Chapter Twenty-Six
D ragging himself out the back door of Savage Custom Rides, Trouble headed toward his truck, determined to finish out his day strong, despite the fact that he hadn’t had more than a few hours of sleep a night in two weeks; Skathi having the baby two weeks ago, staying up, alert for Russian fuckery most nights, and then his dream-memory keeping him up last night….
He stopped just outside his truck and readjusted his dick, which had perked up at the thought of last night’s erotic imagery. Opening the door to his truck, he climbed in, taking in the space of his two-year-old RAM 1500 TRX. For a cage, it was rugged and powerful ride—with all the bells and whistles his money could buy. Usually, he’d be on his bike, but now that he had Erika in his life, he wanted to be sure he could transport her if necessary. One day, he’d give her her first motorcycle ride, initiating her into the world of Harley-Davidson and ridin’ free. Until then, though, he’d make sure he could take her wherever she needed to go, or wherever Liz told him to take her. Erika hadn’t been in his truck yet, but he was planning to take his girls out over the coming weekend, get them out of the house, let them have a little fun so they could forget about their fear, anxiety, and those fucking Russians for a few hours. He’d asked Tessa and Fae for ideas on where to take his girls, and they’d both suggest the SeaQuest aquarium, stating that it had more interactive experiences for kids than the Shark Reef at Mandalay Bay. Apparently, that was important, and he wanted Erika to have fun. It would be his first outing as her dad, and it meant a lot to him. He wanted it to mean a lot to her, too.
And to Liz.
After Skathi gave birth, he’d stayed with Liz in the waiting room, barely keeping himself from striding over to her, taking her into his arms, and kissing the fuck out of her. Once Liz had hightailed it from the hospital, he’d remained as a guard, standing sentinel to watch over his best friend, his wife, and their newborn son. The club’s new prince. Trouble still grinned at the memory of the massive, terrifying biker badass holding a tiny baby—well, tiny compared to Odin, but still ten pounds of chunky baby—and looking down at his son with tears in his eyes. Trouble watched his best friend fall in love with his son…and he’d felt sickeningly jealous, because he’d never know what that felt like, because he hadn’t been there for his own child’s birth.
Shaking his head to rid it of recycled, useless recriminations, he got into his truck, started the engine, and pointed the matte black on black beast toward the clubhouse. It was nearing five, but he still had some club business to finish before he could head home to his girls.
Fuck…it felt so goddamn good to call them that, even though Liz wanted nothing to do with him—at least that’s what her mouth was saying. He hoped that his plans for tomorrow night would help soften her a little. Lord knows she couldn’t get any harder…and neither could he for wanting her. His dick hadn’t been so abused since he’d spent his first few months in the Army surrounded by men, aching for pussy, and with nothing to satisfy his urges but soap and his hand.
He sighed when a call came through on his Bluetooth.
Knowing he couldn’t ignore it, he answered, “You got good news for me?”
“Something like that,” Raptor replied, his smoke roughened voice scraping against Trouble’s senses. The man had quit cigarettes cold turkey two years ago, but his voice had already taken a hit.
Trouble had sent Raptor to scope out a local restaurant, El Ranchito, an eatery where a group of Mexican thugs were gathering regularly. The Raiders weren’t strangers to dealing with Mexican gangs, having had to put Los Noches in their place a little over a year ago, but dealing with another gang encroaching on Raider’s territory wasn’t something they wanted to deal with on top of the Russians plots, and the Columbian’s machinations—getting Fang all fired up about his brother, the Columbian cartel Jefé, and all the man’s petty bullshit. At least they didn’t have to worry about him throwing his weight around in Vegas, because the Calderone cartel had made a loose alliance with the Savage Raiders, which meant they could at least count on Jorge Calderone to be an asshole, but a loyal one.
“Looks like they’re dealing dope out of there,” Raptor reported, and Trouble cursed.
Just what they fucking needed, Mexican dope tainting their streets.
“Shit.”
Raptor grunted, about as conversational as Dragon.
“Keep an eye out, pinpoint the major players, then report back. If we need to hit them, I want to make sure Grimm and Hawk have all the information they need to strike.” As the Enforcer and Sergeant-at-Arms, Grimm and Hawk were in charge of club security, and doing all works of violence that came with being the power in the underbelly of Las Vegas. Every once in a while, Trouble or Odin got their hands bloody, but they typically delegated the bloodier tasks to Grimm; the man was walking, talking, breathing, leather-wearing bloodshed.
Raptor grunted again, but then said something that made Trouble blink twice. “You’re different, brother. That kid made you soft…but that’s good, because you’ve had hard for a long time.”
Before Trouble could even think of a response, Raptor ended the call, leaving silence in the truck cab, and questions in Trouble’s brain. Raptor had been a mechanic in the US Marine Corps, honorably discharged seven years ago, after he took shrapnel in his right arm and leg during a firefight in Farah, Afghanistan. He’d heard about the Savage Raiders MC from a buddy of Dragon’s, and came to Vegas to see where he could fit. And fit he did, as the top mechanic at Savage Custom Rides. After prospecting for a year, he earned the road name “Raptor” after the RC helicopters he enjoyed building and flying. Now, he’d been pulled into spy duty because the club was stretched in too many fucking directions.
Something had to give, and soon, because he wanted to focus his attention on his girls.
Again, he grinned.
Pulling through the compound gates, he’d just slid from his truck when Toke sauntered out the door toward him.
Throwing a chin lift, Toke said, “Found the wondering clubwhore. She’d been staying with her mom in Carson City, but snuck back into the city last night. Grabbed her when she got to her apartment.” Toke was their director of operations for their pot dispensary, The Herb Garden, and Valhalla, their pot farm. He’d graduated top of his class from UNLV in horticulture and botany, which made him the perfect pot grower—and it had earned him his road name. Like Raptor, he’d been pulled from his usual duties, but Toke had been sent to retrieve Amelia on Trouble’s orders.
Nodding, Trouble remarked, “Good. She inside?”
“Yeah, didn’t know where to put her ‘cause you never said what you wanted her for, so I left her at the bar talking to Saint.”
Trouble grunted in acknowledgement, suddenly pitying Saint, who was the newest patched brother. He was also a pretty good babysitter, according to Liz, who said Erika loved hanging out with the young man. The guy was twenty-one, had his head on straight, and was ridiculously good at organizing chaos, which was why he’d been given the job of managing the clubhouse, a job that had never been filled before. Saint, aka Preston, was a wonder with ordering supplies, keeping the bar in booze, and making sure the clubwhores stayed in line, and did their cleaning work.
And now the poor fuck was dealing with Amelia?
Trouble sighed, knowing he was adding yet another thing to his night before he could go home to Erika and Liz, but he headed inside the clubhouse, determined to get it all done quick.
Inside, the place was about as busy on a Thursday night as usual. Slick, Wolf, Ringmaster, and Daisy were playing pool. Hawk and Fae were cuddling in a corner, watching Tessa and Fang duke it out playing COD on the PlayStation. Rosa and Laurie were dancing with and grinding on Hound and Grimm, who didn’t actually seem all that interested in what was going on. Saint was behind the bar, chatting with Toke who’d beat Trouble inside. But Amelia was nowhere to be seen.
Shit. He’d deal with her later. First, he needed to sit down with Odin.
Heading through the common room, he gave chin lifts to those who looked his way, ignored the glare from Tessa and the wry smile from Fae, and headed upstairs to Odin’s office. The man wanted to be at home with his wife and kid, but Skathi pushed him out the door, wanting him to get his ass in gear about the Russians so she wouldn’t have to worry about her friend anymore.
Trouble didn’t bother knocking because Odin was expecting him. Pushing the door open, he slipped inside, closed the door, then plopped into the chair in front of Odin’s cluttered desk. Usually, the man was meticulous, but he’d let himself get a little behind once Skathi got pregnant the second time. Their first pregnancy ended with an excruciating miscarriage at twenty weeks, so when Skathi got pregnant again, Odin was balls to the wall determined to make sure nothing happened this time around. His focus was about as scattered as the papers on his desk, and now that baby Vikander had been born, Trouble could see the wear on his friend’s face.
“You look like shit,” Trouble remarked, watching his friend rub at his temples.
Odin dropped his hands and glowered at him. “So do you, motherfucker. At least I have a convalescing wife and newborn baby at home, what’s your excuse?”
“No sleep, dealing with the Russians, the shop, my newly found daughter, my angry woman, and now having to deal with Amelia—I’m surprised I haven’t started losing hair with all this motherfucking stress.” He said the words with a lazy smile, because, yeah, his life at the moment was stressing as fuck, but he had his girls, so he’d deal.
Odin smirked, chuckling. “Sounds like a clusterfuck, brother, but I have a feeling you aren’t too bothered by it.”
Trouble shook his head, but added, “Except the shit with Amelia. I don’t know that woman was thinkin’, going behind my back to confront Liz. I’d already warned her to stay away from Liz and Erika, but it’s like she just can’t help herself, like she can’t believe I’d punish her.”
Tapping on his desk, Odin pinched his lips together, which meant he had something to say that Trouble wouldn’t like. He and Odin had been brothers in war and peace for over twenty years, so to say he knew the man across the desk from him better than he knew himself was an understatement.
“Say what you got to say, brother, then let’s move on, yeah?” Trouble said, his body tense.
“Right.” Odin sat forward, and placed both his giant hands on the desk. “You brought this on yourself, brother. You used Amelia to hurt Liz, and now you’ve got both women stirred up. Liz, well, she’s got ten years of anger and hurt built up, and now it’s all spilling over. Amelia, she’s got two years of being your favored pussy, and now she’s not too keen on being pushed aside, especially since you made promises you didn’t know you were making.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Trouble spat. “I didn’t promise that woman shit—”
Odin held up a hand, decades of absolute command in a single gesture. Trouble slammed his mouth shut.
“The way Skathi tells it, when you return to the same woman over and over, when you show her exclusive attention, when you let her into your life, your bed, your space, she starts thinkin’ things that, whether you actually mean them or not, tell that woman that she’s special. That she can expect certain things from you. That said, her possessiveness, jealousy, and anger are understandable.”
“That does not give her the right to get in Liz’s face and talk shit about my little girl,” Trouble growled, anger at himself and his past actions scorching his veins. Damn, he really was a piece of shit.
Did this mean he had to apologize to Amelia?
Apparently, Odin could read minds, because he said, “Apologize to her, be straight with her, then hand down an appropriate punishment for going against your orders. Though the other club girls haven’t given us trouble before, we don’t want Amelia to set a precedent—then we’d have clubwhore drama all over the damn place. That might not sound like a problem, but Fae, Tessa, and Skathi read those fucking MC romances, and they’re always bitching about clubwhores causing drama in their book porn.”
Trouble couldn’t help it, he snickered. He knew Liz read those books, too; those women had an unofficial book club where they talked about smut, drank cocktails, and ate whatever Skathi baked for them. He hadn’t said anything about to Liz, but he liked that she got along so well with the other club women. She might not be on the same page as him yet, but to him, Liz was his ol’ lady, so her hanging out with the other ol’ ladies was good for her. It gave her a sisterhood to depend on, and those women were fucking fierce as hell.
“That’s done.” Odin was finished with that topic. “What did your Russian spy have to say?” Odin asked, sharply changing the subject.
Knowing it was better to just go along, especially since Odin looked about as happy to be there as a cat in a doghouse, Trouble reported what he’d learned from his CI inside The Den, the Russian’s casino.
Odin cursed. “Sounds like Oblek’s readying to make his move.”
“Yeah, but on who? From what it sounds like, he’s looking to take the Medev Bratva right out from under his boss…but he’s still sniffing around Liz. He’s got some kind of hard on for her, and I can’t figure out why. Lyle Pace is the shit stain who stole the Bratva money, so why is Oblek focusing so much manpower and resources on my woman?”
“That’s the question of the hour, brother,” Odin remarked, his tone heavy. The man knew what it was like to have his woman targeted by enemies; Skathi had been ambushed and almost kidnapped by Alfanzo Madrigal, a cartel asshole who was trying to make a name for himself in Vegas behind his boss’s back. Shit, with Oblek doing the same, it was like history was repeating itself. This time, however, it was his Liz with a target on her back. “What can Liz give him that he couldn’t get from Lyle?”
“Fuck if I know,” Trouble grumbled. “She has no family aside from Erika, no connections to any organized crime, no outstanding debt, and she’s a respected doctor without a single mark against her.” He bit the inside of his cheek, pondering, hating that he didn’t have the answers. “Maybe it’s just as simple as him being a fucking psycho. Maybe he doesn’t like the idea that he had her, let her go, and now she’s out of his reach. Men like Danil Oblek don’t like having something they deem as theirs outside of their control.” The fact that the fucker thought he had any kind of claim on Liz made Trouble’s blood boil. Liz was his, and he’d die a million deaths before he let the Russian dog fucker hurt her again.
Odin hummed. “You’re probably right. From what Grimm was able to uncover about Oblek, the man has a freight car of screws loose.” Rising to his full height of 6’11”, Odin stretched, groaning. “Now, I’m headed home to my woman and son. I suggest you deal with Amelia, and then head home. Send the prospects back, let them get some rest. I have a feeling this is going to be a slog before it’s over.”
Giving a chin lift goodbye, Trouble headed out of the office toward his suite just down the hall. He’d take a piss, call and check in on his family, then go find where Amelia went. At least he knew she couldn’t get out of the compound.
At his suite door, he halted, staring down at the unlatched lever. It was ajar. He growled; he’d locked the door before he left it more than five days ago. He’d used the shower after helping Saint move some crates, and he got mud and sweat caked into his skin.
Who the fuck…?
His jaw taut, his body tense, prepared to eviscerated whoever was on the other side of the door, Trouble slammed the door open, stormed through the doorway, and halted once more.
Well, he found Amelia.