Chapter 8
EIGHT
His gaze pinned to the screen on his phone, Locust watched as Nadia dropped the knife she’d been holding, opened the front door, grabbed the food, locked the door, then hurried to the kitchen. The cameras he installed were so good, he could see every micro expression on her face as she smelled the food, opened the bag, and then plated the food. She looked annoyed, angry, then ravenous—his woman loved her Sunny Lee’s. He followed her through her house on the camera, then watched as she sat on the couch and began eating.
He smirked, rolling his eyes at what she’d chosen to watch. She thought she’d hidden her Matthew Goode addiction, but he’d caught her watching Leap Year too many times for there to not be a reason. He didn’t mind her little crush, because when she was in bed with him , it was his name she was screaming into the ceiling, it was his cock inside her body, owning her every pleasure, it was his mouth sucking her plump tits, her pink lips, and her wet pussy.
Fuck, why’d he have to think about that? It had been too fucking long since he’d even fucking touched her, so thinking about actually plunging into her tight, hot, rippling pussy made every molecule of his body zing. She was fire in his blood, air in his lungs, warmth in his heart—and he’d fucking hurt her. Betrayed her. But he was going to make it right, because being without her was fucking torture!
Reaching down to grip and squeeze his cock through his jeans, he hated that he was so fucking close but so fucking far away. She was right there, just one block up and across the street, but he couldn’t get to her, not without getting his asshole plugged with the barrel of a gun by his prez. So far, despite desperately banging on her door that evening, he’d skirted the letter of Frost’s orders; he hadn’t spoken to Nadia, approached her, or touched her in fourteen days, fifteen hours, and thirty-six minutes. Yes, fuck, he was counting, because once she was in his arms again, the countdown clock to his own personal fucking Armageddon would stop.
The phone in his hand buzzed, and the caller’s name popped up on the screen over the camera surveillance of Nadia, who was currently staring out the front window with a weird look on her face.
Seeing the name of the caller, he cursed. As much as he wanted to ignore the call, he knew he was already treading a thin line, and that his absence had been noted within the club. Usually, when he wasn’t working on a bike, doing a club run, or running some errand for Patriot or Horde, he was at the clubhouse, tossing back cheap whiskey, or—before Nadia—fucking one of the hangarounds over the pool table.
Since Frost had set him on the path to Nadia, he hadn’t touched another woman, hadn’t spent more time than necessary in the club house, and now that Nadia had cut him off, he was following her around like a desperate puppy, begging for scraps of attention from his master. And, make no mistake, Nadia fucking owned him.
Answering the phone, Locust drawled, “Prez.”
“Where the fuck are you?” Frost barked, not even bothering with a “well, how the fuck are you?”
Knowing that telling the club prez that he was sitting in his truck across the street from the house where the woman he was ordered to leave alone was currently closing the curtains wouldn’t go over well with the man. Frost was the fucking president of the Unchained MC, and his word was law…so why was Locust having such a difficult time following those orders?
Oh, that’s right, the last time he did that he fucked up his only chance at having the woman he loved.
With a boiling sort of twisting in his guts, the question on his mind was, who would be the recipient of his treachery now, Nadia or Frost? Because he couldn’t ignore the fact that being true to one would betray the other…and he didn’t know who the fuck he was anymore; the loyal brother who did as he was told, or the man in love who couldn’t breathe without the woman he wanted, heart and soul.
I’m fucked either way….
Remembering he was still on the line—pun intended—with Frost, he forced himself to answer. Gritting his teeth, Locust replied, “I’m out,” not willing to give more than that. At Frost’s grunt of displeasure, Locust silently swore, then continued, “I have two days until the next club run, so I’m taking today and tomorrow for my own shit.”
Frost growled, “No, you’re coming back here, because we have some shit to discuss—and that isn’t up for discussion, brother. ”
Before Locust could even open his mouth to discuss any-fucking-thing, Frost hung up.
“Motherfucker,” Locust spat, tossing his cell into the passenger seat, then gripping the steering wheel with enough force to make the leather cover squeak under his hands.
What the fuck did Frost want to discuss? Had he caught on to what Locust was doing? Nah…Locust was very good at hiding his business…which was what made him such a good infiltrator. It was what made him so good at seducing, manipulating, and spying on Nadia. She hadn’t known a damn thing about his mission…until she overheard him.
And how long could you have kept her in the dark, anyway?
A growl rumbled through his chest at the thought.
Grabbing the cellphone, he scanned his thumbprint to bypass the security screen Red had installed, and clicked back to the camera display.
Nadia wasn’t in the living room anymore, though the plate of food was still there, getting cold. The TV was still on, though Matthew Goode’s ugly mug was paused mid-laugh, his head thrown back.
Where is she?
Clicking through the tabs labeled with the different rooms, he finally found her, in the bedroom, staring into her closet.
Zooming in, he couldn’t fathom what she’d be glaring at in there, nor why she looked so spooked.
Maybe she’s starting to figure out that you’re watching her? It wasn’t like he hadn’t basically told her he knew she hadn’t eaten; it probably freaked her out, but not enough that she’d throw the food away.
She loves Sunny Lee’s too much to toss it in the garbage….
The phone buzzed again, this time it was a text from Frost telling him he had fifteen minutes to be in his office, or he’d be doing prospect duties for a week.
Motherfucking shit! As much as he wanted to stare at his woman mean mugging the interior of her walk-in closet, he didn’t want to be stuck cleaning clubhouse toilets for the next week.
Starting his truck, he pulled away from the curb, and with one last, lingering look at the house where his heart was beating, he headed toward the clubhouse.
As he turned onto Highland Ave, on his way to I-81, he couldn’t stop the rising dread from hitting him in the chest; a fear that something was waiting for him in Frost’s office. And…he couldn’t stop picturing Nadia’s face as she stood there looking into the closet.
Fourteen minutes later—just under the buzzer—Locust strode through the door to the common room. It was a busy night, with brothers drinking, playing cards, getting BJs from a few hangaround regulars, or just shootin’ the shit by the bar. There were two of the patch overs, Malo and Rust, from Bone Dogz, at the bar chatting with Cluster as Tornado watched on—he looked about as pleased to be there as a cat would feel in a room full of snakes.
Locust didn’t have time to stop and ask Tornado what the fuck was up, but he’d make a point to talk to him later. After he sat down with Frost for whatever it was the man wanted to discuss .
The door to Frost’s office was closed, so Locust knocked. Almost immediately, Frost called, “Come the fuck in, no one’s got time for this shit!”
His shoulders tensing, he pushed opened the door and nearly backed right the fuck out of the room.
One of the new girls the Bone Dogz brought with them was sitting on the desk—her ass in a pair of booty shorts that left nothing to the imagination—next to a bottle of Willett Family Estate Rye and a nearly empty tumbler. Willett wasn’t cheap, and it was a little more sophisticated than what most of the brothers drank, and it was something Locust knew Frost only ever drank when he was pissed.
The woman from the desk stood up, turned so her barely covered ass was right in Frost’s face, and planted a coy smile on her perfectly contoured face. She was definitely a pro at making herself look done up, just the way most of the brothers liked. Locust already knew without a single word that she was trouble…and what the fuck was she going in the prez’s office, door shut, ass on his desk, looking like she was right where she was supposed to be?
Clearing his throat, he rumbled, “Prez?” His gaze flicked to the woman, who leaned over the desk, showing the slopes of her tits from a top with only two of the six buttons actually buttoned. If she wasn’t trolling for dick, he didn’t know what the hell she was doing—but she wasn’t getting anywhere near his dick.
Is she getting Frost’s dick? What about Emily? Yeah, they were bikers, but one thing that set them apart from most MCs was their loyalty to their brothers and their own families. That meant that there hadn’t been a single mention of Frost with a woman other than his wife, Emily, since he’d patched in at twenty-one—twenty-four years ago. That was a long time to be faithful, only to start fucking around now.
Something else had to be going on, right?
“Hey,” the scantily glad female chirped, her smile growing. “I’m Sarah—I’m new here. Frost has been so welcoming ….”
Yeah, he didn’t miss the emphasis on that word. He quirked an eyebrow, his gaze flicking back to Frost, who was glaring at Locust like he’d walked in on something he shouldn’t have.
What the fuck?
Ignoring Sarah and the obvious grab for attention, Locust kept his eyes on Frost. “You wanted me here in fifteen, and I’m here.” He crossed his arms over his chest, thrusting his chin up impatiently. “What did you want to discuss?”
Frost turned to Sarah and smiled softly, “Why don’t you grab a beer, chill? I’ll come out once I’m done here.”
Sarah’s smile could probably be seen from the moon, and Locust couldn’t wrap his head around what the fuck was happening right before his eyes as he watched Frost tap his fingertip against the woman’s chin.
What the hell am I watching?
Sarah giggled, sauntered around the desk—her hips swinging provocatively, and strolled right out the door.
Locust closed the door behind her, but not before checking to make sure she was down the hall where she wouldn’t be listening at the door. The woman was a clubwhore from a patched over MC, she couldn’t be trusted not to be a plant, there to get information on the club she could sell to who the fuck ever.
What the hell was Frost thinking? Turning to ask the man just that, he was stopped by the red-cheeked rage on the man’s face, and the muscle-bulging tension coming off him in waves.
“You better fucking explain to me why my wife came home tonight and told me I was a motherfucking piece of shit for ordering you to fuck Nadia Thompson for money.”
Locust’s mouth dropped open, but nothing came out; his voice lost somewhere in the cavity of his chest.
“How the fuck did she find out, Locust?” Frost bellowed, slamming his fists into his desk, which made the bottle of rye nearly tip right onto the floor.
A memory from earlier that day shot into his forebrain, and he cursed.
“Emily must have talked to Nadia,” he replied, knowing he was in the shit.
Frost furrowed his brow, the lines around his eyes deepening.
“First, how the fuck do you know that, and second, what the hell was Emily doing anywhere near Nadia? Those women shouldn’t have been within ten miles of each other.” Frost dropped down into his desk chair, cast a longing glance at the Willett, but then thrust his fingers through his blonde hair instead of reaching for it.
“Nadia is the concierge at Emerald Greens. Emily’s business works with venues for weddings and shit, right? Maybe she was supplying flowers for a wedding.” That’s exactly what she’d been doing. She’d brought the van with Flower’s Blooms painted in pinks and golds on the side, that meant she had a delivery. That was probably where she ran into Nadia, but because he hadn’t planted cameras in her office—yet—he had no idea what they’d talked about exactly.
“That doesn’t explain how you fucking know they met up today,” Frost said, his tone demanding answers.
Shit, shit, shit!
Heaving a sigh, Locust sat down, his weight plummeting like a stone into the chair across from Frost.
“I was outside Emerald Greens?—”
“You motherfucking piece of shit!” Frost snarled. “You were told to stay the fuck away from Nadia Thompson. You blatantly disregarded orders?—”
Pushing to his feet again, he interrupted, “I didn’t approach her, talk to her, or touch her. I was just watching ….” He rubbed at his face. “I can’t not watch her, Frost.” Damn, he sounded fucking pathetic—and he was , he’d admit that. He was nothing without Nadia.
“Yeah, well, Nadia told Emily about what went down, and now….” Frost cursed, closing his eyes. Locust watched as the man’s whole body seemed to deflate right before his eyes. “She…she told me to sleep here tonight.”
Shocked was an understatement; Emily had always hated being separated from Frost, had always been adamant that Frost delegate any out-of-town runs that weren’t necessary for the prez to take on. She was a good ol’ lady, supportive, and the heart of the club with Frost as its head. So, to hear that Emily wanted Frost gone, even for a single night…it was fucking staggering.
This ain’t good….
“That’s…that’s not right, brother,” Locust offered, unsure what the hell to say. Locust had no business offering any man advice about making his woman happy; he was still so deep in the doghouse with his own, he was getting mange.
Frost shook his head, and the waves of anger engulfing him softened to something like…sorrow. Grief.
“No…it’s not, but…. What the fuck am I supposed to do about it?”
“What do you mean? Did Emily tell you what Nadia said exactly? From what I know, Nadia doesn’t know anything other than what she overheard me spewing to Cluster, and then whatever you told her when she came here with that burner cell.”
Frost looked fucking rough; Emily had been his whole world for decades, and now….
And what the fuck’s going on with the clubwhore, Sarah?
“When Emily came home tonight…she was like a whole other woman. She told me what she’d overheard between Nadia and that woman she works with…and then she told me how she outright asked Nadia about my involvement in what happened between you two.”
You mean how you ordered me to get information out of her about her brother by any means necessary…and then blew up my fucking world by telling me to leave the woman I love alone?
But he didn’t say any of that out loud—he didn’t fucking dare; Frost was still his prez.
“When I admitted what I’d ordered you to do…she got quiet…and a quiet Emily has never been fucking good for my balls.”
Locust pinched his lips in confusion, rubbing at the coarse stubble on his cheeks and chin. Nadia liked the stubble…especially against her inner thighs.
Shaking his head to rid it of thoughts of Nadia while his conversation was about Emily, he inquired, “When did she tell you to leave? Is she letting you come back tomorrow?”
Frost’s expression hardened, as though he was pouring steel into his bones.
“Right after I admitted what I’d ordered you to do, she…she told me I wasn’t the man she married, and that I should come here. I’ve got the feelin’, though…this isn’t just her being pissed.”
Locust shook his head; apparently they were both in the shit with their woman, and for the same reason. They’d willingly betrayed an innocent woman for “club business.” It didn’t sit right, what they’d done, and now they were both paying for it.
But he’d pay for it a million times over if it meant Nadia would speak to him again.