Cyclops #2
"Since Mace put me in charge." Cyclops steered Trixie toward the bar, one hand on the small of her back.
She tensed at the contact but didn't pull away.
"Anyone got a problem with that can take it up with me in the ring.
" Nobody moved. His brothers were all smart men, and they knew better than to challenge him when he used that tone.
"Bourbon?" Ink asked Trixie, already reaching for the good stuff.
"Whiskey," she corrected. "Neat."
"Woman after my own heart," Venom called from the pool table, his massive frame making the cue stick look like a toothpick.
"Keep your heart and everything else to yourself," Cyclops warned, settling onto a stool next to Trixie. "Lady's got enough problems without you sniffing around."
"What kind of problems?" Prospect, shouted. He was apparently too green to know when to shut up.
Trixie tensed again, and Cyclops saw her hand drift toward her pocket, where she probably had a weapon. Christ, the woman was ready for war at all times. He respected the hell out of it, even though it made his job harder.
"The kind that ain't your business," Cyclops said, catching Trixie's hand before it could reach whatever she was going for. "Why don't you go do a perimeter check? Make sure nobody followed us." Prospect scrambled to obey, nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry to get outside.
"I can fight my own battles," Trixie said quietly, pulling her hand free.
"Never said you couldn't." He accepted the beer Ink slid his way. "But no point starting fights you don't need to have. Save your energy for the ones that matter."
She studied him for a long moment, those dark eyes seeing too much. "Is that experience talking?" Trixie asked.
"That's a lifetime of bad decisions, and bar fights talking." He took a pull from his beer. "Started plenty of unnecessary fights in my day. Got this," he said, pointing to the scar on his face, “in one of the stupider ones. Learned my lesson about picking battles after that."
“And how did you lose your eye?” she asked.
That was a story that he didn’t like to tell much anymore.
He used to tell everyone who asked about it, but the truth was, it was embarrassing, and telling Trixie about how he lost his eye wasn’t something that he was ready to do.
He shrugged and took another swig of his beer, not giving her an answer.
"I think I remember someone saying something about a taco fight?" she asked, and there it was—a real smile. Cyclops was sure that it was the first one she had given him. It was small, but real.
"That's a story that requires more alcohol and less company." He glanced around at his brothers, who were pretending not to eavesdrop. "But yeah, let's just say I learned something from that experience too.”
She sipped her whiskey, seeming to consider her next move, but he could tell that she wasn’t about to give up. What she asked him next surprised him. Do you really think there's a real threat coming after me?"
"I know there is," he said. Cyclops turned on his stool to face her more fully.
"Those weren't random guys who slashed your tires.
That was professional work. It was selective damage designed to strand you without destroying evidence.
Someone wants you contained, but not gone.
That means you've got something they want, or you know something they don't want getting out. "
Her knuckles went white around her glass, and he knew that he was on the right track.
"So the question is," he continued, voice pitched for her ears only, "are you going to keep running alone, looking over your shoulder, waiting for them to catch up, or are you going to tell me what's going on so we can get ahead of it? "
"You don't understand—"
"Then help me understand." He leaned in, close enough that their knees touched.
"I put my neck out for you already. My brothers' necks, too, by bringing you here.
The least you can do is tell me what we're up against." She was quiet for so long he thought she wouldn't answer.
Then Ink turned up the jukebox, some old Johnny Cash song filling the space, and she started talking.
"My father owns half the drug trade from here to the state line," she said quietly. "I found out he's expanding into something worse—much worse. And when I confronted him about it, he decided I was a liability."
"Wait, this all has to do with your father?" he asked. He never had a good relationship with his own father, but the thought of him doing something like Trixie’s father had done to her just didn’t sit right with him.
Her laugh was bitter as burnt coffee. "Blood means nothing to him.
The only thing that my father cares about is money and power.
I became a threat to both, so I became expendable.
" She drained her whiskey. "You did get one thing right in your analysis—he can't just kill me.
By slashing my tires, they would have stopped me, even trapped me, and then they would have taken me back to him.
I know where too many bodies are buried, literally and figuratively.
He needs me alive to find out what I've done with the information that I stole. "
"What did you do with it?" Cyclops asked.
She met his eye. "Put it somewhere safe. It’s my insurance policy for when things go bad."
He wanted to tell her that her father sending his men after her was pretty bad already, but he refrained. "Smart," he breathed. He signaled Ink for refills. "But that only works if you stay alive to use it."
"Hence, I'm running." She accepted the fresh drink. "I've been staying ahead of them for three weeks now—until tonight."
"Tonight, you stop running," he said. "Tonight, you've got backup."
"I didn't ask for backup," she insisted.
"No, you didn't ask." He cut her off. "But you're getting it anyway. That's not negotiable."
Her eyes flashed in surprise. "You don't get to make my decisions for me, Cyclops."
"I'm not. I'm making decisions for my club.
We're involved now, whether you like it or not.
Those men who slashed your tires did so in Road Reaper territory, and that makes it club business.
" He leaned back, studying her. "Besides, you walked into my bar, sweetheart. That makes you mine to protect."
"I'm not yours," she said, and there was warning in her voice.
"No," he agreed. "You're not. But you're under my protection, and in my world, that means something. It means anyone who wants to get to you has to go through me. Through all of us." He motioned to the guys who were sitting around the bar, looking back at Trixie.
"And what happens when your president gets back and decides I'm too much trouble?" she almost whispered.
"Then I'll handle it." He meant it too. He'd face Mace's wrath if it came to that. "But right now, I'm in charge, and I say you stay."
"For one night," she reminded him.
"We'll see." He stood, offering her his hand. "Come on. I'll show you where you can crash. You look dead on your feet."
She stared at his hand for a moment, and he could see the war in her eyes.
She looked like she was trying to decide if she wanted to take his hand and accept his help or maintain her independence and keep struggling alone.
He could see it in her eyes when she finally decided to take his offer and his hand.
Her palm was calloused, not soft like he'd expected.
This woman knew what hard work was, and he could tell that she knew how to fight.
Her fingers were steady, no tremor of fear despite everything that seemed to be chasing her.
But when he pulled her to her feet, she swayed slightly, exhaustion finally showing through her tough exterior.
"When's the last time you slept?" he asked. "Real sleep, not just catnapping in your car."
"What makes you think I've been sleeping in my car?" she challenged.
"You've got the steering wheel imprint on your cheek, your jacket smells like fast food and car air freshener, and you're carrying everything you own in that backpack." He kept her hand in his, steadying her. "So I'll ask again—when's the last time you actually slept in a real bed?"
"Four days," she admitted quietly. "Maybe five."
"Jesus Christ." He started leading her toward the stairs. "No wonder you're ready to fall over."
"I'm fine—"
"You're not fine. You're running on fumes and stubbornness.
" They reached the second floor, where the crash rooms were.
He opened the door to one of the cleaner ones, but they were all the same with a bed, dresser, and attached bathroom.
Nothing fancy, but better than her car. "You're safe here.
Door locks from the inside, and nobody comes up here without my permission. "
She walked in slowly, looking around like she was checking for exits and threats.
Cyclops guessed that it was an old habit, probably, or a recent necessity.
"Venom will be outside in the hall," he added.
"Not to keep you in, but to keep everyone else out.
You can actually sleep without keeping one eye open. "
She turned to face him, and he noticed something raw and vulnerable flickering across her face before she locked it down.
"Why are you doing this?" He could have given her the same line about club code and protecting women.
Or he could have made a joke about her owing him.
Hell, he could have even told her it was just the right thing to do.
But something about the way she was looking at him—tired, wary, and desperately trying not to hope for anything—made him want to tell her the truth.
"Because I know what it's like to have nowhere safe to land," he said simply.
"And because you remind me that not everyone who's running is guilty of something, and in my world, that’s usually not the case.
" She was quiet for a moment, then stepped closer to him.
She was standing close enough that he could see the gold flecks in her brown eyes, and the scar on her chin that makeup couldn't quite hide.
"This doesn't change anything," she said. "Tomorrow, I'm gone."
"Like I said, we'll see." He backed toward the door, knowing if he stayed any longer, he'd do something stupid. Like brushing that strand of hair off her face. Or like, find out if she tasted as good as she smelled. "Get some sleep, Trixie—real sleep. Tomorrow's problems will still be there when you wake up." He knew that truth from experience. He hated that he couldn’t be more of a comfort to her, but he had a feeling that Trixie wouldn’t allow that from him anyway. She didn’t seem like the type of woman who liked to be coddled and lied to, and telling her that everything would be all right was a complete lie. Whatever or whoever was coming for her wasn’t about to quit trying to get to her.
And if her father was as bad as she said he was, then her troubles were far from over.
In fact, they were probably just beginning.
He was almost out the door when she called his name. “Cyclops.” He paused, looking back over his shoulder. "Thank you," she said simply. "For the ride, and for giving me a place to stay for the night. Thanks for not being what I expected."
"What did you expect?" he asked, not sure if he should be amused or offended.
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "I expected you to be an asshole biker who'd try to take advantage of me and my situation."
"Oh, I'm definitely an asshole," he said, grinning from ear to ear.
"And I've thought about taking advantage of you at least a dozen times since we met. But you need to sleep more than you need another problem, and honey, I’m a problem.
But when I make my move, sweetheart, I want you awake enough to enjoy it.
" He closed the door on her shocked expression, chuckling as he heard her quickly lock the door behind him, followed by the deadbolt. After that, he heard what sounded like a chair being dragged in front of the door. He thought about knocking on her door just to make her undo every safety measure that she had put into place, but he wasn’t kidding when he told her that he wanted her to get some sleep.
Cyclops turned the corner and found Venom already positioned in the hallway, looking like a mountain that had decided to grow a beard and wear leather. Honestly, the guy was huge, and Cyclops was always glad that he was on the Road Reapers side when it came to a fight.
"No one goes near that door," Cyclops said.
"Got it,” Venom said, cracking his knuckles. "She really got the kind of trouble on her tail that she says?"
Cyclops nodded. "Probably worse," he admitted, heading back downstairs. "But that's tomorrow's problem,” he mumbled more to himself than to Venom.
"And if tomorrow's problem shows up tonight?" Venom yelled down the stairs at him.
Cyclops grinned, all teeth and danger. "Then tonight's going to get really interesting,” he shouted back over his shoulder.
He headed back to the bar, needing another beer and some time to think.
Trixie was trouble—the kind that could get them all killed if he wasn't careful.
But she was also something else. Something that made him want to be more than just a one-eyed enforcer with a bad attitude and even worse habits.
His phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket to find a text from Mace: Everything good there?
Cyclops stared at the message, debating whether he should tell his Prez about their surprise visitor and her trouble.
He could tell Mace about Trixie, and about the potential shitstorm heading their way, but that would just ruin his vacation.
And if he didn’t tell him, and Mace found out from another member that Cyclops was keeping things from him, he’d have his balls once he got back to town.
He decided that he was more afraid of the Prez’s Ol’lady coming after him if he fucked up their vacation, so he typed back: All quiet. Enjoy your vacation.
It was the right call because some battles were worth picking, even if you couldn't see how they'd end. And something told him Trixie Lee was going to be one hell of a battle.