head back to Montana.

We rode on in the darkness. Drops of rain thudded on my helmet and spotted my jeans. Lock’s body tensed under my hands. Luckily, there was an underpass up ahead. We turned and parked under it. I dismounted, and my body wavered. He clasped my arm.

“I want to get us to a hotel in Watford City for the night. Let’s get our rain gear on and head over. I don’t want to stay anywhere near here. Too easy for them to find us.”

My weary eyes shot up at him.

“They might come back and play,” he said. “I’m not taking any chances.”

Lock turned and unlocked the compartment on the bike where he stashed our rain gear. He was all efficiency, planning. All for me. I couldn’t breathe anymore, everything felt tight, constricted.

I unsnapped the top button of my leather jacket, and the cool air whistled against the burning skin of my throat. My gaze was transfixed on the jagged lightning bolts cracking through the immense thick billowing swirls of cloud. A tremendous supercell filled the vast dark sky like an ominous alien spaceship, a convection of rotating clouds. I had forgotten what it was to witness this thrilling, menacing display over the Great Plains.

“Grace—”

How could I have forgotten this?

Lock’s hands gripped the sides of my face. His eyes smoldered in the half-light. My need for him detonated right through me and took away every thought, every rationale, every excuse, every shred of modesty. I opened my mouth to speak. To say what? I was numb, still that hollow tin creature, but now about to splinter.

Lock pulled me into his chest. His lips burned against my cold, damp forehead. He pushed me against the hard concrete wall. I inhaled his leathery gasoline scent as if it offered salvation. He pressed against me, and I let out a groan. The pounding rain shimmered on the concrete. The lights from the passing cars on the highway illuminated the harsh angles of his face in flashes.

“Baby…”

I surged up on my toes and kissed him. His hands shoved underneath my jacket and seared my bare skin. A truck roared over us on the highway, the concrete pylons vibrated and thundered. His arms tightened around me.

“Grace,” tumbled from his lips.

It sounded like he was pleading, asking for mercy.

So was I.

“It’s not your fault.”

That was the third time I said it.

The first was when he unlocked the door to the hotel room. His face was set in stone. He wouldn’t look at me. The second was in the shower.

The three tiny bottles of scotch from the minibar lay empty on the bed next to me. I leaned back against Lock’s chest. His finger traced a circle over the gunshot scar on my bare right thigh. His other hand rested against my belly, his mouth nuzzled my shoulder. My eyes went to his gun on the night table at my side.

Lock had checked us into a rather upscale hotel in Watford City. Once inside the room, he had thrown our bags on the floor and switched on the light. My eyes strained in the brightness. The room was sedately decorated in chocolate browns and a single Wedgewood blue painted wall. A king size bed with a coppery brown bedspread neatly folded across the center. It was dotted with a line of five huge, firm pillows in crisp white linen and a massive dark wood headboard towering over it. A flatscreen television propped on a dresser faced the bed and dark beige carpeting beckoned us. I let out a heavy exhale. This was an unexpected and most welcome oasis of luxury.

He peeled my wet rain gear off me. “Take a shower, Grace.”

I nodded and headed for the bathroom, another soothing retreat in a range of beige colors. I stripped off the rest of my clothes, got into the large shower stall and slid the glass door shut. I stood motionless and stared at the beige tile as if it would direct me what to do next. Eventually my hand reached out and turned the large chrome handle of the faucet. The jumbo shower head above me released a thousand prickles of warm, steamy water over my weary body. The stinging heat began to melt the tension in my aching joints. I grabbed the small rectangle of soap and smoothed it over my skin. With a face towel I rubbed every inch of myself. I rubbed hard and swallowed down the sour bile rising in my throat.

I hadn’t seen Vig in many years. He knew all about Ruby and Jake. He was nervous about me being back home again and being with the club. This was a mess that only I could clean up. Fifteen years was a long time. There hadn’t been any bumps on this crazy road that I had agreed to traveling alone. Should I be grateful?

I squirted shampoo into my hands and worked it through my scalp and all through my mass of wet, thick hair.

Did I say grateful?

Fifteen years of lying low, moving on, rolling on. I had done everything Vig had asked me. Time and time again. Now it was time for it stop. It had to stop. Fifteen years ago I couldn’t protect my unborn baby, but now I could protect my nephew.

I said grateful, didn’t I?

Laughter erupted in my throat and made its way out of my mouth. I buckled as the water rained down on me. A gnawing bitterness seeped through my insides, and then my laughter drained into deep choking sobs that ripped from my chest. My head thudded against the glass shower stall door.

“Grace?” Lock tore back the shower door and his arms came around my middle, and he held me close. His soaked henley and jeans now clung to my naked body. He gently drew my head back onto his chest. His eyes took me in. I only wanted to drown in them.

“It’s okay, babe. It’s over.”

My body shook, and he held me securely. His other hand smoothed my hair back against my head. I buried my face in the sopping wet fabric of his shirt that now clung to his chest. The water cascaded over both of us.

“I’m here,” he said. “I’m right here. I got you.” I sank into his chest. His one hand slid down my back to my rear and rubbed me there then returned to my lower back. “Baby, this is all my fault.”

“No, don’t say that. Not true,” I said into his wet shirt.

I don’t know how long we stood there under the shower together. Eventually Lock reached over and shut off the water. With a large towel he mopped my face and rubbed my head. Then he wrapped it around me and got me out of the shower stall. I stood still as he toweled me dry. He pinned the towel around me then ripped off his wet clothes and took a quick shower himself.

I waited for him mutely as he dried himself off. He took my hand and led me out of the bathroom. He stripped both of us of our damp towels, ripped off the bedspread, and we got into the bed together naked. We lay there in silence, Lock’s warm, smooth body wrapped around mine. I sank into him and quickly drifted off to sleep.

A commercial for a pizza chain droned in my ears. My lips brushed against a smooth wall of warmth. My eyes unglued.

“Sorry, did the TV wake you?” Lock’s rough voice asked.

“What time is it?”

“Just after midnight.”

“Did you get any sleep?” I asked.

“No.”

My eyes drifted to the TV screen. Pepperoni and extra cheese. Hmm.

“You hungry?” I asked.

“I could eat. There’s a fridge freezer thing in here with all kinds of food.”

“I’ll check it out,” I said. Frankly, I was more than happy to get myself un-naked and out of the bed.

I got up, donned one of Lock’s huge t-shirts from his duffle that lay open by my side of the bed. I brought his bag next to mine at the door, unzipped mine and found a pair of panties to put on. The fridge was indeed full of treats. I microwaved a frozen pizza and set a large towel on the bed as a tablecloth. We ate and drank a beer while we watched the news on TV, then cleaned up.

Lock settled against the headboard, and I sat down next to him, but he pulled me into his embrace and wedged my body in between his legs. I leaned back against his chest. A survival documentary began on the Discovery Channel, but he suddenly clicked off the TV.

“I was supposed to protect you from this shit. I should’ve seen it coming,” he said, his voice gravelly. “We’re together, we don’t separate.”

I put a hand on his thigh and squeezed. “I think this conversation needs whiskey.” I got out of the bed and went to the minibar and returned with a selection of tiny bottles.

Lock released a heavy sigh. “They got balls to make a move like that. Jump is gonna flip.”

“It’s Vig. We go back,” I said. “You know, Dig and I started up when he saved my foolish ass from Vig at a club party I shouldn’t have even been at. They had words; it wasn’t good. It just made an already tense relationship between them worse. And that crap lasted over the years, tainting every confrontation they ever had.

“He was involved with Ruby’s set up, wasn’t he?” Lock asked.

“Yes, and how that went down had pissed him off to begin with. The Seeds lost out on some big drug deal, but Ruby saved everyone’s ass by going to jail. He didn’t care so much. Me being her sister, made the whole situation more sour,” I said. “Lock, please, this is all Vig. It’s not on you.”

“If anything had happened to you…”

“It didn’t,” I said. “He just wanted to mess with us, as usual.” I crawled over the bed and leaned forward to reach Lock’s packet of cigarettes that had tumbled to the edge of the mattress.

“Grace, what’s this tattoo?”

“Hmm?” I leaned my head over my shoulder. My black panty had ridden up my rear. His fingers traced over the ink on my bare cheek.

“It’s my wildflower,” I said.

“The blue flax?”

My eyes went round. “You recognize it?”

“Impressed?”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I am.”

His finger tickled over my flesh. “My grandmother and her friends knew all the wildflowers that grew around the reservation. They’d drag me on hikes early in the morning to collect a whole variety of herbs.”

“I like it,” he murmured.

“Wildflower was one of Dig’s nicknames for me,” I said.