The Token (#10): Shepard (19 page)

Noose

Vince sits at the head of the table, fingering a medallion.

The gold circle looks like one of those cheap-ass 1970 holdovers from when dudes wore the open collar and had five chains to show their wealth or wow the chicks.

I know better.

It's a solid-gold medallion from a war buddy who didn't make it. Vince earned a purple heart after that little showdown. He's a deliberate dude-and the closest I've come to a dad in my life. My old man split when I was a toddler.

I just had my whore of a mom.

She meant well, but using was more important than taking care of some kid with no man around. And if she didn't have money for her drugs, there was always her body.

So the state took over.

Foster care was a carousel of hell. I learned a lot about the absence of mercy. Being a Navy Seal taught me how to be a man, though. Real men are selfless. That's being brave. Not acting tough or feigning shit.

Doing the right thing for others when there's no audience because you believe it—that's real.

Vince keeps that system going in the club. We don't want men who pretend. We don't want citizens. They don't get it.

They don't get
us
.

“Money in the bank?” Vince opens church.

“Yup,” I reply instantly.

“Problems?” His intense eyes shoot first at me then at Snare.
New bank, new dog on a leash. Solid question.

“No. No problems,” Snare confirms.

A flash of the Chaos Rider slides through my head.

I must make some sound, because Vince turns sharply in my direction, eyebrows rising.

I blow out an exhale. “Saw a Chaos Rider going in as we were coming out.” I shrug. I just want a record of it. That might mean something; it might mean jack.

Vince narrows his eyes. “Don't like it.”

My gut tightens. That was my feeling. I sure don't like hearing it from Vince.

“Coincidence,” Snare offers, throwing out his palm.

A few others murmur agreement.

Vince plants his elbows on the solid-wood table that stretches nearly the length of the room. “Coincidence is for assholes.”

Snare barks out a laugh. “True. But the dude wasn't hiding his presence. And he came in after us.” He folds his arm, lifting a palm off his tatted bicep.

My heart rate does a little speeding.

Rose.

Vince leans back with a nonchalance I know he's not feeling. “I don't like a Chaos sniffing around where our money's held.”

“It's not near everything we have. Peanuts, Viper,” our Treasury officer says.

Vince drums his fingers on the polished wood. “I still don't like him being there with a new bank. Hell, that pencil dick Ned—he'd suck his own cock if he thought it'd get him more money.”

Everyone laughs.

The image of Ned putting his hand on Rose rises in my mind.

The sound of a pen snapping in my hand wakes me up. Lariat, Snare, and Vince look at me expectantly.

“Holding out on us, Noose?” Vince asks quietly, taking in my tension.

Fuck.
Need to come clean.
“I've got a hard-on for this girl.” Enough of a boner I know everything about her now.

Snare plunges his forehead into his palm.

Vince throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, that's rich. And?”

I shift my weight.

Vince's smile dies on his face, dark eyes glittering at me. “We're not talking pussies here, Noose. We're talking green and MC.”

I give a miserable nod. “Yeah, gotcha.”

A beat of silence drums between us.

He can't contain his surprise. “Spit it out, son.”

I look at Vince, tearing the soft hair band out and raking my long hair back. Strands that are still damp from the shower stick to my fingers. I flick them off with an irritated jerk. “The chick that took the mone
y…
”

Vince's eyebrows knot. “Yeah? What, a teller?” He gives Snare a hard glance, eyebrows glued to his hairline.

God love Snare—he doesn't say a word.

“Yeah.”

“What do I do with this?” Vince asks, meaty palms out at his side. “Am I pulling hen's teeth here?” He slaps his palms on the wood table, and the sound echoes.

“I looked into her.”

“Just fuck her, and get it out of your system, Noose.” His voice is even, the simplicity of his suggestion is the therapy I want.

If only I could.

Smoking’s not allowed at church, but damn, do I want a drag for this confessional. “She's got a tie to Chaos,” I admit slowly.

Talking erupts.

“Fucking knew it!” Snare growls.

Lariat shakes his head, palming his chin, and the other members of the club start shooting questions like bullets.

Vince hooks his fingers in his lips. A whistle splits the voices like a sword.

Everyone shuts up.

“How?” Vince asks.

Lariat opens his mouth to speak, and Vince gives him a sharp glance that clearly says,
Shut the fuck up
. He turns his laser-beam stare on me. “Do we need to take care of this broad?”

“No!” I erupt, half-standing.

The brothers give me startled glances.

I don't back down. I don't know what's happening, besides the slow unravelling of who I am, but nobody's gonna hurt Rose.

That
I know.

My outburst gets Vince's full attention.

“About four years ago, one of the Chaos Riders was brought up on murder charges. Killed a girl, Anna Christo,” I explain in a savage growl.
I knew I recognized that guy.

“Did he?” Vince asks.

I look him dead in the eye. “Yeah.”

“Charges didn't stick?” Snare guesses.

I nod curtly. “They paid a dirty judge. Blamed some minor drug use on her part, some juvy experimentation.” I flip my hair back, cracking my knuckles. “Anyway, the chick's dead.”

“What's this got to do with our bank girl that you want to bone?”

Heat rolls over me, warming my guts. “His name's Drake Corbin. Road name, Diablo.”

“Fucking Diablo? That girl is tied up with him? How?” Snare asks.

I nod. Things couldn't be fucking worse.

Chaos runs girls and does worse than what we'll dabble in. No line is uncrossable; no shred of morality remains for them. It's all about power, and if people get crushed in the way, then so be it. Though we miss thugdom by just a slim margin, we're old school—real old school.

“Anna Christo was her sister.”

“Fuck me.” Snare dumps his head in his hand again.

“Want my opinion?” Vince asks.

“No.”

He gives a short laugh. “Well, you're getting it.” His eyes hold mine like a trap. “You bang every piece of tail that trots through our doors—”

“Or not,” Snare mutters.

I glare at him.

Vince nods at the remark and continues, “And when you finally find old lady material, you choose some girl that's mixed up with our number one rival.”

I wipe my damp palms on my jeans. “I don't want an old lady.”

“Uh-huh.” Vince raps his knuckles once on the table.

“I don't think it's fair that this girl's gotta deal with this scumbag. Ya know how Diablo can make people disappear. Probably the only reason she's not gone yet is it would point a finger at him.”

“What can the brothers do for you?” Snare asks. He was there at the bank; he saw me unwind for this girl. And I haven't laid a finger on her.

I'm so fucked.
I press my fingertips on the table. “I want to offer her Road Kill protection.”

Voices explode again.

Vince hits the gavel on the placard. “Hey!”

They all stop talking. “Do you? You've met this girl once? You've never even done her?” Vince's eyes are wide, his body tense.

“Yeah.” I know I sound like a pussy. Maybe it's nothing between us. Maybe she'll hate my fucking guts.

Maybe Rose won't.

Vince grunts. “Fine. But on the QT. That's all we need is to start a war with Chaos for a chick you haven't even banged.”

I shut my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “There's another thing.”

“Fucking glorious. Drop the bomb, Noose.”

“Diablo made a kid with this girl he killed.”

“Oh shee-it,” Lariat says in a vague voice. “Let me guess—this teller girl's got the kid.”

“Bingo.” I set my eyes on each brother, finally coming back to Vince. “Her name is Rose.”

“Rose.” He seems to taste her name on his tongue.

The silence is deafening. “Diablo's gonna consider this kid his property,” Viper says as a statement.

Lots of assenting voices agree. Not a single kid from the brothers isn't considered a precious commodity. Old ladies too.

We protect our families.

Chaos is no different in that respect. They're club. They're fucking merciless, but they're still club.

Just not our club.

“He lost his rights to the kid for four years, and the time's up.” My eyes sweep the assembled brothers. “There's a hearing coming up. He's gonna want his rights.”

“Why would he kill the mother of his kid?” Vince asks, shaking his head.

“Diablo?” I ask. “Fucker is serial brutal with women. He can't have normal sex or relationships unless he's causing someone pain.”

“You fuck him?” Lariat asks with a laugh.

I'm out of my seat and fisting his shirt from across the table, hauling him an inch away from my nose. “No, but there's been plenty of sweet butts who have, and they quack like fucking ducks about strange rangers.”

“Noose,” Vince says.

I release Lariat. He gives me a sullen look, smoothing out his cut, which got all twisted up with my hold.

“He's right. Our sweet butts wouldn't go near that club.”

“They won't go near the club because we don't want their sloppy seconds,” Snare says.

We all nod. The club whores don't get passed around to other clubs.

“It's just their word,” Wring says.

I nod. “Yeah, but why would a sweet butt lie? Most of them just want to be somebody's property eventually.”

My comment is met by silence. It's the truth. That tends to shut people up.

“I don't normally give a shit how other clubs get off,” Vince says, and good natured laughing crawls around the room. “And if Chaos has some riders who like shit rough and the bitches are willing—have at it. But”—his eyes catch the anger I level on him—“if there was a girl that was unwilling, say, caught up,”—he does air quotes then lets his fingers drop—“and Diablo fucked up and killed her, and now he's after an innocent.” Vince shrugs. “It's really not our problem. Unless you want to throw down for her, Noose.”

My heart is beating a hole out of my chest.
Hell no.
I don't want to throw down for anyone but my brothers.

I'm all club.

I don't love, feel, or want.

Rose's face is etched like an acid burn in my brain.

Vince steeples his fingers. “Figure this out, Noose. Feel this Rose out. You've gotta be unable to breathe unless she's in the room for what you're asking. She's a dangerous woman to protect.”

“Jesus, for a pussy?” Lariat asks, snorting.

“Shut the fuck up, Lariat. Count the goddamned pennies. It's what you're good at,” Snare grates to our treasurer.

I say nothing. There's no defense for what I’m asking. I don't even know myself. I need to get my shit ironed out.

Vince indicates my seat.

I finally sit after the first tirade of my time with Road Kill MC.

He bangs the gavel. “We meet tomorrow. Noose is going to let us know how it goes with Rose the bank teller. Aunt of a kid that is our number one rival's sergeant-at-arms.”

No pressure.

I go.

Rose

Only three days away.

I pound along the path, feeling the breeze lift the small hairs at the back of my neck.

It's been three days since Drake threatened me.

It's been two since I had an ultimate pussy meltdown at the bank with the mystery biker man. I never even got his name. The deposit was in the name of a company.

I shiver at the memory of our encounter. Part of the shiver is fear. Most of it is fear.

Drake is dangerous. Biker Man is too. He didn't have to tell me what he was capable of. I could feel it, though I didn't feel like his natural
menace
was directed at me.

Dappled sunlight blankets the path like fallen leaves of translucent gold. Faraway voices travel to me.

I enter the zone. Endorphins kick in, and I lengthen my strides, eating up the familiar path. Blood rushes in my veins, and a light sweat breaks out as I relax my shoulders and concentrate on my stride.

Greens, browns, and gold are a streaming watercolor in my peripheral vision.

A movement from my blindspot is a blur of shadowed color. An instant later, I'm tumbling through the air. My arms whip out, trying to arrest my fall, but I only manage to knock the wind out of myself.

I land on my back, halfway into a slope that leads to the ravines that flank the narrow asphalt path.

I blink slowly.

A dense canopy of trees intersect overhead in a dance of wind and light. A small sunbeam strikes me in the left eye, and I turn my head, lungs burning for oxygen.

Did I trip on a root?

A shadow moves over my face.

Drake stands above me.

I open my mouth to scream, but he clamps a hand over my lips.

I bite him, trying to make my teeth meet, and he howls.

I roll to the side, leaping to my feet.

No breath.

My hair falls out of its loose knot, and Drake grabs it, hauling me back against him. His blood gets in my mouth as his hand covers my lips.

“Bite me again, and I'll hurt you so bad, Rose
. So bad
. Believe me?” His free hand covers my sex and squeezes. Hard.

I scream, but his palm over my mouth muffles the sound.

“Feel me, bitch?”

I nod.

Charlie!

“I got the feeling you weren't really listening last time we had a little chat.”

I try to say something, and his hand slides to my throat, squeezing so I can't speak.

“Gonna play nice?”

Stars burst inside the field of my vision. I manage a nod. “Yes,” I squeeze out.

He tosses me onto the ground.

I hit hard, fingernails biting into the pine needles and dirt. My eyes are glued to his crotch as he unbuckles his jeans.

“You've
got
to be kidding me,” I say hoarsely.

Drake smiles—if his expression can be called that. It's really just a baring of teeth. “I never joke about punishment, Rosie.”

I flinch at the use of my nickname from his lips.

“My dick won't leave any marks that can be seen at the hearing, but you'll do what I want.”

I scoot back, and he lunges, falling on top of me and pinning me with his body weight.

I beat on him with my fists.

No!

He kicks my knees open, jerking my yoga pants down low on my thighs.

I go still.

Drake smiles in triumph.

I knee him in the balls.

His eyes pop open, bulging, and he gurgles some kind of unintelligible sound.

I crawl away then stumble to a standing position, half-jerking up my yoga pants. Then I'm running.

I sprint, flames threading through my lungs.

I don't look left or right. I move through the path like the devil is chasing me.

Because he is.

*

Noose

I look down the winding path of asphalt.

Not fucking safe. No woman should be jogging these fucking trails. Especially with night breathing down day's neck.

I flick my smoke on the ground and tramp it with the thick edge of my boot's tread. The tip glows like a bloated firefly for a moment then goes dark.

That’s sort of littering. I sort of don't give a fuck.

I cross my arms and chance a glance at the tiny car Rose drives. I smirk.
What an unsafe piece of shit that is.

Of course, I just like the thought of her ass on the back of my bike. Hanging on to me.

I actually made an effort to look les
s…
however I normally look. I wore a white T-shirt instead of a black one. Hey, it's a start.

I've been waiting. Impatiently.

The prospect I had tailing her the past two days says Rose runs here a lot while the nephew stays with the parents.

I snort, lighting up another smoke. Fucking
kid.

God, do I know how to pick them. I realize now there's no such thing as easy pussy. It's like in the whole fucking world, all I could choose was complicated pussy.

Yeah, that's me.

I hear pounding footsteps and straighten, dumping my half-finished cig and squishing it without my normal finesse. I crack my knuckles and begin to pace. I'm dying to set eyes on her again, to see if that chemistry was an anomaly.

Rose flies toward the open parking area as if her ass is on fire, long hair streaming behind her.

I frown.

Grass and twigs litter the strands of dark gold, and her brown eyes are too wide in her face.

My instincts come to life.

I move without thinking, intercepting her as she stumbles. I catch her easily.

The chemistry's not a lie.

It's like the unpleasant feeling of getting shocked by electricity, but it feels good instead.

I get an instant hard-on.

Then her frightened face turns to mine.

Fingerprints mar the pale skin of her neck. Someone laid hands on Rose.

Rage seats itself in the center of me, and I don't ask her if she's okay, say hi, or explain my presence.

“Who?” I say in a voice filled with all the anger I can't suffocate.

“What?” she asks, so out of breath that her one-word question is a whisper.

“Who did this?” I jerk my head toward her neck.

No response.

So I drag her away from her car, and she screams, dropping to the ground.

Okay.

I haul her easily into my arms, and she thrashes, beating me with her fists.

“Fuck!” I bellow. “Trying to help here!”

Rose stops whacking me.

Big tears spill out of her eyes, and she clutches my shirt. “You're not going to hurt me?” she asks in that same harsh whisper.

I push hair out of her eyes, which are leaking everywhere.

All my carefully rehearsed words fly out the window. “Fuck no. I wouldn't ever hurt you.”

“What are you doing here?”

Good fucking question.
I've been asking myself that all day.

“You gonna freak out again if I set you down?”

She shakes her head.

I don't know, looks like it could go either way.
I set her down carefully, and we assess each other.

“You're tall,” she says.

“You're beautiful,” I blurt, and instantly want to kick my own ass.

But she smiles. Not a fake thing that gets pasted on, but a genuine, makes-my-heart-pound smile.

She looks down at her feet. “Why are you here?”

Yeah, that. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Her head whips up. Half her hair is falling out of some bun thing in the back. I want to run my fingers through it, but I manage to restrain myself.

“You don't know me,” she says.

I touch the red marks on her neck and ask more gently, “Who did this?”

She seems to remember something and whirls around, facing the path she came shooting out of like a loose cannon.

I study the gloom but don't see anything.

Rose turns back and mumbles, “Nobody.”

Right.
I smile then. I know it's not a nice smile. “So you choked yourself.” I mime wrapping my own fingers around my throat, making choking noises.

When she blushes, I drop my hands. “Don't cover for some prick. Who did this?” My eyes rake her body. Her exercise pants are rolled down from her waist on one side as if they were screwed on the wrong way.

A large bruise sits at her hip.

I touch it, fingertips feathering across the mark.

Rose gasps, clutching my hand.

We groan at the same time.

“God,” I say through my teeth, my dick beginning to stand at attention.

“What is it?” she asks, her eyes searching mine for answers.

“I don't know, but I'm gonna find out.”

Rose moves away, and I don't press. “You have marks on you. And I don't like it. Explain.”

She glances down then laughs. “That's me being a klutz. I ran into a countertop at work.”

Thank Christ.
That still doesn't explain the throat. I stare at her skin.

“You—I don't know who you are, not really.”

I adjust my crotch with a shift of my weight. “Yeah, ya do. I met you at the bank three days ago.”

Her laugh is shaky. “True, but obviously you're an important client, an
d…
well, I don't associate wit
h…
bikers,” she says softly.

No disrespecting the club. I hate that Rose does. I take a step closer, and she flinches.

Her fear pisses me off. “I don't hurt women. And I would never hurt you.”

She nods. “I believe you. But this thing”—she indicates her throat—“isn't any of your business, and I'm okay now.” Her eyes dance away from mine.

It
isn't
fucking okay, and we both know it.

“Take a ride with me,” I say suddenly.

She shakes her head, nervous eyes roaming my ride.

Fuck. I work it up from the bottom of somewhere and finally ask, “Please.” I offer my hand, palm up.

Rose studies my face for a long time.

Women don't reject me. I never gave a shit before.

I feel a wave of heat climbing my face as she stands there silently.

Then Rose surprises the hell out of me when her much smaller hand slides inside mine. It feels right.

And dangerous.