Chapter Fourteen
Rocky
The five minutes stretched into an eternity as Wren and I huddled in the shadows of the service entrance.
Every passing car sent my pulse skyrocketing, fingers twitching toward the gun at my waist. I normally didn’t react this badly to a stressful situation.
Hell, before now, nothing had been remotely stressful unless I was actively in a situation where I could die.
I didn’t care much for myself. But the thought of Wren being here when Vex came back with Acid — and both men would be on the way here — nearly gave me a panic attack.
Wren stood close enough that I felt the heat radiating off her body, but the emotional distance between us might as well have been the fucking Grand Canyon.
I kept my gaze locked on the road, scanning for any sign of Vittorio's promised backup while also watching for Copperheads.
The night air carried the scent of exhaust and rain on wet asphalt.
A storm brewed both in the sky and between us.
"How much longer?" Wren whispered, her voice tight with tension.
"Soon," I murmured, resisting the urge to check my watch again. "Stay behind me if anything happens."
I glanced at her and Wren shot me a look that could have stripped paint. "I can handle myself."
"Never said you couldn't, sweetheart." I kept my voice low, turning my attention back to the road. "But these guys shoot first and don't bother with questions later."
The distant hum of a vehicle cut through the night, growing louder with each passing second. Traffic in this part of town at this time of night tended to be light so the vehicle had to be either the cavalry, or we had unpleasant company on the way.
I tensed, hand moving to my weapon. I needed to see the vehicle before I assumed help had arrived. My phone buzzed in my back pocket.
“Check my phone,” I whispered to Wren, not wanting to take my focus from the street.
She pulled out my phone and I felt her fingers trembling.
“They’re pulling up. Black Bronco.” She grabbed my shirt, bunching it in her fist. "Is it them? Did Vittorio send us help?"
I nodded, relief flooding my system even as a new tension replaced it. "Yes. Tuck your hand in the waist of my pants and don’t let go unless I tell you."
The black SUV sped in our direction, headlights cutting through the darkness. I recognized the driver when the vehicle skidded to a halt. Marcus Longmire, Vittorio's right-hand man, his imposing figure unmistakable even inside the vehicle.
The distant roar of motorcycle engines growing louder with each passing second had me tensing. Wren started to move past me to the Bronco, but I pressed her against the wall.
“Don’t move from behind me until I tell you, Wren.” Thankfully, she obeyed.
Seconds later, three bikes roared through.
Two rolled on past, the other stopped behind the Bronco.
Ghost sat on his Harley like he dared anyone to challenge him or his club.
His expression was hard and mean as he scanned the area.
After a moment, he looked at us across the street and held my gaze for several seconds.
He looked back at the Bronco, then down the side street next to us.
A few seconds later he looked back at me and nodded.
I stepped forward, deliberately positioning myself between Wren and the building. Something caught my eye. Three Copperhead guards had emerged from the shadows, hands hovering near their weapons.
"The fuck’er they doing here?" one man called out, drawing his gun.
Marcus got out of the Bronco, leaving the door open, his movements fluid and menacing.
Even in the dim light, his presence commanded attention.
The man stood tall, muscles rippling beneath his crisp dress shirt, his face a mask of calm authority.
Ghost and Jack flanked him, three predators ready to strike.
"We have business with Rocky," Marcus announced, his voice carrying across the lot without shouting.
Ghost pulled off his helmet, revealing silver-streaked hair and eyes that burned with barely contained fury. Those eyes found me, then moved to Wren standing behind me. His jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might shatter.
The Copperhead guard stepped forward, emboldened by the two others moving to flank him. I should have known Vex would leave men on me. "This ain’t a social call kinda place. Turn around and fuck off."
"Look again," Marcus said calmly, rolling up his shirt sleeve to reveal what I knew to be a Luca family insignia tattooed on his forearm. "Rocky’s coming with me. Don’t like it? Take it up with the Luca family."
The guard hesitated, eyes darting between Marcus and me. "Bullshit," he spat, but I heard the uncertainty creeping into his voice.
"Call Acid," I suggested, keeping my tone casual despite my pounding heart. "Ask him if he wants to start a war with the Luca family tonight."
Marcus took another step forward. "Rocky infiltrated your club on our orders. He reports directly to Vittorio Luca." He turned to Ghost, giving him a small nod. "The Bound in Blood Prez and VP can vouch for our connection to the Luca family."
Ghost looked like he wanted to rip my throat out, but he gave a curt nod. "The Luca family and Bound in Blood have an understanding," he confirmed, voice cold enough to freeze fire. "And if Vittorio says this man belongs to him, then that truth stands."
The Pole — fuckin’ stupid ass name — pulled out his phone, stepping back to make a call.
The man was a suck ass. No wonder Vex had left him watching me.
I could hear him hiss the words "Luca family" carrying to where we stood.
I kept Wren behind me, wrapping my arm back around her to hold her against my body.
Jack remained silent, his massive presence saying more than words ever could.
The guard returned, face tight with frustration. "Acid says to let them go." He pointed at me, finger stabbing the air. "But this ain’t over, Rocky. Not by a long fucking shot."
Ghost moved then, striding purposefully toward us. I instinctively stepped more firmly in front of Wren, a move that didn't go unnoticed by her father. He stopped inches from me, close enough that I smelled coffee and cigarettes on his breath.
"Move," he growled.
I stepped aside, allowing him to reach Wren. I saw the relief in Ghost's face when Wren stepped into his arms.
"Time to go," Marcus announced, glancing at his watch. "Acid's tolerance has a short expiration date."
Ghost turned to Wren. "You ride with me." Not a request.
Wren opened her mouth as if to argue, then caught herself. But her gaze darted to me before she replied. "Fine."
"My bike?" I asked, nodding toward where I'd parked.
"Jack’s got it," Marcus replied. "You ride with me."
I didn't argue, tossing Jack my keys. Moving to the Bronco, I climbed in the front seat. It felt like I’d shed a skin, leaving behind the identity I'd worn for months. Ghost helped Wren onto his motorcycle, his movements gentle despite the fury etched into every line of his face. When he looked back at me, the message in his eyes came through loud and clear. We’d be having a come-to-Jesus meeting directly.
Jack climbed on my bike and started it with a roar that seemed to shake the very ground. As we prepared to move out, one of the Copperhead guards made a slicing motion across his throat, eyes locked on mine.
Jack caught the gesture and responded with a smirk. "Try it, motherfucker," he called out, voice carrying easily over the engine noise. "Please give me a reason."
We pulled away with Hotwire in the lead, me and Marcus, Ghost and Wren with Bloody Jack bringing up the rear.
I glanced back looking for Wren. I didn’t like not having her with me.
Not after this. We’d avoided a bad situation, but my protective instincts fired like mad.
I knew with absolute certainty that if I ever returned to this place, I'd leave in a body bag.
As we accelerated into the night, one thought dominated my mind. Protecting Wren had blown my cover, but I couldn't give a good Goddamn. Not when the alternative meant losing her.
After we’d put several miles between us and the Copperheads, the convoy slowed somewhat. We still blew through red lights and stop signs, but it no longer felt like we were flying with our hair on fire.
When we finally stopped at a deserted intersection, Ghost pulled his bike to a stop. His boots scraped against asphalt as he balanced the machine with Wren still clinging to his back as he brought the bike next to the Bronco.
I turned my head, finding Wren's gaze just a few feet away from mine.
Even in the harsh red glow of the traffic light, I saw the conflict and uncertainty swimming in those green depths.
Anger, confusion, hurt, but also a longing so strong my heart pounded harder and I realized I might be able to salvage something with her.
She didn't look away immediately, and in that moment of connection, I tried to pour every unspoken apology and promise into my gaze.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, lips pressing into a thin line before she finally broke the stare, turning her face against Ghost's shoulder. The rejection stung, but I deserved worse.
Ghost caught the exchange, his head turning slowly until his gaze locked with mine. Without breaking eye contact, he revved his engine aggressively in a clear warning.
The light changed to green, and Ghost shot forward, putting him and Wren between us and Hotwire.
We rode for another twenty minutes, the urban landscape gradually shifting from anonymous commercial zones to the industrial outskirts.
I imagined I felt the shift when we crossed into what everyone recognized as Bound in Blood domain.
The compound appeared ahead, a converted warehouse complex surrounded by a high chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Security lights illuminated the perimeter, casting harsh shadows that danced as we approached.