Unruly (28 page)

Tonight he wanted me to sing for his son. So I sang. It was that simple.

“Do you have any requests?” I asked after I finished my song. I didn't need to direct the question. Everyone there knew to wait until he spoke. Echo was an older version of Killer, more weathered, rougher around the edges, hair still raven-dark; he moved with a predatory grace that his son lacked. That and the complete self-assurance he exuded would mark him as the man in charge. The fact that he was watched obediently by every other biker there didn't hurt either.

“Joan Jett,” he said.

“Anything particular?” I asked.

When he shook his head, I grinned and decided to do Joan Jett covering AC/DC. I looked at the band and said, “Dirty Deeds.”

Then I met Echo's gaze and said, “Being a part of this
pack
in any way is an honor, and I'm awfully glad your son's smart enough to realize it, even if he's going off to play toy soldier.” There were laughs. Echo grinned and raised his glass at me. When the laughter died down, I glanced at Killer and Aubrey then. “And you two better not forget that
Killers
' not the only Wolf, or Wolf's daughter, in town who can get things done. I've got Aubrey's back, and I'm not the only one. Family”—I looked back at Echo—“protects family. Always has. Always will.”

The Wolves let out a boisterous sound that was somewhere between a howl and a yell. Echo simply smiled at me. Killer nodded at me. A few of the Wolves called out their agreement.

“You tell 'em, Ellie!”

“You heard the lady!”

Echo nodded at me, and the drummer started. I started clapping my hands, and the Wolves and their old ladies joined me. By the time the guitar came in, the women were on the floor dancing. By the chorus, most everyone in the bar was singing “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” along with me. It wasn't a Joan Jett song
originally
, but she'd covered it.

Aubrey pulled Killer onto the floor to dance, and once I got past the shock of his agreeing to dance in public, I was impressed. We'd danced as kids, but he and Noah both had always refused to dance in public.

“Get your ass out here, Dash,” I said into the mic. “If Killer can do it, you better too.”

People pushed him toward the floor, and Aubrey took his hand and pulled him to them as soon as he was in reach. It stung briefly that she was standing where I once had been with them when we were younger, but it passed in a blink. She was the one for Killer, and she was Noah's friend. She had every right to be there, and I was happy to see the boys both smiling at her.

Killer called, “Hey,
old man!”

He motioned Echo forward with a sweeping gesture.

Echo shook his head, but Mrs. Evans said something, and when Echo didn't stand, she shrugged and joined her granddaughter on the floor. No one else was ballsy enough to try to convince Echo to go to the floor, and he couldn't very well come up unless he was sure it wouldn't look foolish. Power requires respect.

When the song ended, I said, “One more song . . . just for the lovebirds who prefer something a little slower.” I met Echo's gaze again. “Or want an excuse to dance with their ladies.”

I turned to the band and said, “Etta James' ‘At Last.'”

As the song started, Echo stood and flashed a smile that made him look a lot younger than he was. Mrs. Evans turned to look for him, as if she knew that he'd come to the floor this time. There was something a little heartbreaking at seeing them together. She'd been one of my favorite teachers, and although she'd always paid a little extra attention to Killer, she was a fair teacher, a good one, one who treated her students with respect. I was glad to see her happy, but I was even happier to see Echo smile the way he was as he took her into his arms.

Killer and Aubrey were dancing, and Noah's date was flouncing across the bar even as he was leaving the dance floor. He said something that made her cross her arms over the excessive cleavage she was flashing. I almost felt bad for her. Even though I didn't really want to talk to him, I didn't wish him ill. We were friends before we'd been anything else, and I knew I'd forgive him sooner or later.

I chanced a look at Alamo, whose gaze was fastened on me like he was a starving man. I shivered visibly, and he smiled. Whoever those two girls with him were, they weren't looking at him the way he was looking at me. Maybe they were friends or something. I had never been a jealous or possessive woman, and the flash of it that I'd felt at seeing him burned away in the intensity of how he was looking at me.

Plus, if the girls were here as Alamo's dates, Killer wouldn't have stepped in between Alamo and Noah. Killer might not be all showy about it, but we had been close friends as kids. Now we were rediscovering our old friendship. I wasn't sure who they were or what the deal was with those two, but I knew that Killer wouldn't have walked away if Alamo had disrespected me that way.

Alamo watched me as I sang, and all I could think about was the way we'd kissed after the last time I'd been onstage. I wasn't sure how he'd feel about that sort of thing here in front of the Wolves, and I didn't want to risk rejection in front of them. The safe thing, the wisest thing, was to not do or say anything. I should treat him exactly as I had before. That was the smart plan.

But by the time I finished the song, he was standing in front of the stage. I knew where we were, knew that more eyes were on me now than a moment ago when I was singing.

He held his hand up to me.

I stared at him, frozen as if with stage fright.

“Zoe is my sister,” he said softly. “I brought her here because I couldn't
not
see you.”

“That isn't . . .” I shook my head. “You don't owe me explanations about who you spend time with.”

“What if I want to owe them?”

There was a lot more to that question than I was ready to answer, but I knew what I wanted to say. I couldn't. Knowing everything I did about him, all I wanted was to leap into his arms and say yes to whatever he wanted. I wasn't sure I was ready to risk my heart yet.

I also wasn't sure it was even a choice anymore. I'd realized it when I felt that surge of possessiveness earlier. I might not be ready to admit it aloud, but my heart was already his. It had been before my body was.

Silently I took his hand and stepped down.

“What's it going to be?” he prompted. “Give this a chance, Ellen.”

“You're sure?”

“I was sure months ago. I'm
still
sure.” He didn't pull me closer, but he wasn't keeping me at arm's length the way Noah always had. It was all but spoken that he wanted to stake a claim . . . Here at Wolves & Whiskey. In front of all and everyone who knew me best.

Unlike when we'd gone to bars for me to sing or when we went riding, this was more than just us. It wasn't like he was declaring me his old lady, but it was a step toward being something other than a secret fling.

I kept his hand in mine as I stepped closer and looked up at him. “I think you ought to kiss me.”

He smiled like he'd just been offered a prize, and then he pulled me even closer and kissed me in the middle of the dance floor.

That was it, a statement. It was terrifying to me to do so, but the touch of his lips made me forget that in the next heartbeat. I was his and he was mine. It was that clear . . . to everyone.

When he pulled back, I said, “If we're going to date, I should meet your sister.”

Alamo draped his arm around my shoulders and led me to the two girls he'd walked in with.

And I pretended not to see the numerous assessing gazes. It was all manageable. Noah was carefully smiling at us, as if it pained him to do so, but he was determined. Alamo's sister was studying me as we approached, but not with hostility.

All told, it looked like things were going to be better than I could've hoped.

Chapter 28

O
N
M
ONDAY
I
DECIDED TO MAKE USE OF ONE OF THE
two unexcused absences allowed in my accounting class. As much as it pained me to admit it in public, I was good at accounting, so the absence wouldn't hurt me. It seemed like a contradiction for someone who preferred design and music to excel in accounting, but I'd always had a head for numbers. It was the most practical thing I could do with my life, so I took business classes as a backup plan.

I tucked a few essentials in my bag in preparation, and then I drove to campus like normal.

After I parked, I acted like I had on Friday, ignoring my khaki-clad stalkers and proceeding toward the campus buildings where my classes were held. Today I whispered a silent prayer that I wouldn't run into Noah, Aubrey, or any of my professors—especially the Payroll Accounting one.

I ducked into my building, grateful to have avoided anyone I knew, and then slipped out the side door and headed back to the lot to wait for my stalkers. I figured that once they realized that I'd ducked away they'd come back to the lot to watch my car.

Then I could ask why they were watching me. Admittedly, confrontation wasn't
always
the wisest plan. Perhaps it was a bad plan today too, but it was the easiest way to be sure I got the answers I wanted. Depending on what they had to say, I could go to the Wolves or—hopefully—I could resolve it here on my own without doing that.

I walked toward their car once I hit the lot.

They weren't anywhere in sight, but I had time and patience enough for this part. I figured they had an alarm, though, so I was hoping that my next action would yield results. I found their car, which stood out in the community college lot, and hip-checked it. As far as plans went, it was pretty basic, but “sound an alarm to summon idiots” seemed just about complex enough for the jackasses who'd been following me.

I slung my bag over my shoulder, hopped up on the hood of their car—and waited. It wasn't uncomfortable, and I liked that I could watch for their approach. Once I was comfortable, aside from wincing at the car alarm, I settled my open-topped bag in my lap for easy access.

It didn't take even five minutes for them to come into the lot.

Shorter Khaki was talking to Khaki in Charge, hands gesturing broadly as he spoke. I could tell the exact moment that they spotted me because those wildly waving hands stilled, right hand mid-gesture.

They silenced the alarm.

I waved at them with one hand. My other hand was half in the top of my bag so I could hold my phone. It was subtle enough with the way I was seated that it could look like I was just resting my hand there, not that I was poised to send a text for help.

For several moments, they simply stared at me. There was no readable expression, no words, nothing that gave a clue as to what they'd do next. Then Khaki in Charge smiled in a way that made me think this might have been a very bad idea.

He walked confidently toward me. Shorter Khaki hung back. It was the sort of natural routine that spoke of a history of a predator and a vulture. Khaki in Charge would take down the prey, and Shorter Khaki would wait for the leavings. I wasn't sure if that meant actual threat of injury or if their routine was more of a “collect one-nighters” sort of bad behavior. Either way, they triggered the primal alarms that almost every woman has when faced with these sort of men. They didn't mean to do well by me; that much was increasingly clear.

It wasn't the answer I'd been hoping to find, but my recon experiment had already told me that this was a situation that required backup. I might want to handle things on my own, but I wasn't going to do so if it caused
more
problems for my Wolf family. The question was whether I should call for help or run. I slid my hand farther into my bag, feeling for the right place to press to hit
SEND
.

“I saw you,” I said as he approached, trying to make him look at my face instead of my hands.

“Saw me?” Khaki in Charge echoed.

“Watching me.” I looked past him to be sure that I could track Shorter Khaki too. He hadn't moved, standing back half awkwardly like he wasn't sure whether to stay or go.

Khaki in Charge smiled. “You're a pretty girl. Men must watch you all the time.”

Appealing to vanity wasn't a bad strategy, but I wasn't as stupid as he was obviously assuming. Honestly, I'd guess that
most
women weren't so foolish as to fall for empty praise from a guy who set off warnings. My guess was that if he got anywhere, it was by way of his wealth. Maybe that and dulled senses from a couple of drinks would make a woman ignore that tickle that had already started to cue that flight was a wise choice.

I said nothing.

“Do you have class today?” Khaki in Charge asked, although we both knew that answer.

“I do, but there was this nicely dressed man watching me pretty seriously on Friday, so I thought I'd pause here and ask why.” I was still keeping my voice light enough that it could be mistaken for flirtatious. I didn't know if he was buying it, but straight-out confrontational—which had been my preferred plan—seemed unwise now that I'd met him.