Chapter 11
ELEVEN
“This bitch is crazy,” Locust muttered, a strange awe in his voice.
Redtube glared at him from across the table where they were in the corner booth at Cool Hands. Once Red had definitive proof that Val lived at that address, had seen her beautiful face with his own eyes, he set his plan in motion.
First step, talk to Locust about camera options.
Unfortunately, Shannon, though she’d been kicked out of the clubhouse two days ago, was still around, like a bad rash on his ass. She kept calling and texting, using different numbers, so no matter how many times he blocked her, she’d still call or text. It was getting fucking ridiculous. How she honestly thought he would somehow forget she was nearly twenty weeks pregnant and that it was not his baby, he had no fucking idea. Maybe she was just that delusional.
Handing Red back his phone, Locust dipped his chin toward it.
“That’s twenty calls and texts—in the last two hours, brother,” Locust remarked, shaking his head. “That’s some obsessive shit—and I thought I was obsessed with Nadia.”
Despite his annoyance at Shannon’s bullshit, Red couldn’t help but smirk; the man had gone full on stalker over Nadia, after the woman had found out that Frost had ordered Locust to get close to her to pump her for information. No one had banked on them falling in love with each other, especially Locust, who found himself out in the cold after Nadia overheard him spilling the beans to the fuckhead Cluster. Now, Locust and Nadia were tight, and Red wanted the same thing for himself and Val, which was why he was putting off dealing with Shannon’s bullshit—a-fucking-gain—and picking Locust’s brain about surveillance on Val’s place.
“Alright, what’re are your options—I take it that you’ve come to me because you want to keep eyes on your woman when she’s at home.”
“Yeah, but….” Fuck, he’d never been so goddamn uncertain in a decision before. In the Marines, a split-second decision was the difference between going home with all your limbs, or going home in a box—so he’d had the wishy-washy trained out of him over his six years of active duty. Now, though, it was like his training had taken a shit on his face and high-tailed it.
Locust pinned him with a look, one that said he understood. “I get you, brother; you want eyes on her, but you’re dealing with the knowledge that, if she catches you, you’ll be in even deeper shit.”
Heaving a sigh, Red leaned back in the seat and stared at the full glass of pilsner in front of him, the condensation running in rivulets down the sides.
“The woman is as sneaky as fuck when it comes to cyber security, but I don’t think she’s ever changed the locks on her doors.” He’d remained in the truck, watching her house, well into the night until her lights went out. Once he was sure she was asleep, he got out of the truck, and did a quick lap around her house. There was no fence, just a small square of grass edging the small house. The back door had a deadbolt, and so did the front door, however the deadbolt was anchored in the doorjamb and not in the wall behind the doorframe, which meant all it would take was a strong kick to bust the door in. Also, the locks were corroded from years of wear, so picking them would be as easy as using a bump key. “I could break in without breaking a sweat.”
Locust took a swig of his Bud, and then offered, “Honestly, brother, I don’t think spying on her is going to win you many points in the long run, and if you’re lookin’ to get in there quick and get her to forgive you, wasting time watching her on a camera feed isn’t going to do you any favors.”
“Fuck,” Red grumbled; Locust was right. Also, he had a feeling that if anyone could detect hidden cameras in their home, it would be someone who did contract work for the fucking government. “My other options are break in and tie her up, or kidnap her.”
Locust grunted, his lips pursing as he considered Red’s words.
“The kidnapping is out; all the rentals we own are occupado , my brother, so you’d have to take her to your place or the clubhouse, and I can guarantee the old ladies would have a problem with that second option.”
Red rolled his eyes. “Emily and Stephie would stage a breakout, and Cilla and Nadia would be the distraction. I’d never see Valentina again.” And he couldn’t take her to his place; his neighbors were too close, and he’d already had several complaints about the “crude noises” and the rumble of his Harley too late at night. Unless he soundproofed his whole house within the next few days, taking her to his place was out of the question. “Those women scare the shit outta me,” he finished, his mind circling back to the old ladies and their penchant for cutting their men off at the knees.
Locust, chuckling, waved down a waitress for another beer. “You got that right; my woman would probably set something on fire…or deflate all the tires in the parking lot.” He’d grumbled that last bit, though the slight smile on his face was one of pride and humor.
That made Red laugh—Locust’s woman, Nadia, was notorious in the club after she evaded Locust by deflating his bike tires with a screwdriver and making her getaway when he couldn’t follow her. And Cilla, Patriot’s woman, was all sugar and cream, but the woman had an insidious cleverness she hid well; it would be no trouble for her to come up with something that would keep Red from getting his woman back. And Emily, the club queen, would have Frost all up in his shit, which was problematic since Red was using club resources and duty time to basically stalk Valentina.
“So my only option is breaking in and restraining her?” Red pondered aloud, knowing full well how completely deranged he sounded, talking about restraining someone like he was commenting on the weather.
Locust nodded, grabbing the beer Tina, the waitress—thankfully someone Red hadn’t fucked—placed on the table, and taking a swig. “I’d be careful about that too, though, since no one likes to wake up to a stranger in their house.”
That was a fucking understatement.
But what else could he do—she wouldn’t fucking talk to him, and she cut off all paths of communication. It was like she’d cut him completely out of her life without a single thought, without hesitation, and that was like a goddamn cannon ball to the chest.
How could she just drop him like that, like he didn’t mean anything to her, like what they had meant nothing to her? Was what they felt for one another, the future they’d dreamed of, just a joke to her?
“I can smell you thinking over there, brother, and it isn’t a pleasant smell—like burnt hair and microwaved fish,” Locust remarked, making Red glare at him. Locust waved it off with a shrug. “I know what it’s like to feel like you’re at your rope’s end, dangling over heartbreak and soul death, so I’ll help you however I can…as long as what you plan isn’t going to hurt her.”
Red curled his lips in distaste. “I’d never hurt her, asshole—she’s my motherfucking life!”
Locust broke out into a smile, his eyes glimmering in the low light of the bar. “Fucking right, she is, which means we’ll have another old lady soon.”
That made Red grin, his chest expanding with pride at the idea of Valentina standing beside him in the clubhouse, wearing his property kutte…and his ring…her belly swollen with his kid.
Fuck. Apparently, he had a breeding kink, newly discovered, and only for and with Valentina. She was the only one he’d ever imagined knocking up—because she was his future. Porch swing, backyard water balloon fights, family BBQs, family movie nights where they watched Disney with the kids but then Scream when the kids went to bed…. It was all there, playing out in his mind like a daydream made of all his hopes and heart songs.
Suddenly desperate, his chest aching with longing and fear, he tossed back the last of his drink, slammed the glass on the table, and tossed some cash beside it for tip.
Red really needed to make things right with his Daisy, and that meant leaving the fucking bar and getting back to that little house on Forand St.
“Okay, asshole, I’m out of here,” Red announced, sliding from the booth. At Locust’s knowing smirk, Red grinned back. “I’m off to get my woman.”
After some careful planning….
In his office at the clubhouse, Red put the finishing touches on a report for Frost who wanted information on one of the local cops who seemed a little too interested in Emily. Apparently, the pig was sniffing around Emily’s flower shop, Flower’s Blooms, and making sure to “run into her” when he was on patrol. Both Red and Frost called bullshit on that, and Frost ordered Red to do some digging.
Report in hand, Red headed to Frost’s office down the hallway, a skip in his step. It was impossible not to be fucking giddy; he was going to see his woman tonight—and not just see her, he was going to touch her, scent her, press his lips against her flesh, and they were finally going to have the conversation they should have had over a week ago. No more running and hiding for his Daisy; she’d be trapped like the little rabbit she was, and he’d take his time getting her to see what she meant to him.
She means so much you still fucked around on her after promising to commit to her.
Yes, he’d done that, and he wasn’t even sure if he could use the miscommunication excuse; he’d known what he was doing was wrong, and that guilt had eaten at him each time he’d stuck his dick inside a woman who wasn’t Val. That’s when the “we’re not a couple” excuse would kick in, because they weren’t, not officially, because Val hadn’t wanted labels yet. And that had pissed him off.
And he’d taken that anger and butt-hurt, and he’d done the stupidest fucking thing he could; he’d let his dick do the thinking for him.
Now, he was fighting for his fucking life—the life he so desperately wanted with the woman of his dreams.
Coming to a stop outside of the prez’s office door, Red did a double take at what he saw inside; Frost sitting on the leather love seat with a woman beside him…who was not his old lady. Sarah, the newest club slut, was curled up against Frost, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, and Frost was staring down at her like she was the most precious thing he’d ever seen, his arm around her shoulders, his other hand holding hers in place over his heart.
What the absolute fuck was going on?
Anger, hot and virulent, raged through him. Opening his mouth to bark at the asshole—goddamn club president or not—Red was stopped at the sound of his name shouted.
“Red! Someone’s here to see you!” Tony Dos called from the front of the clubhouse.
Hearing that, both Frost and Sarah’s heads snapped around, taking in the visitor standing at the door, their eyes growing big. A look of guilt slithered over Frost’s suddenly pale face, but it was Sarah’s expression that told Red exactly what was going on.
There was triumph and calculation in her eyes.
Casting a glare at Frost, Red tossed the report on the office floor, curled his lip in disgust, then turned and headed toward the common room. He’d deal with Frost and Sarah’s bullshit later, once he dealt with his own bullshit.
The room had a few of the patched over brothers from Bone Dogz in it, drinking and watching FIFA reruns on the big screens over the bar. Tiburon, Malo, and Throttle were good guys, and Red had hung with them a few times. Kiki, one of the club whores, and Cluster were necking in the corner, and Tornado was speaking with Tasha, a long-time friend of the club, in low tones in the other corner, their conversation looking a little too tense. Tony Dos, the prospect who’d called for him, was standing near the bar, waiting for Red, his gaze on the main door.
Red grit his teeth, wanting to run back to the office and tear the hide off his own president, but that would have to wait, because the main door opened, casting the last dregs of daylight into the room, and the silhouette that appeared made everything inside him go still…then rev up to a thousand. He knew that body anywhere, because he’d been staring at an image of it every day for the last several days.
Holy fucking shit!
Stepping into the room, dressed in a simple graphic tee, jeans, and Chucks, Valentina Ivanova met his gaze, her autumn eyes wide but determined.
His gaze ravished her…. Short, barely up to his chest, she was curvy in all the right places. Her jeans fit her thick thighs, wide hips, and juicy ass like denim skin, and her t-shirt hugged her luscious tits as though they were his hands cupping her. Obviously nervous, she swiped her loose hair from her face, revealing her flushed cheeks, her eyes wide and filled with wary lust, and those perfect cock-sucking lips were parted, just slightly, as she silently dragged in shallow breaths.
Motherfuck , she was a pocket goddess—and he couldn’t wait to strip her naked, fall on his knees, grip those hips until he left marks, and worship her with his tongue.
Cock hard as a rock, his mouth watering for a taste of her lush lips and the nipples he could see poking through her shirt, he’d never felt so out of control of his own body before.
After months of getting to know her online, he’d fallen hard for her personality, her intelligence, her heart, her humor, her voice. Then, when he’d finally seen her on the screen, in living color, his fantasy, he didn’t think he could love her any harder. Then he’d seen her at a distance, standing at the front door of her house…and he’d been tossed, balls over brains, for the total package—from head to toe, she was mesmerizing. But now, standing in front of him, within reach, nothing hidden behind a monitor, no distance to skew the image…she was breathtaking.
And, fuck, she smelled like summertime—lemonade, sunshine, and vanilla cake. Sweet, citrusy, and warm, like the home he’d always wanted. It made his mouth water, his heart ache, and his soul sigh.
Taking her in, his gaze devouring every millimeter of her, he could feel the tectonic plates of his life shifting, the building pressure ready to level the planet. His breath burning in his chest, Red let out a gust of air, just for his breath to catch once more at the sound of her voice—a voice that never failed to spark him to life.
“Redtube,” she said, her voice strong. “We need to talk.”
He’d been in battle, stared down the rifle sight of death, taken a bullet, just barely missed being blown to pieces by an IED, and had endured more pain and terror than anyone should ever have to in a single lifetime, but not once had his heart stopped.
Until now.