Chaos Bound (28 page)
He cupped her face in his hands, stared into her eyes. “There is no Holt the Sinner. The only Holt is the one you know, and I want you in any way I can have you. If that was too much, we don’t do it again.”
Naiya covered his hands with her. “It’s not just that. I’m not a biker chick. I don’t want to be around bikers again. You need your brothers. You need a woman who loves the life and can give you what you want. That’s not me. I don’t want to be part of the club. When you go back to the Sinners, to Tank, I can’t go with you.”
“Then I won’t go.” He settled on the bed beside her and picked up the remote, casually flicking through the channels as if he hadn’t just decided to turn his back on a life he clearly loved and the brother who had openly wept when he found him.
“Seriously?” Her voice rose in pitch. “You’re just going to turn your back on them? For me?”
Holt shrugged. “You’re the best fucking thing that’s happened to me. The only thing in my life that makes sense. Tank said the brothers came looking for me, but I don’t know if I believe him, and even if it’s true, I don’t know if I can go back. I’m a different man now. I got different goals. Viper’s after you, and I’m gonna protect you with my last dying breath.”
She shook her head, her momentary despair fading away beneath a mix of concern and exasperation. He needed to go back to his club, reconcile with his brothers, hear them out. That’s how things were supposed to go. After hating them for so long, he needed closure. How could he make a decision about the future when he hadn’t dealt with the past? How could she?
“Did anyone ever tell you that you have a flare for drama and a very irritating stubborn streak?”
“Tank.”
Naiya twisted her ring around her finger. “Tank who is even now probably sitting downstairs waiting for you to show? He was so excited about taking you back to the club. He loves you Holt. If you don’t go, it will tear him in two.”
Holt lifted an eyebrow. “Then come for Tank if you won’t do it for me.”
Naiya stared at him, considering. Maybe she could deal with her past and help Holt at the same time. She could hang for a bit in the clubhouse, deal with her fear. She didn’t have to stick around. And she wouldn’t be alone. Despite their rough encounter, she trusted Holt more now, not less. His assurances and his willingness to just walk away for her, a geeky girl with a troubled past, made her want to reach inside and find the strength he seemed convinced she had.
She reached out and stroked a finger along his bristly jaw, more of an excuse to touch him than an invitation to start something new. She hadn’t made a mistake opening up to Holt. He made her feel wanted and cherished, even after she tried to push him away. But sharing her pain and her body were not the same as sharing her heart. She needed to keep her walls up, protect herself. Despite his protests, Holt was a Sinner. What would happen if he decided to stay?
TANK
T-Rex was alive!
Tank mounted his bike outside Rider’s Bar and accelerated down the street. If he went back inside, he would be tempted to share his secret, and he’d promised to give T-Rex time.
He’d never broken a promise and he didn’t intend to start now. Especially when T-Rex was involved.
Christ.
That moment when he saw T-Rex on the sidewalk … Never in a million years would he have guessed that today would end with T-Rex coming home.
With his bike on full throttle he hit the highway and blasted down the road. He couldn’t go back to the clubhouse because he was burning to share his secret, his joy, and the absolute thrill of discovering his searching, his hope, and his faith hadn’t been in vain.
This night deserved a toast, but T-Rex didn’t want to go for a drink. He was worried about Naiya.
Sweet girl. Beautiful. Spine of steel, walking into Rider’s Bar the way she did and going behind T-Rex’s back to save him. But Tank didn’t get that relationship. She was the opposite of the loud, brash, chatty girls T-Rex usually went for—women who were the life of the party, aggressive, confident, and a challenge to get into bed. Ironically, Naiya was Tank’s type, and Ella was T-Rex’s type.
Ella who had hacked into his phone.
What the fuck was he going to do? He couldn’t face the humiliation of telling his brothers, and there was always the risk they would tell Jagger, and he would be kicked out of the club. T-Rex would have kept his secret, but he couldn’t burden his brother on the eve of his return. He would have to sort out the problem himself. Tank had been played, and now it was his turn to do the playing. He had to find out what Ella had learned from going through his phone and what she intended to do with the information. Failure wasn’t an option.
After fuelling up his bike and buying a good bottle of whiskey as an excuse for his visit, he drove to Ella’s house in a fancy suburb of Conundrum. He parked at the end of the block and walked past the assorted BMWs, Aston Martins and Bentleys, pausing to admire what had to be one of the coolest fucking bikes he’d ever seen: a Harley Sportster bobber boasting ape hangers and custom paint on the tins, all black and red to match the painted rims. It had been totally modded out and polished to a high shine. Someone had dropped some serious cash and some serious time into that bike. It was all about power and show, the kind of bike a president would ride.
With the bagged whiskey in one hand, he knocked on Ella’s door. She hadn’t answered the text he’d sent her, but he’d taken a chance she was at home, and he was glad he did. Her car was in the driveway, and the lights were on. Party time.
He heard swearing, the thud of feet, and then Ella pulled open the door.
Tank had never seen her look anything other than impeccably groomed. Even when she’d tried to seduce him the other night, she remained perfectly composed. But now, she was totally disheveled, her lipstick smeared, her hair tangled, and the pristine white silk robe she had teased him with the other day was dirty and torn.
“Ella? You okay?”
She stepped forward, blocking the door, and fixed him with what could only be an exasperated stare. “What are you doing here, James?”
Tank held up the bottle. “Thought you might want to have a drink with me. T-Rex is back.” He didn’t have to feign his enthusiasm. His joy at having T-Rex back was almost overwhelming.
Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and she cocked her head to the side. “He’s back with the Sinners?”
Tank’s shoulders dropped the tiniest bit. Naiya had given him T-Rex’s cut, explaining that T-Rex refused to wear it. But now that Tank had explained everything, tomorrow they would go to the clubhouse, and T-Rex would wear his cut, and they would sit side by side at the boardroom table, and they would drink together, and laugh together, and everything would be right with the world.
Not that he could share any of this with Ella. He had to very careful about what he said. She was a reporter and they were all about taking small pieces of information and making them big. “Yeah. That’s right. Let me in, and we can toast him together. I wanna thank you for offering to help me and believing me, and I owe you an apology for the other day when I had to leave … unexpectedly.”
“Of course I believed you.” Her voice dropped to a sultry purr, and she pressed a kiss to his throat, her robe falling partway open. “I guess that was him down by the lake, too. With his girl. Taking care of that Black Jack VP…?”
Say nothing. Say nothing. Say nothing.
This was his game, not hers. He just had to remember how much trouble he’d gotten into already by thinking with his dick.
“Dunno. We didn’t talk much. I’m gonna organize a welcome-home party—the best damn party the MC has ever seen.”
“He’s lucky to have you,” she said.
“And you’re lucky to have me here tonight so fucking jacked with happiness I’m gonna give you the time of your life.”
She bit her lip, sighed. “I can’t, baby. I was just on my way to the studio. There’s a breaking news story tonight, and I got called in.”
“Dressed like this?” He slid his hand over her robe, soft and silky to the touch.
“No, silly.” She smiled her TV smile, all teeth, and no warmth. “I was sleeping when the studio called, and I was just on my way to the shower when you knocked.”
“Just one drink.” He squeezed her ass, buried his face in her neck. But his nose wrinkled when he breathed her in. Instead of the heady scent of Poison, she smelled of smoke and leather, and something musky, manly … like cologne.
She stiffened in his arms. “Really, James. You need to go. I don’t have time.”
Tank jerked back, scowled. “You got a man in there, Ella?”
Her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard. “No.”
The skin on the back of his neck prickled. She’d been so keen to get him inside before, but now she was pushing him away, and that scent … maybe he could work with it. Fly into a jealous rage like he’d seen Cade, Zane, and Jagger do when someone was sniffing around their old ladies.
“Out of my way.” He shoved her roughly aside, pulling up short when he saw the state of her normally pristine living room—beer bottles and cigarette butts littered the tables, cushions were strewn across the floor. His gaze fell on the shards of glass, balled-up tissues, and empty pizza box on the thick, white carpet.
“It looks like a bomb went off in here. What happened?”
“I had a party,” she said, dismissively. “It got out of hand.”
Tank heard the creak of the door. A thud. He followed the sound to the kitchen where the back door swung open on its hinges. Pushing it open, he heard the unmistakable roar of a Harley in the distance.
The
Harley.
Who the hell was on that bike? And was it the man who had been in Ella’s house? He didn’t buy the party story. Not with the lingering scents of sex and cologne, her disheveled appearance, and the fact there was only one pizza box on the floor.
He took off around the corner, belting it for the road. When he spotted the Harley in the distance, he jumped on his bike and punched the throttle. And although he was fast, he wasn’t fast enough. The distinctive rumble faded, and by the time he hit the highway, it was gone.
Determined to find out what was going on, he returned to Ella’s house, only to find the lights out, the doors locked, and her car gone.
Something didn’t sit right about the whole situation.
But damned if he knew what it was.
If Tank hadn’t been waiting in the hotel lobby, Holt would have skipped town with Naiya, never to return. He still hadn’t managed to get his head around the fact that his brothers hadn’t betrayed him. They had come and Viper stole him away.
“I knew you’d want your bike,” Tank said, leading Holt and Naiya outside. “So I had Shooter and Benson drop mine off this morning so I could bring yours into town.” He hesitated, grimaced when Holt frowned.
“We saved it from the fire. After Viper took you, he burned down Evie’s shop.”
“I knew about the fire.” Holt put a hand on Naiya’s back as they stepped out onto the street, part of him involved in the conversation, and the other part searching the street for danger.
“I kept it cleaned and polished and safe in Evie’s new shop.” Tank stopped and gestured to the bike. “It’s good as new. Maybe better ’cause I had the mechanics give it a real good work over, and I detailed it myself this morning.”
Emotion welled up in Holt’s throat as he drank in the sight of his ice and teal Heritage Softail Classic. He and Tank had gone to the local Harley dealer to buy the bike the day after he’d been patched into the club. Honest. Clean. Uncluttered and unaffected by passing fads, the Softail Classic dripped nostalgia, from the horseshoe oil tank to the classic lines of a vintage frame. This bike was all about class and tradition.
Holt nodded. “It looks good. Real good.” Damn he’d missed Tank. He was always doing little things that meant a lot.
Tank smiled. “I filled it up, too.”
“Appreciated, brother.” He mounted the bike, sat for a moment remembering the feel of saddle between his thighs, the hard rubber grips, and the weight of the bike. Naiya slid onto the pillion seat behind him and even she felt right—her arms around his waist, her breasts pressed up against his chest, her soft whisper that it was going to be okay.
“Something’s missing.” Tank jogged over to his bike, parked in front of Holt. His black denim Fat Bob took its styling cues from the barrel of a tommy gun and was one sweetheart of a ride. Tank pulled a cut from the saddlebag and held it out to Holt.
“Naiya gave this to me last night. You’ll—”
“Not ready for that yet.” Holt held up a hand. “You keep it for me.”
Tank’s face creased in consternation. “You can’t go into the clubhouse without your cut.”
“Jagger can make an exception for me.” Holt had no idea if Jagger would, in fact, make an exception for him. Three months ago he wouldn’t have even considered challenging Jagger or breaking the rules. But things had changed—he had changed. And if Jagger kicked him out for not wearing his cut, after all he’d been through, he would be glad to go.
He followed Tank through Conundrum, but when they hit the open road heading north out of the city, he flicked the throttle and went flat out, blasting past Tank, a grin on his face. Tank whooped with delight and accelerated, easily matching Holt’s speed since he wasn’t carrying any extra weight. For the next twenty blissful minutes Holt let everything go—Viper, revenge, the Sinners, the uncertainty of his future. He gave himself over to the thrill of the ride, the freedom of the open road, the wind in his face, and the beautiful woman tucked against his back who easily rolled with the flow of his riding style and never second-guessed his decisions.
His respite lasted until they hit the gravel drive leading through the trees to the Sinner clubhouse. Almost immediately, his pulse kicked up a notch and tension tightened his brow. Tank directed him to his old parking spot and then ushered them toward the clubhouse.
Although he had only been away three months, Holt saw everything through new eyes. The former country house they had appropriated from a drug dealer who tried to cheat the club had been renovated to become the new Sinner clubhouse, but little attention had been paid to the exterior. As they climbed the worn, wooden steps up to the porch, Holt saw little things he’d never noticed before: loose boards, rotted railings and a broken screen door. He noticed the blue siding had faded to gray, and the huge front windows were dirty and streaked. Inside was no better: a sea of clutter covered the worn, wooden floors; the chandelier overhead had lost a few pieces, and the red carpet leading up the grand staircase had seen better days. And had the clubhouse always smelled of stale beer and pizza?
