Chapter Eleven
Kevlar
Dealing with my sister after the shit Blood laid on me was not at the top of my list. I didn’t want to take her gun, but she’s gone off the rails since all the shit that went down with Momma Tee kidnapping her and Asher.
She’s got some weird complex about the whole thing, and I don’t know what to do for her other than therapy, which she refuses to go to.
As I pull off her street, I notice that black car. The one from the marina tailing me.
Every hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
I can’t get a good look at the driver. The windows are darker than sin, and they’re keeping three car lengths back.
I slow to force the gap closed. A test, but they match me just a little smoother than an amateur.
I could lose them. Doubt they want a chase out on the main drag in broad daylight.
No, they want me to lead them to Lacey. Heather. Whatever her name is.
I’ve got my Glock in my waistband, but Buford might skin me alive if I start a shootout with too many witnesses around. The old fart lets a lot of shit slide, but he can’t overlook everything we do. There’s gotta be a balance.
Only the more I think about this fucker having a claim on my woman and the fact that he’s already shot at me once, the itchier my fingers get for my gun.
I can’t afford to do anything stupid. Prez is going to stick his boot in my ass for riding alone with all this shit going on.
I was supposed to bring Goose with me to talk to my sister, but he was still in bed, and I didn’t want to dick around all morning waiting on him to get the lead out.
I tap the brakes again, then swing in a hard, fast right, cutting up past a strip mall.
The black sedan makes the same turn, just a half-breath late.
No way they’re not tailing me. I loop the block once and they do the same.
I turn left and drive right past Buford’s office.
The car backs off. I keep going, pulling into the gravel lot behind Saint’s Garage where we store our tows.
Poor Boy shakes his head at me as he washes grease from his hands.
I park my bike and as I’m climbing off, I see that fucking car pulling around front.
I pull my Glock out and lift my chin at Poor Boy.
He whistles and I join him, Hash, and Silk.
The four of us are ready, and I know the rest of our guys across the street will make their presence known.
We walk through the garage as the back passenger window rolls down. I recognize the bastard from my girl’s social media account. Her husband.
“You’ve got something that belongs to me.”
I walk out of the garage, Glock tucked by my thigh. The man exits the car, flanked by two goons. He’s got that rich-boy face. Clean-cut, teeth done up Hollywood white, and a fake tan.
I know his type. The spoiled brat type that thinks the whole world owes him a fucking parade.
The sneer on his face says he doesn’t think much of me or the boys at my back. I take my time walking up, tucking the pistol behind my waistband, but making sure he sees it. Wouldn’t want him to get too comfortable.
“You lost, friend?” I call out.
His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile. “I’m not your friend,” he snaps. “But you already know that. I’m sure. We can cut the shit, Mr.…?”
I don’t give him a name. “You come all this way to see the sights or just get your rocks off creeping around other people’s turf?”
“Let’s cut the bullshit and skip the formalities.”
“All right, Phillip.” I spit on his name, my voice pure grit and lethal.
His eyes narrow to slits. “I know you’re the reason she hasn’t come home.”
“Funny. She hasn’t mentioned you.”
“You’re not the first asshole she’s made up some story to. I doubt you’ll be the last. My wife suffers from a mental condition. She runs off. Starts a new life. Gets tired and comes running back to me.”
“Then why are you here if she always comes running back?”
“Because this time she forgot her medication. You know what happens then? She’ll fuck anything on two legs just to spite me. Or herself. Or both.” His grin is sleazy and not menacing.
“Maybe she hasn’t come back because this time she found a real man who knows how to dick her down.”
He takes a step forward, rolling his sleeves to show off a wrist flashing with some kind of fancy-ass watch and to intimidate me.
This I want to laugh at. The dude has zero muscle.
She married this weasel? He tries to throw his shoulders back, but every ounce of his posture signals that he’s a pussy and not used to real violence.
Not like I am.
Not like I’ve lived it.
Breathed it.
Choked on it.
Dealt it.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, pal,” he says. “You’ll send my wife out, and we’ll part ways. No cops, no complications. Otherwise, I’ll kill every one of you club rats and drag her back by her hair. Understand?”
I give a little smirk. Hash and Silk are flanking me on each side.
Poor Boy cracks his knuckles next to Hash, his tattooed fingers itching for a fight. I glance at Phillip’s goons. Dumb fucks outfitted like private security, but not real muscle.
Not like ours.
Not born to scrap and bleed.
To defend.
To protect what’s ours.
To take out any motherfucker who threatens what’s mine.
What's ours.
And Lacey belongs to me.
More members of the club file out from the clubhouse, closing in on him and his men.
“What did you say about killing?” Blood questions, walking up and towering over him.
“You’re outnumbered. Outgunned. Outmatched.
I suggest you tuck that little dick between your legs and run home to daddy like the little bitch that you are.
” Blood flinches at him and the weak-ass pussy nearly pisses his pants.
We all start laughing as he climbs back into his car, humiliated, but I know he’ll be back with more paid muscle. And we’ll be ready when he does.
Right now, I need to talk to Lacey.
I find her in the kitchen at the clubhouse with Tequila, Ashley, and Asher baking cookies.
Her hands are white with flour, and there’s a smudge high on her cheek.
She looks like the kind of woman I want to see baking in my kitchen.
A woman who belongs in my life. For one hot second, I see a future where this ends with her as my ol’ lady.
I hate that I have to ruin her happiness and kill my fantasy.
Lacey sets her spatula down. There’s a jitter about her. A nervous one, but she’s not scared. At least not of me. She knows something is up, but I don’t want to spook her.
“Smells good. Almost as sweet as you.” I pull her in close, wanting to kiss her stupid, but we need to talk. “Need to talk to you. Alone.”
Ashley is polite enough to pretend not to hear as she scoops Asher from the counter, while trying to pry the raw cookie dough batter from between his tiny fists. “Let’s go wash up, little man.”
Tequila follows behind them.
Everything I know is burning holes through my head and my heart. But Lacey or Heather, whatever her name is, needs to know who she is. I don’t know if she made up her amnesia or if it was a psychotic break.
I don’t have all the answers.
I hope she wants to stay, but she deserves to make the choice. She wipes her hands on a dishtowel, and I rub the flour from her cheek.
“Take a walk with me.”
“Okay. I mean, is it safe?”
“For now.”
She walks woodenly beside me, twisting her fingers together in knots. “There’s something I want to tell you, too.”
I nod. “Let me go first.”
“Sure.”
I grab her wrist, pressing my thumb there. “I just had a run-in with Phillip. Your husband.”
Her eyes widen. “Shit.”
“He told me everything. That you do this a lot and I want to understand.”
She pulls away from me. “He told you what?”
“About the other men.”
“There aren’t any other men. He’s trying to kill me so he can be with his mistress. I remembered everything after you left this morning. I’ve been waiting for you to get back so I could tell you.”
“So, you don’t have amnesia.”
“I just told you. I didn’t remember anything until today. We had a fight. He knocked me around, and I hit my head. I ran. I hated my life so much that I wanted to end it.”
“He said you’d do this.”
“Do what?”
“Make up a story. Said you need your medication.”
“Medication?” Her mouth hangs open. “I’m not sick.” She shakes her head and takes a few steps away from me. “You don’t believe me?”
“I don’t know what to believe.” I want to believe in her. “Two things can be true at the same time.”
“You know what…I don’t need this shit. Not from you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I thought there was something between us and that you of all people would have my back.”
“I do have your back.” I take a step toward her, and she takes one back.
“That man may be my husband, but he hates me.” Tears stream down her beautiful, tortured face, and I feel like a total asshole. “He broke me down. Beat me and raped me and you want to stand here…and take his side.”
“He did what?” I growl, seeing nothing but a red haze filling my vision.
Lacey shakes her head. A broken sob escapes her mouth. “It doesn’t matter. He always wins.”
She looks at me as if I’ve just kicked her in the ribs.
Shame eats me, fueling my rage.
“I’m sorry. I should have known. I should have fucking believed you,” I say, and I mean it.
I feel like a piece of shit. The lowest form of life.
The kind that lets a woman down right when she needs to know she’s not alone in this world.
I swore to protect her, and I’ve ripped out her heart and stomped on it by doubting her for a second.
She swallows, blinking away tears. I do the only thing that makes sense. I close the gap between us and pull her to me, tight. Pressing her cheek to my chest so she can feel my heartbeat. It’s pounding so loud I’m sure she’s got to hear it, and feel how off balance I am. How much I need her.
How deeply I crave her.
“Do you hear me? I’m going to make this right.”
She pushes me off abruptly, and her hands shake while wiping at her face.
“I don’t need another man to fight my battles.
I don’t need you to kill him or to save me.
I don’t know if I wanted to die or to wake up somewhere else.
To wake up and be someone else.” She turns her head, staring out at the surf, not willing to let me touch her again.
“I didn’t make up the amnesia, Kevlar. I really didn’t remember.
It’s only today that I did. You can believe me or not.
I just can’t go back to being Heather. Never.
Not for him. Not for you. Not for anyone. ”
“I’m going to kill him.”