Unruly (8 page)

Usually Uncle Karl and my mama handled discipline, but when Noah, Killer, and I had all three ended up in a brawl with some drunks one Friday night a couple years back, Echo had been the one to take us to task that night—
after
Uncle Karl had read the boys out and Mama had done the same with me. That was the night Echo went into a long, patient, level-voiced explanation about our responsibility to the town. Wolves had an obligation to protect their territory and their subjects. The citizens of Williamsville might not consider themselves subjects of the Wolves and I might not
be
a Wolf, but as far as Echo was concerned, that was how things were. None of us had argued.

And I wasn't arguing today.

“I know she misses him,” I told Echo. “I know she likes my singing, too. I just . . . I don't want to sell a record, or even know if I could. I want to design clothes.”

Echo gave me the sort of look that made me feel like I was missing the most obvious thing in the world and said, “Is there some rule I don't know about that says you can't do both?”

I grinned, both in relief that he'd spoken lightly and because I liked being teased by him. “There are things you don't know?”

He laughed. “You only get away with that sass because your mama'd lay into me if I growled at you for it like the boys got.”

I mock-shuddered, instead of pointing out that I'd never
truly
sass him. “I'd have taken your growls over Mama's groundings any day of the week.”

“I don't know any clothes people, but you know I have ties over Memphis way and in Nashville if you decide to sing more often,” Echo said blandly.

“Yes, sir.”

He laughed again, and I was grateful that I'd been able to cheer him a little bit. He patted my shoulder in what substituted for an affectionate embrace from him and added, “Now I know you're sassing me, missy. You don't ‘sir' people.”

“If anyone rates a ‘sir,' it's you.” I felt a little embarrassed at saying it aloud, but there was no shame in admitting the truth. Echo had always made sure Mama and I were provided for, and I knew for certain that there was money that showed up in our bank account because of him. He didn't make a thing about it, either. He simply provided for us when we needed it. Wolves were only supposed to have your back for life, but the club had been there for us a lot longer, even though my father was long gone.

A lot of folks misunderstood bikers. They didn't realize that a motorcycle club was really just a big family, one with a few more crazies than a lot of families owned up to having, but a family all the same. Families looked out for one another. That was just the way of it.

“Do you need me to do anything? For the club? Or . . . ?” I asked. I might not know what all Echo planned and plotted. It was best that way. The one certainty was that I owed Echo my loyalty.

“Not right now,” he said. There were no false expressions of gratitude or faux misapprehensions. Echo knew he deserved my loyalty. I suspected, not without reason, that he assumed he deserved
everyone's
loyalty. Most of the time I thought he was right about that.

“If there is . . .” I said, wanting him to know that I could be every bit the dependable Wolf my father would be if he were still alive. A woman couldn't be a Wolf, and I had no desire to change the system. There were plenty who did, who saw all sorts of things wrong with our way of life, but at the end of the day, I was who I was. If I didn't like it, I wouldn't be keeping my roots here at home. If I took issue with the things my biker family did, I wouldn't still be here. And if I didn't like the options for me within the club, well, I wouldn't take up with a Wolf in a serious way. Some women were like that. Aubrey was looking like she was one of them, and
that
was okay. Me? I would give my support where Echo wanted it as a way to pay back a little of what he'd given to us over the years. I wanted him to know that too.

I looked at him and said, “I might not wear colors, but my heart still belongs to this family.”

Echo nodded. “I know that.”

There was a not-so-small part of me that used to wish he'd court my mother. It was moments like this, when he was smiling at me the way my dad used to, that made me feel that way. He and my mother wouldn't suit each other, and I knew that now that I was older. I also knew that I missed having a father, and as far as I was concerned, there wouldn't be anyone else likely to be able to fill my daddy's shoes.

“You think about what I said about singing, and give Miss Bitty my regards,” Echo said, and then he was gone.

I watched him walk back to his Harley. It wasn't often that Echo was out without a shadow, but whether he had bikers at his side or was on his own, Echo walked around like he was invulnerable. He might even believe that he was, but I remembered uglier days. I remembered when my father died. I remembered the conversations I wasn't to overhear—when Killer, Noah, and I hid and eavesdropped. There was a good reason that Killer dogged Echo's steps.

Worst of all, I remember Mama drunk and sobbing, breaking every one of Daddy's records until I called Echo and he came to the house. Big Eddie was with him. He'd stayed on our sofa for weeks that time, looking after us. Back then, I thought it was just on Echo's orders. Now I knew better. Wolves look out for Wolves—and for a Wolf's blood family. No one needs to order them to do it.

But that didn't mean that I had to keep being looked after. That was what Echo was meaning, even if he didn't come right out and say it. He was right, like always. I should reconsider singing for money. I loved it, and maybe I could do it without sacrificing my other passion. Selling a few songs might be a way to make money for Mama and me, money that the club wouldn't need to give us. I felt suddenly guilty that I hadn't thought about that before. It wasn't that I wanted us to be beholden to Echo, but I hadn't wanted to sell my voice. There were dreams that were too real, too important. If I failed at most things, it wouldn't be devastating, but singing was something that I'd held on to as a link to my father. Surrendering that, being rejected for that, would break something inside me, and I didn't know that I'd recover from it.

On the other hand, accepting Echo's offer to make some calls was a lot less appealing than I'd have liked. If I succeeded, I needed it to be on my own merit, on my own terms, not because someone knocked down doors for me. There were things I could accept, had accepted, over the years from the club. I paid them back with the same loyalty I'd expect to have been given by my father. This wasn't about the club, though. It was about me. That meant I needed to do it my way.

Before I could think twice about it, I picked up the phone and called Alamo.

“Are you okay?”

“Is that how you always answer the phone?” I asked lightly.

“You've never called until today.” He sounded slightly calmer, but he paused and added, “Are you?”

“I think so,” I said, feeling silly now that I had him on the phone. “I want to go over to Memphis . . . and I want you to come with me.”

Alamo was silent so long I thought he might have hung up. Softly I asked, “Are you there?”

“I am.”

“Okaaaay . . .”

“Maybe Dash should take you,” he said.

This time I was the one who went silent. I was torn between defending myself and telling him to fuck off. The one and only time we'd discussed Noah in any real detail was months ago, and that was the day Alamo had seen me tearful.

“If you don't want to—”

“I didn't say that.” Alamo sighed. “This is a favor for a friend you're asking for, right?”

“It is.” I was feeling more mortified by the minute. “You know what? I'll drive myself. It was stupid to ask you to c—”

“I'll be there in twenty. Thirty tops. Just let me make a call, and then I'll be headed your way.” He hung up before I could reply, but that might've been the best thing because I had no idea what I would say. Calling him had been impulsive, but it had seemed like a good idea . . . up until he answered the phone. Now I wasn't sure whether or not I even wanted to wait for him.

Okay, that was a lie. I
wanted
to, but it was a thoroughly ridiculous thing to want. I felt like I was throwing myself at him. He'd all but said I was bothering him, not just by his silence but by bringing up Noah. Sadly, despite those facts, I still wanted to see him. I wanted him to come with me to sing. I wanted him to carry me home afterward . . . and stay for a while.

I was pitiful.

Chapter 7

A
LAMO LOOKED DOWN AT THE PHONE IN HIS HAND LIKE
it was a viper. Ellen wasn't making anything easy for him. It was hard enough watching her sit there while Dash flirted with Aubrey in front of her, but now she was calling him, asking him to go to Memphis. She hadn't said that she and Dash were on the outs, but they obviously must be fighting if she was asking Alamo instead of Dash to carry her over to Memphis—not that having her on his bike was a hardship. She had exactly the right sort of everything to make him forget good sense: a curvaceous body, bold attitude, and smart mind. Add in that voice of hers, and it was almost too much appeal in one person.

She was also firmly off-limits. It wasn't fair, but life wasn't supposed to be fair and Alamo wasn't about to start whining about it now. He hadn't bitched about any of the bullshit that was far from fair growing up, so he wasn't going to start whining over being denied a woman—even one as ideal as Ellen.

What it meant practically was that Alamo had to keep his distance from Ellen. He'd been working at it. He'd left the races so he didn't slam his fist into Dash's face. He'd managed to avoid being alone with Ellen almost entirely. He was polite, but he let himself exchange words with her only if there were others around. He wasn't going to get into a clusterfuck with the new Wolves chapter because he couldn't keep his hands off someone else's property—and that was what it meant that Dash had her under his protection. Ellen was
his
. No questions. No exceptions. If Dash wanted to grant an exception, he could, but without his say-so, no Wolf was allowed to touch Ellen. Alamo wasn't the sort to ask permission, and even if he were, Dash sure as hell wasn't going to grant it. That left Alamo in a lousy spot. Every time she talked to him, it was like she was inviting him to risk everything. He couldn't do it.

He also couldn't tell her no—which was a ridiculous situation to be in. Getting into world of bullshit for giving her ride wasn't appealing. He'd settled in here, and the trouble from Carolina didn't seem to be following him. The last thing he needed was to have to go back there or have to go somewhere else because he stirred some shit here.

Alamo closed his eyes and smothered a growl.

He picked up his phone. There should be a better option. Asking anyone for permission was not his style. Ignoring the consequences wasn't a possibility today, though, not unless he wanted headaches he
really
didn't have the patience for. That left him very few choices.

He did the only thing he could do: he called Killer.

“I'm carrying Ellen over to Memphis. She wants to sing.”

“You volunteer?”

“No. I suggested she call Dash.” Alamo tried not to sound as surly as he felt. The last thing he wanted was to pass Ellen over to Dash, even for a second. He'd done it, though. He was playing by the rules despite the fact that Dash was acting as if he could set his own rules. “I don't know if they're fighting or—”

“Christ, Alamo! I'm like to grow a pussy the way you're talking.”

“Fuck off.” Alamo wasn't sure there was any shame in admitting to thinking about a woman's situation rather than just her body, and truth be told, Killer was the same when it came to Red.

Killer laughed.

“Seriously, I hate that I'm doing this shit, but I'm asking if this violates the rules. I get that she's under Dash's protection. I get that she's hands-off. I also gave her my word that I'd be around if she needed me. Tell me that I'm in the clear here, or call her and tell her that I'm not. Your boy Dash has put me in a situation.”

“Not my boy,” Killer muttered. “Fucker took my girl out to the races.”

“I was there. Left because he was sitting there with Ellen, too.”

“You couldn't chase his ass off my girl?”

“Red know she's your girl?”

“We're working on that,” Killer grumbled. “I've got your back with this trip, but don't make it a habit and just . . . keep your hands to yourself.” He paused, and then he shocked Alamo by saying, “And tell Ellie I'm glad she's singing again. I missed it.”

Alamo considered remarking on the fact that Killer was just as soft as he'd accused Alamo of being, but they both knew it already.