Chapter 13
Cook
Several days passed in my old house with only the two of us awkwardly circling around one another, me fighting the draw toward Maddie every waking moment. Maddie cleaned and organized until the inside of the house sparkled. I found relief—or maybe reprieve—in outdoor chores: scrubbing the grill, replacing boards on the porch railing, and trimming back weeds that’d overgrown the drive.
Anything to keep my hands busy and my dick in my pants.
Maddie and I revolved around each other like magnets—at times drawing near and at others pushing away. At least she’d stopped trying so hard to get me to have sex with her. The sad look in her eyes when she backed off, though, fucking broke me.
I couldn’t hold her penchant for sex against her; it was all she had known for the latter half of her childhood. She wasn’t really attracted to me—no way she could be pining over someone a decade her senior.
But Daddy.
No!I told myself every time the thought entered my sick brain. Sex was her only way to cope. It’s what she thought would make me happy. There wasn’t any fucking way I would use her like Signora Gambino’s clients.
The decrepit house was starting to look like a home though, and that did unexpected things to me. I didn’t know whether the new and inviting space warmed me or chilled me. It definitely tore me down and started putting the pieces together in a different order.
Maddie took a quick liking to monochrome photography. Her black and white photos were already tacked onto the walls. After developing a roll and she found one that met her standards, she found a perfect home for it.
Today, I cooked sausage, bacon, and eggs on the grill, and we were cleaning up after breakfast when my phone chirped.
Celt: In town, asshole. What’s doin’?
Scratching my beard, I considered how to reply. Except for church, I hadn’t talked to Celt since taking Maddie away from the recovery house. I wasn’t keen on giving him the blow-by-blow, and Maddie would surely be his prime question.
Instead of answering directly, I typed, “Roni?” and hit send.
Celt: Yup, she’s here too. Church later today. You there?
Cook: Sure thing.
I glanced over at Maddie, who was drying the plates and putting them away. My phone pinged again.
Celt: I’m at the cop shop if you wanna shoot shit.
Cook: I’ll stop by. We can ride over to Bou’s shop for the big pow wow.
Celt: Good deal. See ya soon.
An hour later, I kicked the stand down on my motorcycle outside Mel’s Market, the only store in town. I raked my gaze over the only crossroads in Park Ridge. Store, gas station, diner, a trailer park behind the diner and the neighborhood of built houses trailing toward the hills behind Mel’s. The school stood on the north end and to the south, the recovery house—the monstrosity Rex had been building before Celt capped him in Vegas.
Walking into Mel’s Market, I met the owner at the door, clapping his hand and bringing him into a hug.
Mel whispered, “They’re in the back.”
I clapped him on the back and headed down the canned goods aisle, through the hallway with the single-cell jail, and into the Park Ridge police office. The room was a good size, but stark and industrial—little more than a warehouse with a concrete floor and open ceiling.
Celt had converted one end of it into a tiny gym. A rubber floor, Smith machine, set of free weights, and a treadmill. At the other end, where Celt’s old metal desk had been for ages, there were now two. Plus a few eclectic and uncomfortable chairs.
The place wasn’t fit for SVU or NCIS, but it’s where Ridge law ran... kinda.
Celt, being the law.
Fucking hilarious.
That red-headed giant and I had been making our own law before we could drive. And setting up the official MC after he’d murdered the last Prez, the same man who’d terrorized his family for years. Icing on the goddamn cake.
Eyes swung to me when I strode in, and I swore.
In addition to Celt, Maddie’s sister and Angel were on the desk side of the office, Melanie sat behind the second desk that had been moved in. Celt reclined in the chair behind his desk in his MC cut and no shirt, boots kicked up and showing off the soles. Melanie’s face had a ghostly blue hue from the open laptop, and she glared at me over the top.
Lanie, as she was starting to favor, happened to be the last person I wanted to see today.
“Cook.” Lanie slapped the laptop closed, stood, and left Angel sitting on the edge of the desk to meet me halfway.
“Getting settled?” I quipped some small talk, hoping she wouldn’t poke the elephant in the room.
“Studying for the Arizona bar.” She closed the final few steps, and I tensed.
She looked too much like her sister, only more fit. Curves of muscle filled out her blazer, and it seemed wrong. Not Maddie, I had to remind myself.
It stopped me cold when she paused, then locked her arms around my chest.
I met Angel’s hardened gaze with a plea, but he didn’t rip his girl away. I gave Lanie a quick hug as she took a deep sniff. Could she smell Maddie? Or was that a happy-to-see-you gasp?
Regardless, I pushed Lanie to arm’s length before she could ask about her sister and preemptively said, “Give it a couple weeks, ’kay?”
Frowning, she stepped back. She had fury in her eyes like she was about to argue with me. Her objection must’ve been on the tip of her tongue, but Celt dropped his heavy boots to the floor.
“’Bout time, bro.” Celt skirted his desk and clapped me on the shoulder. “Let’s move this across the street.”
“Sounds good to me.” It seemed like I’d just eaten, but I wouldn’t turn down a cup of Louie’s sludge. A spoon could stand up on its own in that shit. Maddie had wrinkled her nose when I’d given her a cup at the house, but dark, thick, and strong was just the way I liked my coffee.
Celt and I hung back as Lanie and Angel marched through the bread aisle in Mel’s Market toward the door.
“How’s the girl?” he asked in a low voice.
It was the only question anyone asked these days. A fucking good reason to stay away from all the bastards in the Ridge.
“Fine,” I said, checking our surroundings.
“Then what’s got you turnt?” murmured Celt. “You’re twitchin’ like you just did a line of coke.”
“You know that’s bullshit.” I scratched at the scar that ran down the center of my chest.
I’d covered the mark with tats, but I could still feel the puckered skin. The last time I snorted blow, one of the sweetbutts hanging around Rex’s MC went knife crazy during sex. I woke up alone, wondering who bled out in my bed. To this day, I still wasn’t sure which bitch I’d fucked.
Granted, I’d done a whole slew of other shit that night too.
“Then what?” Celt frowned. “Something with your mom? Roni and I checked in on her in Phoenix like you asked. Still can’t believe you’ve been hiding her there for twenty-three years, asshole.”
I winced. “Better to let everyone think she and my dad both up and disappeared. You know how rumors fly in small towns.”
Cook, of course, knew what really happened to Daddy, but I’d lied about Mom. The last thing I’d wanted was his sympathy when he had the perfect fam. Another thing my bro had ripped away by that dead motherfucker, Rex.
“It’s not Mom,” I said as we stepped past our motorcycles in front of Mel’s.
Louie’s Diner, our destination, and my coffee waited across the street.
“It’s Maddie, then?” Celt cut me a look.
Did he already know? Surely Wilde and the Warden wouldn’t have said anything. Brothers in the club talked about a whole slew of shit, but ol’ ladies weren’t the normal chatter.
Then again, Maddie was not my ol’ lady.
I swallowed... and nodded. “Didn’t expect her to require so much—how do I put it? Research?”
Studying in school had never been my thing. College, no matter what Mom wanted, had been out of the question. From before I shot Daddy, I’d been sure what I would end up doing for a living.
The Ridge had border patrol—a cover we used for running drugs between Mexico and the rest of the Southwest. The MC dealt in Mary Jane and had a few farmers in town, but we imported a lot. And for the stronger shit, we charged a border crossing fee. Cash only. Part of that fee went to the U.S. government to keep our books on the up and up. The rest, except for the dues paid to Rex, lined our pockets.
Our new MC was slowly taking over that biz.
“What kind of research?” Celt paused at his bike and pulled a shirt from his saddlebags.
He held out his cut for me to hold and then shoved his arms into the white cotton tee.
“How to be a Daddy,” I blurted without thought.
Celt froze with his shirt half on. He closed his eyes, held them closed for a minute, then popped them wide open. “Come again.”
“Not that kind.” My brain had been on a single track, not even thinking the double meaning.
“You fucked her?” he asked as if I was as deranged as the psychopaths who’d used her like that.
“God NO!”
Celt snagged his cut back out of my hand and swung it on. “Then wha—ooohhhh.”
The understanding brought a smirk to his lips, one I wanted to smack off. The bell above the door in Louie’s diner rang and Roni came jogging across the street. Her blond ponytail bounced as she ran. She’d turned into quite the confident little biker babe, wearing a crop top, cutoff Daisy Dukes, and combat boots suitable for riding.
My bro threw a light punch at my shoulder. “I can dig it. You’re gonna try your hand at BDSM?”
“What was that?” Roni giggled and leaned up to give her ol’ man a lingering kiss.
I looked away, rubbing the muscles in the back of my neck.
When she finally pushed Celt away, Roni asked, “BDSM? Who?”
I was definitely not having this conversation with Celt’s girlfriend. Nor with a nurse. I didn’t want to hear all about the terrible injuries that came into the emergency room because of dumb sex accidents. I thought I even had a shirt that said something along those lines.
It’s a bitch when your humor becomes reality in the worst fucking way.
“Don’t look at me,” said Celt, holding up his hands.
Roni turned to me, broadening her smile and thoughts of scandal seemed to light her eyes. “Cook? Do tell.”
“None of your business,” I said, brushing past her.
Celt turned to head into the diner too.
“Wait!” She skipped to keep up.
My oldest friend slung his arm around his girl when she caught up.
Roni laced her fingers with his hand at her shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with it as long as you’re safe.”
I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t having this fucked-up conversation. It was weird enough to figure all this out on my own. I didn’t easily embarrass, but everyone seemed to want a part of my sex life. Or non–sex life, as it may be.
“Hey. I’ve got a friend in Phoenix.” Roni glanced up at her ol’ man. “He’s into shit like that. Maybe I can connect you?”
“A friend?” asked Celt, eyeing her. “Who?”
“Vincente.”
“Your coworker?” Celt rolled his eyes. “I knew he was one kinky bastard.”
Roni knocked me with her elbow. “He goes to this place called Serenity.”
“Well that fucking figures.” It all came back to that place and that weaselly little man, Mercer.
After I drank three cups of Louie’s coffee while Angel, Lanie, Celt, and Roni ate, we headed over to Bou’s shop for church. The Ridge MC was turning into something official, and it gave me fucking chills. I’d been playing around when I’d thrown down the patches at Rex’s grave, but where it was going... yeah, we might be big time one day.
What used to be a small, tightly knit club had grown with Wilde and Angel and the other guys in LA. In the course of connecting with Wilde’s club in LA, we added ol’ ladies and a doctor or two into the mix. Bigger motorcycle clubs had industrial warehouses and compounds. With Wilde came a smaller warehouse in East Compton and some land up in the mountains north of LA.
Rex, when he’d been in charge, held meetings up at the old camp where we had bonfires, but Celt and I had always avoided church under Rex. No one had even thought to suggest we meet there since Wilde took this bull by the horns. Depending on the money we could bankroll, however, we might have to upgrade our meeting spot here in Arizona to fit us all.
For now, though, we gathered in the kitchen at Bou’s shop.
“This way.” She inclined her head toward the back door.
Our long line of people walked out, where Tice, road name Coyote, had his car parked. The trunk popped open, and he stood aside while the local patched members gathered around.
“What the fuck is that?” asked Wilde.
A shitload of guns stared at us, everything from sniper rifles to Uzis to a palm-size Smith Wesson. I reached inside and picked up one of the small handguns.
A Bodyguard 380 with a fucking laser tiny enough to fit Maddie’s hand.
Several of the men, Celt and I included, looked around for anyone watching or anything unusual. That was, other than the fucking stash of metal.
“Shit,” someone drawled.
“Ho-ly fuck,” said another.
Strings of curses flew, and I ran a hand through my hair as I stared down. Swearing about it, that’s what everyone else did. Nothing creative about it.
Instead, I looked up at Tice. “Damn, Coyote, who told you to bring the pews to church?”
Snorts and snickers rose around the trunk along with rounds of high-pitched “pew-pew.”
Celt rolled his eyes, but his voice had a note of approval when he said, “That’s my man.”
Even Wilde cocked a half smile, but he didn’t move the hand wrapped around Bou’s stomach, like he would throw his body in front of hers. The protective stance made me want to let out a full-blown belly laugh. Bou probably had the most guns of anyone standing in this semi-circle.
She was the only ol’ lady allowed at church. She wore her own cut and the standard MC patches just like all the men. No fucking property of patches for her. Bou was our First Lady.
I was happy Roni and Lanie weren’t here to see this, though. Lanie, I still wasn’t so sure about. She’d been on the official side of the law for too long, and Roni was just too cheerful to deal with this kind of discovery.
“Close that up,” ordered Wilde before he walked inside.
Inside Bou’s shop, we stood around in a circle: Angel, Celt, Bou, Wilde, Coyote, and me. A couple more patched members sat at the small table on the far side of the room. Jackyl, in town from LA, and Hammer from here in Park Ridge. Naturally, Hammer would be here; he was probably working on the house Wilde and Bou were building next door.
Without preamble, Wilde barked, “The fuck are you thinking bringin’ that shit to my club?”
Tice “Coyote” Donovan held out both hands and shrugged. “Intercepted at the border from a truck running into Mexico. Seems like the Mafia’s running firearms to the cartels now.”
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. With drugs becoming legal and guns now being tracked, it was no wonder the Mafia and cartels were adjusting for the wallet share.
Celt stood taller, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you involved in this, Coyote?”
“Hell no. Just confiscated the shipment.” The man crossed his arms. “Came straight here with it.”
I blew out a low breath. Bigger club, bigger problems. Shoulda known this might happen.
“Is this connected to the guns, then?” asked Angel, eyeing Tice.
I had known the Coyote for years. Before he became a prospect to our club, he was up and down the border, knowing the desert like it was the back of his hand. He had passed a lot of shit through, keeping an eye on any underground ops from a distance.
That, though, was before he showed up to Bou’s shop with a fuck ton of guns.
“What about the driver?” Angel asked.
Coyote answered, “Didn’t say much until I had him at the end of my own barrel.”
Angel pursed his lips, nodding. “Risky play, man.”
Coyote sloughed it off. “He was only the mule.”
“So”—Wilde stopped his pacing—“he cooperated?”
“Yup. Said he was running a shipment from Vegas to Puerto Pe?asco in Sonora, Mexico, to be sold to the Jalisco Cartel.”
“And you just took the shipment and let the mule run free?” asked Angel, voice like a rumble of thunder. “Right back to whoever’s his puppet master?”
No reason to get up Coyote’s ass.
I opened my mouth to say something, but Wilde eyed Celt and cut in, “Have we seen anything like this before?”
Celt shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard of.”
Coyote, an eager kid though probably working his way toward thirty, rocked up on the balls of his feet and back. Anyone could be nervous in this group, but Celt and I trusted him for the work he had done at the border. Hell, he was the one who waved me through when Wilde and I brought back Wilde’s pissant of a father.
I saved him from having to explain more. “I’ll confirm too. No one has run shit like this across our border before. Coyote...” I jutted my chin toward the door.
He ducked his head, defeated, and left. He still wasn’t patched, so while we decided what to do about it, he needed to go.
“Coyote,” Wilde called before he exited. “Good job. Don’t take off. We’ll need your help in a few.”
Coyote nodded and left us.
“We need to be policing up and down highway 95,” said Celt, “especially if we have the Mafia and cartels bringing shit like that through our territory.” Celt turned to Wilde. “Do I have to ask if you’re in?”
“You know we’re here to stay,” said Wilde. “We did the thing up at Red Rock. Every patched member here and in LA wears the same goddamn letters.”
“Here-here,” Jackyl agreed.
“Nothing says we can’t use the guns,” Angel suggested.
Celt arched an eyebrow at Wilde.
Prez gave a decisive bob of his head. “Everyone, help load the guns into the shed out back, and Angel, you send word to LA.”
Jackyl and Hammer stood and shoved their chairs under the table, and Bou started for the back door where the car waited.
Wilde grabbed her wrist. “You should rest.”
Smiling, she leaned in and kissed him on the corner of the mouth. “Not a chance. I get first pick.”
Resigned to her ways—the way we all were—Wilde shook his head and let her go. “I’ll work with Cook on a plan.”
The three walked outside and the screen door slapped against the jamb several times.
Scratching my beard, I ran through a list of the guys we had in town. “I’ll round up the prospects on border patrol and make sure they’ve got eyes peeled.”
“Good deal,” Wilde said. “One thing you three should consider.”
We all gave the Prez our full attention.
“If the Mafia and cartel are using our routes for trade, we should use that to our advantage.”
“What’cha thinkin’?” asked Celt.
Wilde looked us each in the eye, then answered, “I’m not interested in arms dealing, but our finances have taken a hit since the legalization. Sasquatch up in LA tried to make a deal, but remember what Ward said at church last? ’Bout Enzo.”
“The motherfucking Mafia,” growled Angel, and if anyone had a bone to pick with them, it was him.
Well, him, Lanie, Maddie, and now me!
“Yep.” Wilde pushed off the counter. “LAPD has our dockside warehouse taped off for the fucking investigation, so we’re not getting at the warehouse anytime soon.”
“So,” I began, “what’s that got to do with the pew-pews out there?”
“That is the fucking question of the day.” Wilde grinned. “Answer’s plain and simple. From now on, we take a cut for giving them a lane for their goddamn trafficking.”
Angel bristled. “No.”
“Arms trafficking, man.” Wilde clapped a hand on his shoulder, a silent sorry.
The Quechan man visibly relaxed. “None of the tribe though.”
“Never,” answered Wilde.
“Good deal.” Angel got to his feet from the barstool.
Celt marched toward the door. “Let’s get it unloaded then.”
“Get the word out.” Wilde smacked the granite and followed Celt.
Angel, though, lingered.
He rounded the island and stood toe-to-toe with me.
I straightened, but Angel was taller. Everyone had left, but us, and I was sure as hell wasn’t about to have my ass beaten. I reached behind my back for my gun as he stalked forward.
He stalked forward, his palm landing on my chest as he fisted my shirt. “You gotta get Madeline to see her sister. Lanie’s driving me ape-shit crazy.”
Was his posturing seriously all about Maddie? I knocked his hand away. “I’m not putting Maddie into a situation she doesn’t want to be in,” I said, voice low. That had been my goal the whole time, including why I took her out of the recovery house.
“Are you telling me that you can’t get Maddie to even talk to Lanie?” Angel’s eyes narrowed.
I glared up at him. “None of your business.”
“It is when it’s my ol’ lady’s sister.”
I wasn’t justifying my actions to him or his ol’ lady. I tried to walk past him, but he put his big hand on my shoulder. My gaze dropped to his hand and then dragged up his arm.
He might have a few inches on me, but Angel was kind of lanky. I had the bulk and would snap him if he pressed the issue.
“Get your fucking hand off of me,” I snarled.
Angel stepped closer, balling his fingers into my shirt.
“Back down, now,” snapped a male voice. Wilde had returned with a set of keys in hand.
Angel dropped his hand. “Prez,” he said, ducking his head.
“What’s all this about?” asked Wilde.
“Take a guess,” said Angel. “My Lanie wants to see her sister.”
Wilde inclined his head toward me.
I shook my noggin—no. “Maddie has had too many people tell her what to do. I won’t be another.”
The Prez seemed unmoved by either of our arguments, but I dared him to try to get Bou to do anything she didn’t want to do.
“Both of you clean out your ears and listen hard,” Wilde said. “I’m gonna say one thing about this situation. Nah, make that two.”
Angel and I exchanged a glance.
Wilde ignored it. “First, this shit’s not club biz, so keep it out of church. Second, Cook, Maddie’s fucking broken. Take her back to Doctor Richardson. That’s the real help she needs.”
Jerking his head, Wilde gave us his back. Angel smirked and followed him like a dark shadow.
Fuck him.
Fuck them.
Like he said, it’s not club business. Therefore, I wouldn’t answer to either of them when it came to my nizhóní.