Chapter 11
Nova
“Hey, Doc, think you can take a look at this for me?”
I turn before I realize I’ve answered to the ridiculous nickname the guys have been calling me ever since Crusher came walking into the main room on his own two feet the night after he almost died.
I’m not downplaying what I did or how severe his injury was because I know if I wasn’t there, he probably would’ve died, but I’m not even an actual veterinarian.
I haven’t earned the right to be called Doc.
“Fury, if you pull your dick out, Creed’s going to cut it off.” I give a stern look to one of the younger members of the MC.
His eyes go wide. “I’d never—”
I grin. “I know. You guys wouldn’t disrespect Creed that way.”
He looks confused for a moment and then says, “Doc, we wouldn’t disrespect you like that.”
Oh. His words catch me off-guard. It’s been nearly a full week since Crusher’s ambush and it’s been so different than the weeks before.
Tasha still doesn’t like me, but the rest of the Bunnies thawed, especially Lyssa who seems to have a thing for Crusher.
Any of the guys who held back even after Creed claimed me are now completely fine with me.
What’s the strangest part is that it’s not like they’re just tolerating me anymore. They talk to me, joke with me.
They ask me for help.
For someone with my personality, being able to help, to contribute and not be a burden, is important. I just hope it sticks when their usual medic comes back. Unless, of course, it’s after we’ve found Layla and I go back to my real life.
“What do you need?” I push away my thoughts and focus on the present.
Fury holds out his hand. “I was fixing my engine and didn’t wait for everything to cool down all the way.”
I sigh and grab the first aid kit from under the kitchen counter. “There’s some burn cream you can put on it, but the main thing is, don’t scratch at it and if you get a blister, don’t pop it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He gives me a snappy salute.
“Nova.”
Creed’s voice makes my insides squirm, but I don’t let it show on my face as I turn. “Yeah?”
“We’re going into town.”
He doesn’t make it a request, but I’m not about to argue.
The only times I’ve been out of the compound since I came looking for Layla are when we go to the Roadhouse, and that’s barely more than an extension of this place.
I’m comfortable here, but I haven’t gone this long without at least going to work since I got my first job at thirteen.
A stab of regret makes me wince and I push down thoughts of my job.
My boss, Dayna, was great, letting me use my vacation time, but it wasn’t fair on her or my colleagues to have to cover for me, so I quit.
She was always great about being flexible with scheduling, and I couldn’t take advantage of her that way.
She said she understood, finding my sister was my priority—and she told me that if they had an opening I was always welcome back.
“Let’s go.”
Creed’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts and makes me realize I’ve been standing here long enough for him to get to the door, and I hurry to catch up with him.
I’m about to ask if we’re doing a supply run, but he’s heading for his bike, not one of the cars or trucks, which tells me whatever we’re going to do doesn’t involve carrying a lot of stuff.
“Me and some of the guys need a few things for our bikes,” he explains as he hands me my helmet. “You got anything you need to pick up?”
“New sparkplugs for my car?” I smirk when I say it to let him know I’m teasing. I’ve gotten past my irritation at his stunt.
To my surprise, he gets a glint in his eyes and says, “I put ‘em back two days after I took ‘em.”
My jaw drops and Creed shocks me further by laughing at my expression. He reaches over and hooks his finger under my chin, shutting my mouth. Heat shoots across my nerves at his touch.
“Put on your helmet,” he says as he throws one long leg over the bike’s seat.
He patiently waits for me to get the helmet strapped in place and then holds out a hand.
I take it to keep my balance and get onto the back of the bike.
As I get into place, I realize how automatic all of that was.
I’ve only ridden with him a few times, but it feels natural to accept his help and then settle into my seat.
Putting my arms around his waist sends a familiar thrill through me.
Familiar, but I refuse to think of it as natural.
The roar of the engine and the vibration between my legs makes me shiver and I grip Creed tighter.
The muscles in his stomach jump under my palms and I close my eyes.
I wish I could say I don’t like the way he makes me feel, that I’m not attracted to him at all, but that would be a lie.
Not that it matters because no way in hell is anything going to happen between us.
He’s a good actor, managing to convince everyone that I really am his old lady, and sometimes, I almost forget, but I don’t think he ever does.
Pine Ridge has only one garage slash store that’s specifically for motorcycles, which means the Iron Vipers and the Kings of Ruin both get things here.
I don’t know where the Reapers buy their stuff, but people who don’t belong to an MC shop here, too, which means Creed and I have to keep up our ruse.
At least, that’s what I tell myself when he doesn’t let go of my hand after helping me off the bike, threading his fingers between mine as we walk into the store.
He finds what he needs pretty quickly and I’m not sure why he asked me to come along until we reach the cashier and Creed asks about ordering a vest for his old lady.
I hide my surprise better than the guy behind the counter, smiling like I’ve been waiting for this.
It doesn’t take long to place the order, and Creed doesn’t say anything about it, not even after we leave the store.
The only thing he does is ask if I want to grab some take-out for lunch.
I’m fine with waiting to find out why he ordered a jacket because I’m not sure what sort of answer I want.
I can’t stop thinking about it, though. I’ve always had uncertainty in my life, and I hate it.
The only thing that keeps me from going nuts is knowing that no matter Creed’s reason for doing what he did, it won’t change what he expects from me or the fact that he’s looking for Layla, too.
We pick up the best BBQ chicken in three counties, and then Creed starts toward the compound. We’re stopped at the second red light when it happens. He puts his hand over mine and turns his head. I lean forward automatically so I can hear him.
“Don’t look, but there’s a black pick-up two cars back on the left.” His voice is even. “They’ve been following us since we hit the city limits hours ago.”
I immediately tense, but I don’t look. I want to, but I trust Creed. If he says not to look, I won’t. There’s a small knot of fear in my stomach, but it doesn’t grow or take over the way it probably would have if I was alone.
“What should I do?” I ask.
“Hold on and keep sharp,” he says. “If they’re definitely following us, they know where the clubhouse is. We don’t hide it. They’re either trying to intimidate us or waiting to see if we go somewhere they can get us alone.”
I nod and the light turns green. Creed doesn’t gun it. He rides the exact same way he did before, like nothing changed, but I can feel how tight his muscles are and know he’s as on edge as I am.
I don’t close my eyes this time, don’t lose myself in the feel of the ride.
Instead, I’m alert, tracking our journey street by street.
Hawthorne. Market. Main. I notice each building and whether it’s Pine Ridge Real Estate or CA / NV Bus Tours.
I see people walking along the sidewalks, some looking our way and others ignoring us.
And the whole time, I want to turn to see if the truck is still following us.
By the time we get back to the clubhouse, my muscles ache from how tense I was and I’ve lost any appetite I had. Creed gets off the bike first and helps me off without a word. When it looks like he’s not going to say anything, I ask the question.
“Did they follow us back here?”
He nods. “Almost to the gate. They could’ve run us off the road a few times but didn’t. I think they were testing me, finding out what I notice, how I react to things.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“Take the food inside,” he says, ignoring my question. “I have stuff to do.”
And then he walks away.
***
I think Creed is avoiding me. I haven’t seen him since we got back from town.
The truck following us was the reminder I needed that I’m not here to fit in or even to stay safe.
I’m here to find my sister, and Creed hasn’t told me anything new since Crusher got shot.
I have no idea if the club’s attention has shifted to what happened to Crusher or if they’re still trying to find Patch and Layla, and I’m done with being kept in the dark.
“Vandal,” I say, targeting the first man I see. “Where’s Creed?”
He pushes back his white-blond hair, and for a moment, I think he’s not going to answer me, but then he hooks his thumb over his shoulder. “In the garage.”
“Thanks.”
I know where the garage is. I’ve passed it more than once on my walks around the compound.
I’ve seen inside a few times when the guys have the doors open, but I’ve never been inside.
I wasn’t told women weren’t allowed, not like how church is patched-in members only, but it never seemed like a place I would be welcome.
Right now, I don’t give a damn if I’m welcome or not. Creed is going to talk to me.
I see him as soon as I walk inside. It’s a large space, with all the things a person would expect to see in a garage, though more motorcycles than cars.
It’s cleaner than I imagined it would be, but the scent of motor oil and gas still hangs in the air.
I can’t help rolling my eyes when I see a couple of calendars with half-naked—and at least one with naked—women, and I’m still half-smiling when Creed lifts his head from what he’s doing and sees me.
“Something wrong?” he asks as he stands up.
I nearly swallow my tongue. He’s naked from the waist up, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him shirtless.
His torso is heavily tattooed, each design flowing into the next until I feel like I have to examine each one to see what they are individually, and then step back to see it as a whole.
But the ink isn’t the only reason I’m gawking.
He’s in amazing shape, with broad shoulders and muscles that flex as he picks up a rag and wipes his face with it.
As he does the same with his hands, I count his abs a second time because this is definitely the first genuine six-pack I’ve ever seen in person.
“Nova. Nova.” He sounds more amused than annoyed. “What do you need?”
I shake my head to clear it and refocus on why I’m here. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten an update on where things are with Layla and Patch. I know Patch is your family, or he will be, but Layla’s mine, and I can’t let her get left behind.”
He tucks the rag in his back pocket and that tugs his jeans down a bit, confirming that at least one of his tattoos keeps going further down. My stomach flips as I’m hit with the sudden desire to trace it with my tongue.
Nope. I dig my nails into my palms to refocus.
“We’re not forgetting about Layla,” Creed says.
When he doesn’t add anything else, I let out a frustrated burst of air. “Then tell me what you’re doing, or what you’ve found.”
“I think—”
I interrupt. “If the next words out of your mouth are reasons why you can’t tell me anything, I’m gonna be pissed.”
He raises an eyebrow and I get it. I’m more the quietly stubborn type than the confrontational type, but sometimes, the only way to make people listen is to speak up.
“All right.” He comes around the motorcycle so he’s only a couple of feet away from me. “We think Patch might’ve discovered something about some shipments the Reapers have been making.”
“You think the Reapers have Patch and Layla?” I don’t know a lot about the Reapers, but what I do know isn’t good.
“We’re not sure,” Creed admits. “But we’re meeting with a few of their men in two days. We’ll know more then.”
“I want to go.”
“Go where?” He looks confused.
“To the meeting,” I clarify. “I want to be a part of that meeting.”
“No.”
I scowl up at him. “No? Just like that? No?”
“Just like that,” he echoes.
“Layla is my sister. If they have her, I have a right to be there.” I put my hands on my hips.
“You’re not going anywhere near the Reapers,” Creed insists. He takes a step toward me, emphasizing the size difference between us.
I’m not about to let him intimidate me. “Someone has to represent her.”
“I’m fucking representing her.” Creed’s eyes flash blue fire. “If she’s with Patch, she’s family.”
“What if she’s not with him?” I demand. “What if all this makes her realize she doesn’t want anything to do with your club? She’s not family then.”
“She’s your family then,” Creed points out. “And you’re my old lady.”
“I’m not yours.”
Suddenly, his hand grasps my chin, holding my face still so I can’t look away.
He’s right there now, close enough for me to touch.
I can smell the faint tang of sweat mixing with the oil and grease, and under that is the slightly spicy scent I know from pressing my face against his back when I ride.
“I didn’t put myself between you and a fuck-ton of bullets just to watch you walk in front of a firing squad.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” I remind him. “And this is fake, remember? I don’t belong to you.”
His thumb runs along my bottom lip and my knees go weak. “For now, you do.”
We stand like that for several long seconds and I forget to breathe. And just when I think he’s going to cross that line and kiss me, his hand drops and he takes a step back.
“You’re not coming,” he says, a finality in his words.
Then he walks away and I don’t know if I’m more relieved or disappointed that things didn’t go another way.