Bounty (78 page)

“At least tell us how it ended,” Evelyn pipes up. She’s just as stunned as I am, but there’s that fire in her eyes, a spark of curiosity that makes them almost glow. When she looks at Edward’s wan face, her lip curls in disgust. I can tell she’s aching for vengeance. “I want to know if we’re going to have to see this bastard again any time soon, and if so, what we’re up against.”

Snake smiles and hands me my second drink. “Oh, I doubt that very much, darlin’. I don’t think you’ll have to worry about seeing old Eddie here
ever
again. Y’see, he’s changed his mind about those plans of his. He’s moved on to bigger and better things—or at least, he’s on a path that’ll keep him clear of anything you two might wanna embark on, now or in the future.” He winks. “To say anything more would be telling more than you two might wanna know, but rest assured, nothing about what we did here tonight was illegal. Not yet, anyway.” Here, Snake casts a glance at Edward, who acknowledges him with a flick of his beady eyes. “And we won’t, as long as Eddie keeps up his end of the bargain, which means he stays far the fuck away from both our little MC, and Bash’s company.”

Snake chuckles as I shift uncomfortably. “Yes, Bash, we all know what you’re up to now. Goddamn, an MC president
and
a CEO? When do you sleep, boy? Especially with a woman the likes of Eve.” He shoots an appreciative nod her way.

“Look, Snake,” I begin, but he cuts me off before I can get any further.

“You think too much, you know that, Bash?” he says. “And you worry too damn much, too. I get why you’ve been so secretive. It all makes sense now—or at least, it does to me. You thought we weren’t going to accept you, the real you, on account of how you pursued a legit lifestyle in your off hours—but you still wanted to help us out. That’s the reason for all these new businesses and shit. Trying to keep us out of trouble, while still letting us feel like free men who get to crack skulls and get into mischief every once in a while. I totally get it. But you know what? Cat’s out of the bag now, and nobody else gives one flying fuck, either—at least, not the ones who matter. Well, ‘cept me and the boys are kind of wonderin’ if this means we can get new bikes, but otherwise…”

I sit back in my chair, taking it all in. Never, in any of my projected scenarios, did
this one
cross my mind as a possibility, let alone a likely one. Snake, who I’d assumed was a traitor, and what sounded like most of the MC, from the tale he told, had had my back when I’d needed them most. The family I’d thought I lost had swooped in to save the day, not only for me, but for Evelyn too. That was crazy enough, but then on top of that, they’d accepted me—both parts of me—like it had never mattered at all.

The room blurs a bit at the edges. This is all so surreal.

“This is over?” I say, first to Snake, and then to Edward. “This is really, actually over? No more bullshit—no more games—you’re going to put a stop to the shit-storm you put in motion, just like that?”

Edward fails to answer me for a long time. For a while, he can’t even meet my gaze. When he does, there’s nothing but hatred in those cold, seething eyes of his. He clears his throat and adjusts his tie, his Adam’s apple bobbing erratically.

“Just like that,” he says, unfolding his hands. Beneath them is a small stack of papers. “I was just in the process of signing the papers before you got here.”

“Son of a bitch,” I mutter. “Finally.”

Edward doesn’t reply. Snake is looking at him, hard, and though he doesn’t bother to acknowledge my VP, I can tell he feels his stare.

Beside me, I hear Evelyn’s soft, lilting laugh, and when I look over, she’s practically radiant. All the tension she’d been holding inside her over the last few days is gone, and there’s a shine to her eyes I haven’t seen before. I think this is what she looks like when she’s really, truly free. And it’s so goddamn beautiful I can’t take my eyes off it.

“I knew it,” she says. There’s such vibrancy in her tone I can almost see it. “I knew one day, I’d get to see you like this—defeated. Ruined. Well, maybe I didn’t know, exactly. But I hoped.” She shakes her head at him. All that anger in her has morphed into something softer. Something more like pity. “You bastard. You only have yourself to blame.”

Yeah,
I think, though I don’t say it out loud,
I bet he’ll go home tonight and wipe those tears of his with hundred dollar bills.

But there is some truth to Evelyn’s words. I can see it in Edward’s face. Cracks have formed in his armor and in that cold, calculating mask. Beneath it, there is a whisper of regret—probably not because of what he’s done to us, but because he hasn’t won. We’ve taken something precious from him today and struck a real blow. His winning streak is over, and I wonder, had Edward ever lost before? To anyone? Is this the first time in all his life he’s experienced what it means to fail?

“Be a good boy, Eddie, finish signing those papers and then slide them to my friend Bash, here, and his lovely lady,” Snake says, making sure to emphasize the word
his.
Edward flinches visibly, but then does as he’s told. By the time this is all over, this guy might be downright suicidal.

When he’s done, I take the documents in my hands, and to Snake, I utter a soft, “Thank you.” My VP shrugs.

“Don’t mention it,” he answers. “Except maybe in the context of those new bikes…”

Evelyn smiles. She turns to me and says, “I told you, didn’t I?”

I raise a brow at her. “Told me what? That Snake here was going to swoop in and save the day, and Edward was going to roll over like a mangy dog and hand us everything we wanted, just like that? Because if so, I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered…”

She grins. “No. But I did tell you that you might have misjudged what their reaction would be to hearing their president also deals in high-grade motorcycle parts.”

I can’t help it. I smile. And though it doesn’t come naturally, I manage to reply, “Yes, baby. You were right.”

I’m betting it’s not the last time I say those words.

“
M
iss Silver
, what do you have to say about the reports coming in that Piston, Incorporated is actually run by the leader of an outlaw motorcycle gang?”

I can’t help but smile at that question. It’s one I’ve heard, but never answered, well over a dozen times over the past few weeks, and every single time someone asks it, this little glow starts inside me all anew.

I could tell them the long version of the story, but no one wants to hear that—all the details of Sebastian Redding’s dual lives before he was found out, and the single, even more shocking life he’s managed to lead after. But the press are vultures at heart, and they want the easy prey. They like their meat raw and bloody, and telling them the whole truth might’ve been offering them more than they could chew.

The whole truth was that after Snake and the rest of Bash’s MC had told us what they’d done, Sebastian underwent a complete transformation. The twin personae he’d had to keep up for all these years suddenly merged into the single person he was always meant to be, and Sebastian was able to finally let his guard down. His dreams and goals weren’t mutually exclusive anymore, and he had the freedom to do what he pleased, when he pleased—the media frenzy not withstanding, of course.

Once word got out that Hans was not the true CEO of Piston, and that the actual, formerly secret, CEO was also the president of a motorcycle club, all the networks went nuts. I’m pretty sure that at some point, I even overheard Ben Stein waxing poetic about the turn of events on CNN, but maybe that was just my imagination. Still, everyone seemed to be talking about it, and for a while, I thought this would turn out to be Sebastian’s worst nightmare.

But Sebastian surprised me, and everyone else, by refusing to even acknowledge that anything had changed. Sure, he was relishing the opportunity he had to conduct his business out in the open now, but otherwise, he acted like it was just another Tuesday where he balanced his work at Piston with his work at the clubhouse, fulfilling both roles as if the cameras weren’t even rolling.

For me, though, it was pure chaos. Maybe Sebastian had come into his own, finally, but I was still new to this whole thing, and in the first few days, I was sure I would get swept up in the endless tide of questions and demands that came roaring my way. If they couldn’t get to Bash, the media reasoned, maybe they could get to me. Sebastian and the club did a fine job of keeping me at arm’s length from the more intrusive elements, but I was still feeling the pressure of this new life I’d fallen into.

I’ll never forget the look on Sebastian’s face that day I rushed into his office, slamming the door behind me and leaning against it, hoping to keep the rabble out. I was panting so hard I was sure I’d bust a button on my blouse, but he just looked up at me from his desk and said, “We’re in this together. All right?” Then his gaze drifted out toward the skyline, though this time, the view made him smile. “We’ll weather the storm.”

“I love you,” I’d said, a breathy reply to the confession he’d made days ago during the would-be assault on Edward Stonewall’s office. I almost thought he wouldn’t reply, that adrenaline had made Sebastian Redding bold at the time, and that now his feelings had waned. But he stood up, came around beside me, and tucked me under his arm as he said:

“I love you, too.”

And then we just looked out over the horizon together, the city a tiny labyrinth stretching out below us, and I knew in that moment we were going to be all right. That we were, in all truth of the matter, surveying our kingdom. We’d defeated some of the biggest obstacles in our way; what was a few more added to the list?

That sensation of comfort and safety followed me through the following days, where somehow, everything just seemed to fall into place.

Sebastian’s MC went fully legit—or at least, as much as an MC could. Snake never did let on exactly what had happened to Ripper, or those who had sided with him—or if he’d told Sebastian, he’d certainly never told me. But with Ripper gone and all other dissenters quashed, the MC was able to move on into a golden age. Like we’d joked back in Edward’s office, everyone ended up with shiny new bikes, which helped silence anyone else who had questions about what the hell an MC was doing running actual businesses and devoting their weekends to charity work on the side. Piston, Inc. and the MC ended up being a lot alike, and with the barrier between them smashed for good, Sebastian turned out to be a brilliant leader of both.

In fact, with one side of the equation balanced, the other side just kind of fell into place. With Edward gone, the deal we’d all thought ruined picked up steam again. As it turns out, Edward had used his influence to force Velocity to renege on their end of the bargain, and in his absence, the original terms were looking good again. Not only that, but Sebastian discovered that Hans had actually slowed things down when he went to Germany to sort out the stolen parts fiasco, and now that a competent leader was at the helm, all the pieces were finally coming together. Piston ended the quarter on a high note, coming back from certain doom, and this coming quarter looks even better.

I should know, because I’m not just Sebastian Redding’s EA anymore. I’m now the VP of Operations, which I thought would be incredibly overwhelming, given how much has happened to me recently, but somehow it just feels… right. As right as being at Sebastian’s side, seeing this through. Our relationship is steady, Piston is secure, and on the weekends, I’ve learned to unwind with his MC—and Jackie, too. Especially now that I was able to talk to her about everything. She’s loving the attention she’s getting from all of the leather bound hunks at Axle’s.

Turns out I’m capable of far more than I imagined. Sebastian and I really do make a good pair, after all.

I’m still contemplating this when the reporter repeats his question. It’s the first, actual press conference we’ve had to address the situation, and it wouldn’t have happened at all if I hadn’t insisted. Sebastian’s advice was to “let them fuck themselves,” but as Snake and I knew, sometimes the VP had to take the reins and have the president’s back, regardless of how daunting the situation might be.

“Miss Silver,” the reporter says, brow furrowed into an impatient ravine, “your comment, please?”

Nah, they don’t want the whole story. And honestly? Who would believe me, anyway? So as the crowd quiets, I smile and say, “Come on now, Mr. Bradley. I think we all have a little outlaw in us, wouldn’t you say?”

The uproar that follows is deafening and I sigh, still unable to shake the smile from my face. Just another blissful day in the life of dealing with the aftermath of a crazy, rogue club president, CEO, and love of my life.

A
s promised
, here is a special treat. This is the first (unedited and subject to change by the time the book is released) chapter of my upcoming book. It is the first in a series about three bad boy brothers that are trying to change their ways and make something of their lives. Each novel will be stand-alone, but also tell an over-all story all together when read as a series. I hope you enjoy it!

“
O
ne keyring with six keys
. One brown leather wallet with one-hundred and seventy dollars inside. One silver box lighter. One folding pocket knife, engraved with
Mason
on the handle.”

“I had one-ninety on me when I was arrested. You boys have a night out on me?”

“You’re full of shit, Hale.” Behind the metal security grate, the guard in the brown uniform lifted up a sheet of paper on his clipboard and squinted his eyes at something Mason couldn’t see. What he did see, however, was the telltale reaction around the guard’s eyes that he was trying to hide something; trying not to look surprised.

Mason waited. What were a few more minutes after a month and a half inside?

“Nah, you’re full of shit,” repeated the guard. He let the paper flutter down from his grasp. “Says right here, one-seventy, signed and dated by my supervisor. He’s the one that processed you.”

The memory burned bright as a campfire in Mason’s mind. Everything about that day did. “Big fat white guy, right?” said Mason. “Straight out of a Dukes of Hazzard episode?”

The guard named Lou cracked a smile, but he didn’t confirm it. That was all the confirmation Mason needed anyway.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s real trustworthy,” said Mason. “Probably spent it on the skeeviest hooker in town, didn’t he?”

“Why don’t you shut your trap, Hale?” The guard wrapped his big hands around the pile of belongings that he had been slowly listing out and pushed them underneath the security grate towards Mason on the other side. “You’re out. Take your shit and leave, and don’t give us reason to bring you back here.”

“Like you’d need one,” said Mason under his breath.

The guard glared at him, but didn’t take the bait. He pulled up his clipboard and turned away, suddenly very invested in the stack of metal lockers lined against the wall of the room. It was his tiny little kingdom to lord over, and everything about the way the man carried himself said he knew it. As he carefully went through his belongings, Mason realized he was probably lucky he had only lost twenty bucks.

He had purposely left his ID and any cards with his name on them back at his place before the job. His wallet felt strange and foreign because of it. The weight was all wrong. The way it felt in his back pocket was off, and he couldn’t help but notice it. He had noticed it first thing that morning—the first ugly feeling in his gut that something was wrong. As he put the wallet back in his pocket again, Mason replayed the mantra of regret in his mind that he’d spent all month incubating in the uncomfortable walls of county jail.

He slid the pocket knife and lighter in the same right-hand pocket, and some of his anxiety melted a little. They were the belongings that meant the most to him. He didn’t feel like himself unless he was carrying them. Having them back in their rightful place was a tiny victory.

Wearing the same clothes he was arrested in, Mason followed the bright yellow markers painted on the concrete floor of the jail hallway that led him to the transfer door. He didn’t recognize all of the guards he passed on his way out, but it was hilarious to him to see how different they treated him now that he wasn’t their captive. They looked at him like they were lions bored with a toy they had played with too long; some wouldn’t even look at him at all.

Mason rounded the last corner, where a guard stood still with a loaded shotgun at the ready. When he saw Mason approach, he immediately sent a confirmation call on the radio attached to his shoulder. He stared at Mason the whole time as they both waited for the guards in administration to send down their approval. Mason held his stare without fear.

“Hale’s a go,” came the scratchy voice over the radio.

The guard lowered his weapon and moved to unlock the giant steel door that led outside. He even held it open for Mason as he passed by.

“Hope we don’t meet again,” said the guard in an earnest voice, nodding at him.

“You and me both,” said Mason.

Mason walked out into fresh, free air and, like he was in some Oscar-bait movie, stopped to take a big deep breath of the mountain fresh mountain scent. It was early spring and the county’s microclimate was in full, bipolar swing; rainstorms came frequently and without warning. Far from the nearest metropolis, the air was clear of pollution and haze. All he could smell was the evergreen forests and clean, wet smell of moss.

Mason closed his eyes, and for one beautiful moment, he was able to forget where he was.

Two quick honks of a car horn broke him out of his meditation. He opened his eyes and looked across the gravel parking lot of the county jail. An old black Firebird idled among the dirty pick-up trucks and jalopies, headlights blazing, engine rumbling like a dragon. Raindrops glistened on the glossy black paint job and made the whole car glitter in the moving sunlight.

Delilah leaned out the window a bit and gave him a big, salacious grin. “Hey there, sugar. How much for a half and half?”

The joke was terrible, but the month before it had been much worse, so Mason gave her a full, honest smile as he kicked gravel under his feet, heading towards the car. “I’m not sure you can afford me, baby.”

Delilah laughed. It was feminine but cruel. “You’re the one walking out of county to get into my sweet ride.”

“Touché.”

“Let’s get the hell out of here, I hate the fucking cops.”

Mason headed around to the passenger side door and got into the car. The interior smelled like high-grade weed and her flowery, understated perfume. Delilah herself was always a vision with her immaculate makeup and short black hair, bangs cut in a clean, stark line across the pale skin of her forehead. She winked at him and pursed her red painted lips.

He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the lips. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Delilah as she shifted the car into gear and rolled out toward the highway. “How are you doing? You didn’t get roughed up in there too badly, did you?”

“Nah,” said Mason. “My size seemed to make up for what my reputation lacked.”

“What your reputation
lacked
?” said Delilah in surprise. “I didn’t think the reputation of the Hale boys lacked for anything, personally.”

“Yeah, well, the reputation is more nuanced than one would hope.”

“How’s that?”

Mason rolled down the window. The air was chilly at highway speeds, but he wanted to feel it. “It just is. The Hale name only does so much for me. It’s not enough to solve every problem.”

“But you didn’t get hurt, right?”

“No,” said Mason. “Someone messed with me once and I put him down, and that was that. It was a lame attempt. I’m pretty sure he just wanted to feel like he was in a prison movie and misjudged his target.”

Delilah laughed her cruel laugh again. “What a fucking idiot.” Without taking her eyes off the road, she fumbled through her little black box of a purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Light us up?”

Mason took the pack from her manicured hand and happily pulled two smokes out, and lit them between his own lips. He passed one to Delilah and relished in the feel of smoke in his lungs again. His head buzzed, swimming, after a long few weeks without any nicotine at all. The price behind bars wasn’t worth paying.

He looked at the smoke in his hand. “I guess this would have been a smart time to try and quit for good.”

“So much for that,” said Delilah, ashing her cig out the window.

The county lockup was perched up the mountain highway, away from the nearby towns of Roda and Stockton that filled in the tiny valleys between. As Delilah’s Firebird came out of the thickest of the woods and began to wind down towards the valleys, Mason’s chest started to tighten with fresh, unwelcome anxiety.

“I need to ask you for another favor,” said Mason.

“Sure, sugar, anything.”

“Do you work tonight?”

“I switched shifts with Rocket, I don’t work until tomorrow evening.”

Mason took a drag. “Mind if I crash at your place tonight?”

Delilah looked over at him curiously. “Sure, you can stay. I figured you’d want to go straight home, though.”

“Nah,” said Mason, staring out the window.

“I also figured you’d be asking your brothers to pick you up when you got released, and not me.”

Mason didn’t look at her, and didn’t answer. The cig was almost out, but he was determined to smoke it right down to the filter.

“Why didn’t you ask them, Mason?”

Mason shook his head. Anger churned in his head, behind his eyes, and dripped like poison down his throat to his heart. “Does it matter? I didn’t ask them, I asked you. If it’s a hassle, you could have said no.”

“It’s not a hassle,” said Delilah, turning her eyes back to the road. “I’m just worried about you is all. I’ve never seen you like this. I know you fight with your brothers a lot, but—“

“You don’t know shit,” said Mason firmly. “You don’t know shit about me and my brothers, alright?”

Delilah fell silent and tension filled the space between them. After a few quiet moments, Mason took a big, deep breath. He chucked the finished smoke out the window and reached his left hand over to caress Delilah’s thigh. She was wearing cute black booty shorts that left her legs bare, and the feel of her soft, perfect skin under his touch was more relieving than Mason thought it could ever be.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “None of this is your fault, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. But I don’t want to talk about my brothers.”

“It’s okay,” said Delilah. “You don’t have to talk about them. Just don’t be a dick.” She looked over at him with a red-lipped smirk.

He smiled back and gave her thigh a squeeze. “Deal.”