Chapter 23
His plan was to give her the night. He didn’t want to, but he knew his woman. It never served him well to force his hand with her. Not right away. The distance softened her enough to make her if not pliable than malleable.
He couldn’t pinpoint when it happened—when he became the kind of man willing to do whatever it took to keep her—but he was that man, and she was his. In spite of the things he didn’t know about her, he understood her. He saw her. Craved her.
More than that, he respected the hell out of her, and he admired her.
So much so that when she asked him for space, he gave it with little argument.
A week. A day. A night.
Until Ali-Mae, he didn’t know his own patience.
But after falling asleep with her in his arms for more than a week, one restless night was all he had to give this time. He got out of bed the following morning, and he couldn’t get it out of his head—the look he saw on her face outside of Mustang’s bar. He’d seen glimpses of it before.
Her vulnerability.
Her fear.
He didn’t like it the first time any more than he liked it the last. What made him feel uneasy were the dots he couldn’t quite connect between his woman, her frightened state, and Scorpion.
She was worried the night of Scorpion’s return.
But she’d been disarmed by the man in the parking lot.
In all the years he’d been around her, Twister had never seen her cower the way she did at Scorpion’s touch.
He didn’t know what it meant, and a small part of him didn’t want to know—but one look at the coffee machine on his kitchen counter, and he was certain whatever secrets she was hiding, whatever demons she was running from, he needed to know.
Whatever scared her, he would chase it.
He would kill it.
Not as a Stallion, but as her man.
Twister was dressed and on the back of his hog before nine A.M. On a normal morning, he knew he’d find Ali asleep upon his arrival—but it wasn’t a normal morning. When he pulled into her driveway and killed the engine of his Hydra-Glide Revival, he dismounted and headed for her front door.
He rang the bell, waited a solid twenty seconds, then rang again.
When he heard not a sound inside, he pounded his fist against the sturdy barrier keeping him out, resisting the urge to call her name.
Thirty seconds.
Sixty more.
He rang one more time, and then he decided to try another door.
The gate in her fence on the opposite side of the house was unlocked, and he stomped his way along the path she laid amidst the grass, leading to her gorgeous yard.
He hurried up onto her patio, headed straight for the sliding glass door, and met resistance.
He wasn’t surprised—but he was beginning to feel ill at ease.
This time, when he knocked—rattling the glass—he called her name. He was met with more silence. Peering through the door, he found nothing amiss inside, but this didn’t calm him down in the slightest.
Twister pulled out his phone, brought up her contact info, and initiated a call.
It went straight to voicemail.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
He tried again and was met with the same result.
Staring down at his screen unseeingly, he furrowed his brow in concentration.
Twenty-four hours ago, the two of them stood in his kitchen, both of them declaring they were good. He made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere. She wasn’t in danger of losing him. Far from it. It didn’t make sense that now she would cut him off cold. There had to be an explanation.
‘I’m not Ali, okay? Not anymore. I thought I could be but ? —’
‘Don’t worry, Red. Your secret’s safe with me.’
He didn’t know what any of it meant.
He couldn’t fathom what it implied.
Whatever the truth was, he damn sure intended to find it.
Rather than return to the driveway in order to mount his hog, he sat on one of her lounge chairs and waited. Waited for movement inside. Waited for his phone to buzz with an alert. Waited for answers he knew, deep down, he wouldn’t like.
The sun was starting to get hot on the back of his kutte as it rose higher in the sky. After an hour of staring into what seemed to be her vacant house, the sound of birds chirping in a peaceful melody completely contrary to his mood, he cursed under his breath and finally stood.
He needed to get to the shop.
He wasn’t thrilled about leaving, but his Ali had a knack for taking what she wanted. Now, she obviously wanted more space, and he felt obligated to give it to her.
Before he took his leave, he shot off a text.
I’m here when you’re ready, baby.
He wasn’t stupid enough to expect an immediate response, but he pocketed his phone hopeful all she needed was a little time. He refused to believe they were done. Neither would he entertain the notion that she could go longer without him than he could without her.
Ali. Phoenix. It didn’t matter what she wanted to be called so long as she remained his.
As the day wore on, his patience waned, making him restless and irritable. He didn’t even try to hide it, which Slick was not afraid to acknowledge.
“I don’t know what the fuck your issue is, but you’re not exactly approachable, which makes you useless,” he grumbled.
Twister knit his eyebrows together in a scowl causing Slick to bark out a mocking laugh as he shook his head.
“Don’t you have work you can do in the back?”
Before he could open his mouth to respond, Twister’s phone began to ring from inside his pocket.
He was quick to reach for it. When he saw Mustang was calling, he hesitated with a frown.
It wasn’t who he was expecting. Nevertheless, he swiped his thumb across the screen and brought the device to his ear.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Hey. You seen Phoenix?”
Twister got a sinking feeling in his stomach as he replied, “No. Why?”
“She was supposed to be at the bar an hour ago. Rodeo called me in early to open up when she wouldn’t answer his calls. She’s not answerin’ me, either. Weird as fuck. Can’t remember a single instance where she was late. Never once has she no-showed. Somethin’s off.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, reaching up with his free hand to rub at his eyes. “I’m on it.”
He didn’t wait for Mustang to respond before he disconnected. He then started to make his way out from behind the register, calling out over his shoulder, “I gotta go.”
Whether or not Slick offered anything in reply, Twister didn’t know—his mind was already somewhere else.
For years, he’d known Ali as Phoenix; and Phoenix was nothing if not reliable.
If anything, he’d go so far as to say the only reason she’d been the untouchable bar manager at Steel Mustang for so long was because the only identity she claimed was that of the bar wench unafraid of breaking up a fight.
Pushing him away, demanding he not follow her, that was not out of character for his Ali-Mae. Standing Mustang up for a shift at the bar, that sure as hell was not the Phoenix he or anyone else knew.
‘Don’t worry, Red. Your secret’s safe with me.’
He couldn’t wait anymore. He needed answers.
If Ali wasn’t around to tell him the truth, he was going to have to seek it elsewhere.
Twister didn’t second guess himself before heading to the clubhouse.
He didn’t know where else to start his hunt for Scorpion—but he’d been like a damn hang-around since his release.
He still sported Stallion ink, which technically made him one of them; but history made acceptance of him tenuous at best. Bull still wasn’t sure what to do with him.
He didn’t trust him with a wrench any more than he trusted him with his life, so Scorpion was in no-man’s-land.
It was pathetic, honestly, the way he was trying to make allies.
Then again, the clubhouse was the only address he could boast. The old man was relegated to the couch, seeing as all the private rooms were claimed. Even the ones barely occupied by the ranked members who spent most nights at home were not inclined to share with the asshole.
When Twister barged into the clubhouse, he halted in order to survey the room. It was mid-afternoon on a Friday. A number of his brothers were still on the clock, but the clubhouse was never empty, and today was no exception.
It didn’t take him long to spot his target—but it was Lyla he saw first.
She was straddling his lap, her back to him, her jean skirt bunched up around her waist as she rode his dick.
She always was a vocal lay, but he could tell the noises she was making were for show.
He wished he could say he was surprised, but he knew better.
She took Scorpion’s cock as a power play.
He never thought her stupid until that moment.
Anyone dumb enough to believe Scorpion would ever be of importance to the club again deserved his shriveled old prick.
They were in the middle of the room, on a couch he’d be sure to avoid in the future. As he made his way toward them, he couldn’t help but to curl his lip in disgust.
“Fuckin’ sun is still up,” he clipped as he came to stand beside them.
Lyla paused, and they both looked up at him—Scorpion in annoyance; Lyla coy as hell, as if she was trying to bait him.
She would never learn.
“Off,” he grunted with a jerk of his head.
“Fuck you. She’s not goin’ anywhere,” argued Scorpion, palming her breasts
“Sun is fuckin’ up,” he barked. “You know the damn rules.”
When Lyla ignored his command and began to lift her hips in defiance, she did it staring directly into Twister’s eyes.
He moved so quickly he wasn’t sure who was more surprised—her or himself.
With a fistful of her hair in his grasp, he yanked her forward, forcing her to her feet. She yelped as she fell, but she managed to steady herself as he angled her head so she had no choice but to look at him when he all but growled, “Get gone. Now .”
She whimpered as he let her go then raced for the hallway, disappearing into the bathroom.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Scorpion bellowed as he stood, pulling up his pants in anger.