Chapter Six
Salt Lake City, Utah
The Highway Hellions MC Clubhouse
Two days later
Wolf pulled up to The Highway Hellions clubhouse, hoping that he looked far more relaxed than he actually felt. He was sure that there were eyes on him right now, and he doubted that any of them were friendly.
Taking his time, moving deliberately, he opened the car door – this was the first car that he’d bought since joining The Road Devils, and it was a second-hand piece of shit, and he was already missing his motorcycle like he’d miss air – and stepped into the parking lot. He looked around, noted the MC businesses (a tattoo studio and a bar, somehow both compulsory when talking about biker clubs), and just the sight of them made him long for Blue Dragon and Satan’s so badly, he thought he might crack in two.
He grabbed his duffel from the back seat, slung it over his shoulder. His whole life was packed in this bag – Wolf had learned to travel light as a kid, back when he’d kept a packed backpack in his closet – and he knew that it was more than enough for him to function. All he needed now was to confirm that Viper expected him to live in the clubhouse, though Wolf was positive that’d be the way things shook out. After all, if he had an enemy in his house, he’d for goddamn sure keep him under scrutiny and security.
And I am the enemy .
Wolf caught a glimpse of himself in the driver-side mirror, and paused. He looked smaller than he actually was, diminished somehow, and that freaked him out: he needed to look strong in this moment. He studied his face and upper body in the glass, puzzling what the issue was, and then it hit him…
It’s because I ain’t wearin’ my cut .
At about three o’clock that morning, he’d placed his beloved club vest, with its badges and colors, in the meeting room. It had been fucking brutal. Wolf wasn’t a sentimental man, and he sure as hell never cried, but it had torn his heart out to walk away from the leather cut that was like his own skin. It had truly felt like he’d left behind a piece of his body. Of course he fully expected to return to Denver and his Presidency at some point – who the fuck knows when, though – and reclaim it. But even just eight hours not wearing it, not having it near him, not being able to see it, was weighing on him. The face in the mirror told him so.
Mentally giving himself a shake, Wolf turned smartly on his heel and strode into the clubhouse. He paused in the doorway of the massive bar – shades of Satan’s yet again – and glared around, clocking every face in the room. He knew most of them, naturally, seeing as there had been a time not so long ago that The Highway Hellions and The Road Devils had been close allies in carrying out Kirk Jensen’s dirty contracts. He’d never liked Crusher Alcott, but he’d worked very well with his fellow MC President out of sheer necessity, and he supposed that he’d take the same approach with Viper Grant.
And speaking of:
“Well, well. Fucking Wolf Connor.”
Wolf slid his gaze over to the dark-haired man standing by the pool tables. They stared grimly at each other for a full ten seconds, not moving, not even blinking. Then Viper smirked and flicked his black eyes over to the man standing closest to Wolf.
“Preacher, you want to do the honors?”
“You know it,” the man with the giant crucifix tattooed on his shaved head growled. Wolf knew that Preacher Hughes was the new Hellions VP, and he also knew that the man had a ridiculously annoying habit of quoting scripture to someone just before utterly fucking them up. He was a religious zealot, and Wolf thought that he was totally unstable, even considering that he existed in the MC world, where lunatics often ran the asylum. “Spread ‘em, Connor.”
Wolf obliged silently, still locked in a stare-off with Viper. Preacher patted him down roughly, then looked over at his President.
“No weapons.”
“Well.” Viper sounded surprised about that. “So you did as you were told. I guessed you’re good and pussy whipped for me already, huh?”
Wolf’s eyes flashed, but he still said nothing. Viper tilted his head at Wolf, appraising him, then he gave a slow smile. Everything about it made Wolf freeze up inside, his blood pure ice in his veins: that smile meant danger , and although Wolf had been totally expecting something like this to happen, he hadn’t thought it would rear its ugly head so soon.
Before he could do more than take a single breath, Viper spoke again:
“Preacher.”
The blow came out of nowhere, and smashed Wolf in the back of his head. He was out cold before he even hit the ground.
**
Denver, Colorado
At the exact same time that Wolf was lying unconscious on a filthy bar floor in Utah, Scars was standing at the front of the Road Devils conference room, facing all of his MC brothers. The mood was sombre and tense, and Scars had to fight to stay calm and focused. He was President now – though he had zero long-term plans to hold the position – and it was down to him to lead. That meant by example, so he’d better start doing that right from the beginning.
Oh, he knew the boys were on his side, and had his back, and would die for him as quick as they’d die for Wolf… he had no worries about that . But he also didn’t want his brothers to be put in the position of having to die for him – and so that meant making some good, smart decisions.
Something else that I'd better start doing right from the beginning .
He looked around the room, meeting the eyes of every man there. Most of them he’d known for almost twenty years, and time had created bonds and relationships that were his life breath, his blood and his bones. He wasn’t Wolf, and he couldn’t copy Wolf’s leadership style that he’d grown into over the past five-plus years… and so Scars had to do right by them in his own way. He and Zoe had talked about it the night before, and they’d hit on the fact that in many ways, Scars was kind of the anti-Wolf.
Here goes nothing .
“I want to tell you guys the plan that me and Wolf came up with,” Scars said.
That caught them by surprise, he saw. There was a bit of murmuring, some exchanged glances. Wolf always played things close to the vest, doling out information on a need-to-know basis, and compartmentalizing what he did share. In pretty much every case, the only people one hundred percent in the know were Wolf, Scars, and Ice.
“We’re in uncharted waters here, guys.” Scars sighed, running a large hand through his hair, his one sure sign of agitation. “I don’t mind telling you that I need your help. Wolf did everything that he could to protect us and himself before he left, but it only goes so far. We don’t know first-hand what’s happening over in Utah, and we don’t know when Wolf will be back.”
He paused, then glanced down at the chair on his right side, at the top of the table. Wolf’s cut was draped on it, and Scars was mindful of his presence, even if the man himself was absent. Scars had very carefully avoided saying ‘ if Wolf will be back’, but he knew that everyone had that thought racing around their minds, on an unrelenting loop.
Frankly, Scars did himself, and he shook off his feeling of worry and foreboding. Travis Denton and Matt ‘King’ Kingston went way back, and Denton had stoutly vouched for his law enforcement buddy Derrick Bale. They were both highly-trained professionals, and they had experience that went beyond even The Road Devils with a military background. Denton and Bale were connected , man, and Scars had to be reassured that he had these two on his side.
“I don’t see how it does any of us any good for me to know things about the situation that you don’t,” Scars said. “I also want you guys to know because Wolf and King brought in some outside help, and that makes me feel a bit uneasy about a couple of things. I totally respect their authority and skills – but no way I trust them like I trust you, and I figure if they’re in the loop, then you are too. For me, that’s a given.”
“OK, Scars,” Jinx Thompson said quietly. “I think you know that we’d appreciate that. It’s not easy not knowing what’s going on.”
“Damn straight,” Kansas Milligan piped up. “The guessing and speculation is worse than the reality.”
“Well,” said Cowboy McDermott with his trademark irreverent grin. “At least I hope that reality and the truth are better than the disaster shit that’s been going through my head.”
All the men nodded, still staring at their new President.
“OK, then.” Scars cleared his throat. “So, this is the deal, the whole unvarnished truth. You guys all know Travis Denton, King’s cop buddy out in Salt Lake City? The one who helped bust up that cult that Elle was in?”
They nodded again, their eyes all flicking to Viking at the mention of the nightmare that Elle had escaped, barely in one piece.
“So he’s got a buddy who also works for the police department in Utah, and his specialty is MC’s. His name’s Derrick Bale, and he’s been keeping an eye on Crusher and his boys for going on ten years, ever since he got promoted from Homicide to heading up the Gangs unit. This guy knows The Highway Hellions better than anyone, so with Wolf’s consent, Denton and King brought Bale into the mix.”
“Seems smart,” Cain McGuiness said. “No doubt the intel this guy provided is invaluable.”
“It was, but more than that ,” Scars said. “Bale has a man on the inside. A confidential informant.”
There was a stunned silence, then Kansas sputtered, “A CI inside The Hellions?”
“Yeah.”
“Holy shit,” Holt Gibson muttered. “Maybe lead with that next time, Innis.”
“Yeah, sorry.” Scars managed a tiny grin as he saw a bit of the tension leave the other men’s faces. “I don’t know what Bale has on this guy, but I can say that Bale has contact with one of Viper Grant’s boys… and so he has eyes on Wolf. Indirectly, but still.”
“Wolf knows who the CI is?” Cole Porter said. “The two of them can cooperate inside the MC?”
“No,” Scars said. “That was the one stipulation – non-negotiable – to Bale offering his help: Bale can’t give up his CI. Hell, nobody inside the gangs unit even knows who it is. The guy is high up in the MC, he’s on the executive committee itself. He clearly fears for his goddamn life every minute of every day, and he’s beyond paranoid that some corrupt cop will rat him out to Viper for a nice payday.”
“I can see that,” Cole agreed. “Especially with Viper just taking over. He’ll be looking at everyone closely, testing their loyalty to him. Every MC in the goddamn country knows about what Dawson did to Wolf, starting a splinter group and stabbing him in the back, so every President is watching their people now.”
“Exactly right,” Scars said. “So the CI is reporting to Bale, who’s then filling in Denton, King, and me. And then I’ll tell you everything that I know, as I get it.” He shrugged, looked around the room again. “It’s short and sweet, but that’s it. For now, anyway.”
“OK, well…” Saint Yearwood huffed out a breath. “That’s a hell of a lot better than I’d been thinking, that’s for sure. Having the man inside with Wolf changes things. I mean, for me, anyway.”
The men all made sounds of assent, but Ice didn’t join them. He was standing at the very back of the room, his massive arms crossed. He never talked much at these club events at the best of times, and after his behavior at the last group meeting, when he’d told Wolf to fuck himself, he’d been laying low. He was now thinking that had been a serious mistake.
Laying too low, maybe. Shit. I should have met with this Bale guy… gotten my own read on him. Too fucking late now. Wolf is gone and I missed my chance.
“So.” Scars raised his voice over the relieved chatter. “That’s all I got, guys. We need to get ourselves back on track mentally, starting now. We’ve got businesses to run, and people to take care of. I know that Wolf’s going to be telling Viper everything about Dawson Kinney’s customers and plans and logistics – the CI will share with Bale what Viper does with that information, and the authorities will be able stay one step ahead of any deals or activities, and get every one of those boys in handcuffs. Remember, the long-term goal here is to take down The Highway Hellions and The Blood Crew, hopefully at the same time.”
“Hell, yeah,” Viking muttered. “That’ll be one hell of a happy day, when Wolf helps to do that. Then he can come home.”
“Agreed,” Scars said. “But the big thing to keep in mind is that Wolf isn’t alone over in Utah, and me and King are in touch with the local law enforcement. Wolf has an ally inside the MC, and he has cop protection outside.”
“Never thought I’d see the day when I was happy to be cooperating with cops,” Jinx remarked dryly. “But here we are.”
“Bullshit, Mr. Ex-lawyer,” Cowboy teased him. “You used to love working with cops.”
“Shut up, McDermott.” Jinx flapped a hand at him. “Stop reminding me.”
“Before we get back to work, I have one other piece of good news,” Scars said. “Something a bit different.”
“Yeah?” Cole said. “What’s that?”
“Drake called me this morning. As you all know, Briley and the babies got home from the hospital on Saturday, and they’ve finally decided on names.” He looked around at the rapt faces. “Hannah and Joseph Keeler-Morris.”
Instantly, the room was full of glowering, tough men – men who were more comfortable shooting someone in the head than changing a diaper – who looked utterly delighted.
“That’s everything now,” Scars said loudly. “Get your asses back to work.”
All the men scattered. Well… almost all the men.
Ice waited until the room had cleared, then he walked over to Scars. Those sky-blue eyes watched his approach, and there wasn’t even a flicker of surprise or wondering in them. Scars knew what Ice was going to say; of course he did.
Before Ice could even open his mouth, Scars jumped in:
“Wolf trusts Bale. He’d never have gone along with any of this if he didn’t.”
Ice narrowed his eyes. “Does he trust Bale , or does he trust Denton , because King trusts Denton, and Wolf actually trusts King ?”
“Denton vouched for Bale, with zero reservations,” Scars said evenly. “That was good enough for Wolf.”
“Was it really ?” Ice cocked his head. “Because that doesn’t sound like the Wolf Connor that I know. That man doesn’t put his faith in anyone blindly, so I’m finding it hard to believe that he’d just take some random gang unit guy at his word. Even one who was vouched for.”
Scars gazed steadily at Ice. “Why the sudden interest? When we were locked down in this room, planning everything and triple-checking information, where the fuck were you ?”
Ice flinched. Yeah, that was harsh and it stung, but it was fair. He knew that.
“I – just –” Ice looked down, then met his President’s hard stare. “I fucked up, Scars. I let my ego get in the way of the bigger picture, which was supporting Wolf. I was childish and a prick and an asshole. I’m sorry. I should have been here, helping you guys. I – I wish that I had been. But I’m here now, OK? I’m sorry, and I’m here, and I’ll do whatever you need me to. I promised that to Wolf before he left, and I’m not letting the man down again. Not ever .”
Scars looked at him some more, then he grinned. “Never heard you say so many words all in a row before, Johansson. It’s pretty shocking, actually.”
“Yeah, well,” Ice said. “I owe you an apology, man, and that’s just for starters. I need you to know that I’m in this, all the way, and I’m loyal to you. I’m your Enforcer now, so just give a command and I’ll do it, whatever it is.”
“Like you do it for Wolf, without asking why?” Scars said softly. “No questions asked?”
Ice’s eyes and voice were as cold as they ever got. “Not a single fucking one.”
The men stared any each other, held the moment between them for a few seconds longer. Then Scars smiled again, clapped Ice on the shoulder.
“OK. Good to have you back on board… and since you are, I can tell you one last thing.”
Ice paused. “Something that you kept from the guys just now?”
“Something that I kept from everyone except Wolf,” Scars said. “And now you.”
“You mean –”
“I mean that me and Wolf set up one more layer of security… just us. We didn’t share it with Bale or Denton. Not even with King.” Scars narrowed his eyes. “Wolf wanted it to stay totally secret. The only person he said that I can tell is you… and that was if you came to me on your own accord, ready to reclaim your role.”
Ice nodded, feeling mightily relieved. Now that sounded more like the Wolf Connor that he knew and respected – the man might have been named after the dangerous, wild wolf, but he understood a thing or two about foxes too:
The cunning of the fox is as murderous as the violence of the wolf.
And foxes always, always dig back doors.
“Thank fuck for that,” Ice said fervently. “So what did you guys do?”
“We set up a code word,” Scars said. “Well, more like a code decoy .”
“OK.”
“When Wolf tells Viper and his committee about all of The Blood Crew’s dirty jobs and financial matters, he’s going to spin a story that Dawson Kinney has a falling-down cabin up in the Rockies that he’s renovating. Under it is a hidden bunker kind of thing, jam-packed full of weapons, bags of cash, drugs. Kinney’s safety net, his rainy day fund. You know the kind of thing I mean.”
“And it’s all just sitting there? Unprotected?”
“Basic security stuff. Wolf will say that Kinney doesn’t even want his own MC brothers to know about it, so there’s no guard. Kinney relies on the cabin’s remoteness to keep things safe, and his thinking is that if it’s clearly run-down and getting worked on to make it liveable, then people will just assume that it’s a shack with no really value. Makes no sense for a crappy cabin to have state-of-the-art security systems all over it, right? Wolf is going to be very, very clear that there’s a cool million just sitting there all on its own, just begging to be carried off.”
Ice twigged immediately, and he gave a rare smile. “You don’t say?”
“Uh-huh. Naturally, Wolf will talk about Kinney’s fictional cabin quite a bit, so long as he can bring it up naturally.”
“Of course.”
“With The Hellions’ financial situation as dire as it is, there’s no way that Viper will pass up this kind of easy money.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“And so when Bale talks to his man inside about what information Wolf is passing on, the guy who’s so high-up that he’ll definitely be in the know about opportunities like this, it’ll be really odd if the CI never mentions this. Right?”
“Right. I mean, he wouldn’t be able to report every single conversation that Wolf has with Viper, but it’d be weird if this kind of huge opportunity didn’t come up at all .”
“That’s what we thought. And if the CI doesn’t mention the deal, then what else might he not be telling Bale? Or…”
“Or,” Ice finished. “What else might Bale not be telling us .”
They locked eyes again, more grimly this time.
“So,” Ice said softly. “You and Wolf don’t really trust Bale and his CI, then?”
“Ice.” Scars ran his hands through his hair. “In a situation like this, me and Wolf trust me and Wolf.” He looked down at Wolf’s cut again. “And you.”
**
Ice left the meeting room, feeling better than he had in two weeks. As he’d followed Scars out into the hallway, it had come to him suddenly and in a blinding flash just how badly he needed to be useful, to be of service. To his MC, to his brothers, to his Presidents ( both of them, because in his mind Wolf and Scars held that title simultaneously). The fact was that as much as he regarded himself as solitary and removed, as cold and implacable, he was lying to himself about that in some ways. The truth was that he was part of a family of brothers, and he was fiercely driven to protect them.
Oh, he’d always excelled at Enforcing, of course, but he’d always thought that it was because he was violent and cruel. He intimidated people with relish, and left men bleeding on a floor without a backwards look, and he could snap a man’s neck without so much as a blink. Zero regrets, no guilt or shame.
But maybe it wasn’t rage or violence that drove him on in those moments. Maybe it was because what he was doing was in service to his MC, and doing what he did kept them safe. Maybe he was an excellent Enforcer because he wanted to protect his family, and he was motivated to go to any and all lengths so that they didn’t have to. Maybe that was also what had made him an outstanding SEAL, a brother-in-arms who never backed down or away, never left a man behind, never flinched from his duty, no matter how bloody or savage.
Or maybe he was just a fucking monster.
He was musing on this new perspective of himself when he saw Vix come in to start the day shift. Over the past week or so, he’d noticed that she’d switched from nights, and he couldn’t say that he really blamed her: it was the easiest way to avoid him, since he was often at the gym during the day with his personal training clients. At nights he’d bounce at Satan’s for a bit of extra cash, so she was pretty effectively staying the hell away from him, even though she had to be hurting financially. Tips were way better at midnight than at noon, for goddamn sure.
Well. Time to make this situation right too. If it was at all possible for him to do so.
Next stop on the Apology Tour: Victoria Station .
She looked up and saw him; right away, she turned smartly and marched her pert little butt down to the staff room. Ice followed her, feeling creepy and gross like a stalker, but he decided there and then to apologize. He thought about the little spitfire more than he could believe – mostly during the long hours when his parents had dragged him out of sleep and out of bed – and that made him think that he didn’t just miss her hot body and richter-scale orgasms.
He missed her perfume, its fresh, pure scent, like something from a summer morning that he’d forgotten long ago. He missed her devastating eyes, how she could level him with a glance, how they flashed when she came hard against his body. He missed her lips – both sets, if he was being honest – and he loved how they wrapped around his cock, but also how she smiled at him as he teased her nipples, and also how her pussy tasted on his tongue. He missed looking across the bar at her as she worked, and seeing how every man in the place stared at her, their eyes following her every movement – all the while knowing that he was the only one allowed to touch her, to see her naked, to be inside that astonishing little body.
He missed her . And he was such a fucking idiot, that he hadn’t even contemplated what that meant until he’d hurt her.
Ice opened the door and saw that she was alone in the room. She was fixing her lipstick and her hair, adjusting her tight, sheer blouse over her breasts. She huffed a bit at his entrance, shook her blonde head, started on her eye liner.
“Vix?”
She carried on resolutely running the black pencil over her lids, probably more thickly than she intended.
Ice walked up behind her, and she finally met his gaze in the oval mirror.
“What?” she snapped. “What do you want?”
“Can we talk?”
“Why?” She tossed her makeup into her purse, tossed her hair off her flushed face. “You want to call me a cheap whore again?”
Ice sucked in his breath; there was that fucking word again. It surprised him that of all the horrible things he’d said to her that day two weeks ago, they’d both become fixated on the same singular word.
“No,” he said. “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”
That startled her, and now she turned to face him fully.
“I took something out on you that I shouldn’t have,” he said bluntly. “You know a bit of what’s going on around here, and when I ran into you in the hallway, the news had just dropped. I was – I didn’t – I wasn’t handling it very well.”
She pursed her lips, then cocked her head at him in a ‘ no shit ?’ kind of way.
“Anyway,” Ice said. “I just wanted you to know that I know that I was way out of fucking line. I’m sorry.”
Vixen blinked at him, totally surprised at every single part of this surreal conversation. Ice had never apologized to anyone for anything , she didn’t think, and she hadn't even known that it was something that he was physically capable of doing.
“Well, thank you,” she said slowly. “I appreciate that.”
“So does this mean – can we –”
“No,” Vixen said. “We can’t.”
“We can’t right now, or we can’t ever?”
“Both.”
Ice paused, a bit taken aback at her tone of finality. He’d thought that for sure he had a chance, but it seemed that this was just one more thing that he was wrong about lately. It was turning into quite the long list. He hated what she was saying, but he wasn’t a man who forced a woman to do anything that she didn’t want to – despite his history of violence, that wasn’t his style, and it never had been.
“OK,” he said. “I get it. I took it too far, huh?”
“Yes. You did.”
“Can we – I mean, you don’t have to work days just because I’m not usually around then. If you want me to leave you alone, of course I’ll do that.”
“Oh, Ice.” Vixen sighed. “It is better for me to work nights, for sure. Better money, I like the regulars, I prefer the sleep schedule.”
“But?”
“But… but I find this hard.”
“What?”
“This.” She gestured at him, then back at herself. “I liked what we had, you know. It was – well. It was fun, but it was safe, too. I liked that. A lot. I’m sorry that it’s over, and it’ll take me a minute to get used to being around you without – well.”
“Without a visit to the back rooms?” Ice teased her a bit.
“Yeah.” She gave him a tiny smile. “Exactly.”
“I get it. I promise to keep out of your way, if that’s what you want.”
“I appreciate that,” she repeated. “But don’t organize your entire life around me and my work schedule. I know that things are… strange around here. Wolf gone, the twins gone, Rebel –”
She stopped talking, remembering what Ice had said and done the last time that she’d mentioned Rebel Armstrong’s name to him. But today he was cool and collected, standing in front of her, just calmly waiting for her to finish what she had to say.
“Rebel… ummm.” Vixen cleared her throat. “Rebel dead.”
“Yes.”
“So, I know that it’s all unpredictable, and Scars will definitely need you around more.” She shrugged, her long hair rippling like sunlight over her shoulders. “If he calls, you need to come, and if I’m here when that happens, I’ll just have to deal with it. I know that, and you should too.”
Ice nodded slowly. She was right, of course, as she was right about so many things. He wondered just how idiotic he was, truly, to not have seen her as more than a great fuck before now. She’d been there this whole time, standing right in front of him, and he hadn’t seen her. Not at all.
And now that he did, Vix was out the door. Literally.
“I’ve got to get to work,” Vixen said quietly. “But I’m glad we talked, actually.”
“Me too.”
She gave him a small smile and opened the staff room door.
“Vix?”
She turned back to him.
“I really am sorry.”
Vixen studied him, saw something that she just couldn’t place; all she knew was that it wasn’t an expression that she’d ever seen on that hard, gorgeous, closed face before. She’d seen Ice ice-cold with controlled rage, and molten hot with lust, and even unfairly cruel. But this … what was this?
“I know you are,” she said, and stepped out into the hallway, ending the conversation completely.
She walked to the bar, giving Cole a vague smile, her mind still working furiously to figure out what the hell that look had been. And as she took lunch orders and dutifully brought over Diet Cokes and sparkling water, and watched that lazy bitch Cara disappear to the bathroom every ten minutes, her mind kept whirring, just unable to let it go.
It was like one of those slot machine things, the one with all the fruit and ‘7’s’ and gold bars, where you pull the lever down, with everything just going around and around, seemingly aimlessly and endlessly and at random. Vixen had never been able to make heads or tails of the game, and didn’t have a clue what all those oranges and lemons even meant .
Suddenly, as she stood at the bar waiting for Cole to finish pouring the twentieth Coke of her shift, her mind stopped spinning and all the cherries clunked into place, in a tidy little row. In that second, she thought she knew what that look on Ice’s face had been:
If it were anyone else, I’d call it regret .
But since it was Ice, she didn’t believe that. Not at all.