GRIT: A Spartan Riders Novel (2 page)

TWO

“Ain’t tryin’ to piss you off—”

“Then don’t,” Blake “Quick” Mahone, president of the Spartan Riders Club, replied flatly from behind his desk where he was systematically working through a pile of bullshit paperwork that required so many signatures his hand was beginning to cramp, not to mention the horrendous headache that was setting in. Corporate red tape was a pain in his ass.

“But,” Tucker, also known as Country and the Spartan Riders Sergeant at Arms, pressed on, “I think we both know this little problem isn’t gonna just go away.”

Fuck, he did know. Dropping his pen, Blake slumped back in his chair, dragging a heavy hand through his hair. “What’s the word on the street?”

“Straight up? Cruiz is movin’ in. He’s securin’ himself a few miles east and already has his men on the street.”

“Merch?”

“Alla it. Guns, drugs, women. Drove up myself this morning.” This earned a look from Blake that had Country patting the air. “Calm down, Prez, I was quiet about it. No one knew I was there. But shit’s heavy. Whatever Cruiz is planning, he ain’t tryin’ to hide it.”

“Which means whatever he’s up to, it’s big.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Fuck
. Back in the day, when Blake was patching in, he’d heard stories about the guy. Years back, before either of them were old enough to be full-fledged club members, Cruiz was already known for the way he handled business. There was mean. There was vicious. And there was Cruiz. He was a loose cannon, unpredictable.

Word was, in order to secure his seat at the head of the table, he jumped the gun and, instead of inheriting his club’s presidency, he’d done the unthinkable. Two bullets to the back of the head and buried in a shallow grave somewhere in the Nevada desert. At least that’s what the grapevine whispered. The world was a better place without Alejandro Cruiz in it, but it was a wonder the gates of hell didn’t open wide when his son, Ricky, stepped up to fill his papa’s shoes.

It wasn’t that patricide was an approved act among the MC. The problem was that no one was brave enough to stand up to the bastard.

Now, it seemed, Cruiz and his lackeys were about to become
his
problem. And Blake Mahone backed down to no man.

His crew. His family. His turf. He oversaw everything, and he’d vowed to protect it till his dying breath.

But how the hell was he going to tackle this bastard without wiping them all out? “Church Sunday. Let the boys weigh in. We’ll move forward from there.”

With a sharp nod, Country stood and made to move for the door, when he paused. “Hey, isn’t it Ash’s first day in kindergarten?”

“Yeah,” Blake said with a slight twitch of the lips, remembering the rough start to the morning for both of them, starting when Blake set the alarm clock for the wrong time, and ending with a phone call that had him running to the office for a permit that made Ash even later than he already was.

“What time’s he get out? I was thinking I’d take him down to Deb’s for a double scoop.”

Man, it fuckin’ warmed his stone cold heart the way his brothers stepped up to help him raise the kid. He was still trying to figure out how the whole single dad role worked.

“Quarter after twelve.”

“Dude, it’s after one.”

Panic jolted through his limbs and had Blake spinning around in his chair to look up at the digital clock. It took him a minute before he saw that his brother was right. He’d twisted the numbers around.

“Dammit, must have read it wrong,” he muttered to himself, knowing full-well that Country would take it as an honest mistake. Leaving the paperwork where it was, he shrugged on his leather jacket and grabbed his keys.

“Everything on your mind lately? Easy to do.”

Country stepped out of his way as Blake strode past him and out the door, trudging down the trailer’s steps hard enough to make them dance over the loose gravel.

“Lock up on your way out,” he called over his shoulder. Slinging his leg over the bike, Blake fired up the engine on his Fat Boy and tore out of the lot like a man possessed. Another mark to add to a long list of ever-growing fuck-ups when it came to him and fatherhood. If he didn’t love his son so goddamn much, he’d have beat Jodi to the punch and thrown in the towel ages ago.

But just like his brothers and his club, he’d lay his life down for that kid.

***

Apparently, running late was pathological in the Mahone household.

              It was well past noon and all the children had gone home…all except for one. Gabby sat on the top step of Roosevelt Elementary with her purse in her lap and Ash Mahone by her side. She’d already called his home twice with no answer and, since he was her charge to look after, she brushed off the suggestion that he stay inside the office until someone picked him up and decided to wait it out with him.

Hell, she’d have driven him home already if it wasn’t against policy and if it meant getting on with her day.

“I can just walk,” Ash said, his voice unwavering, though Gabby thought she might have detected a hint of despair in there somewhere. “I know the way.”

If she were in his shoes, she’d definitely be despairing. What kind of parent forgot their kid? While Ash just sat there, completely stoic, she was growing more and more upset by the minute. She may not have kids of her own, but she couldn’t imagine an instance where she could forget them if she did. He deserved better than to be forgotten, and when his father finally decided to show his face, she had a few choice words for him.

“You’re not walking,” she said firmly. She knew better than most that the world wasn’t safe. Small children like Ash needed protection.

His dark eyes lifted to hers. “Why, because I’m just a kid?”

She barely caught herself from jerking her head back in surprise. This kid…

Maintaining a firm upper lip, she stared right back. “Yes, because you’re just a kid. It’s not safe to go walking the streets alone.”

“But Sara and Max do it,” he grumbled, clearly annoyed with her insistence that he stay put.

“Well, Sara and Max live across the street,” she reminded him. They’d stood on the very step they were now sitting on not an hour ago and watched them go inside their homes, both greeted by a parent. So the situation, as much as Ash might have wanted it to be the same, couldn’t be more different.

Still, Gabby was frustrated. Both because sitting here, babysitting after hours, was cutting into her own plans for the day, and because Ash was just a kid who should, at the very least, rank high enough on his parents’ to-do list to warrant a ride home.

Hopefully, they’d arrive before dark.

“Do you know your mom’s number? Maybe we can give her a try.”

“My dad told me I’m not allowed to talk to her anymore.”

Well, if that didn’t spark her curiosity. The question was right on the tip of her tongue when Gabby heard a deep rumble of thunder in the distance.

Only it wasn’t thunder. She’d grown up in this town, so she was very familiar with the sound of a dual header system. The deep, aggressive growl grew steadily louder the closer it got, stirring up a mixture of excitement and dread deep in her stomach. Sucking in a sharp breath and sitting up tall, she hoped she appeared fiercer than she felt.

Together, she and Ash focused down the long stretch of road, watching and waiting for the motorcycle to reveal itself. When it did, Gabby couldn’t help admiring the piece of machinery—shiny, sleek, and black with chrome accents that glinted in the filtered sunlight. The sound alone boosted her heart rate up a notch, but when her gaze drifted to the rider, it felt as if a jackhammer had taken root in her chest cavity.

Hot damn, but a man dressed in head-to-toe leather was a heart-stopper, even if everything about him screamed
Danger, Will Robinson!
Gabby had always been intrigued by the misfits that called themselves the Spartan Riders, but her parents had done a good job warning her off rebels like them. Bikers and good girls didn’t mix. Not at all. Not that it’d ever stopped her from accumulating a fair share of bad boyfriends. But hell and blast, she wasn’t up for another broken heart. And a man like that had
broken heart
written all over him.

Listen to her. As if she actually had a chance in hell of catching the eye of a Spartan. Not that she wanted to. Everyone in town knew the only women they were interested in were of the scantily clad, loose morals, pole dancing variety. And by pole, she didn’t necessarily mean a stripper pole. Although she’d heard a lot of them did that too.

As the bike began to slow as it reached the school parking lot, Gabby grew concerned. Men like that were trouble with a capital T. Normally, she wouldn’t bat an eyelash, confident in her ability to hold her own, but bikers weren’t known for frequenting elementary schools, and with a child’s welfare to consider, she wasn’t about to take any chances.

She was just about to reach for Ash’s sleeve and tug him back inside when the boy rose to his feet and skipped excitedly down the stairs.

“Ash!” she shouted, fear taking root in her gut even as her mind struggled to process the picture playing out in front of her.

The bike rolled to a complete stop, the driver placing both heavily boot-clad feet on the ground and, with a creak of leather, lifted his helmet.

Her. Heart. Stopped.

Gabby had never seen anything like him. Short, inky black hair, a strong, square-cut jaw covered in thick beard growth, defined cheekbones, and heavy brows. A set of eyes that shown silver in the sunlight met hers briefly, just long enough to steal what was left of her breath. He gave her a sharp jerk of his head, as if in hello, and then returned his attention to Ash, who plunked a child-sized bright blue helmet on his head. The man she assumed was his father spoke in low tones that rumbled nearly as deep as the bike’s pipes as he reached down and began fastening it under his chin.

Gabby took one look at the two of them and the bike, and marched down to meet them, catching the tail end of their conversation.

“Sorry I was late, buddy.”

“It’s okay, Daddy.”

“Nah, it’s no—”

“Hi,” she said, her voice bright but razor sharp. She was not at all happy, and she wanted him to know it. Thrusting out her hand she said, “I’m Gabby Morgan, Ash’s teacher. I missed you at this morning’s meet and greet.”

Straightening on his seat, those gray eyes swept over her in open appreciation that sent tingles all the way down to her toes. While the danger held a smidgeon of appeal at a distance, Gabby could now see why women all but melted in the face of men like him. With one look, this one made her warm all over. But she wasn’t about to let that little detail cloud her judgment.

He extended his hand, clasping hers in a rough but delicate hold, and held. “Blake Mahone, Ash’s dad. We were running behind this morning.”

She’d gathered as much. “Yes, Ash mentioned you had some business to tend to.” Withdrawing her hand from his, Gabby crossed her arms over her chest, an action that drew Mr. Mahone’s eyes. Another rush of heat climbed into her cheeks when she realized that, rather than make her appear mean and scary, the move pushed her breasts up and out, but Gabby ignored that too.

“Mr. Mahone, you do realize that, in addition to this morning, you’re over an hour late. Today was a half-day.”

Lifting his arm, he scratched the back of his neck, appearing almost shameful. Yet Gabby suspected that the man had probably never felt a moment’s shame in his life. “Yeah, time got away from me. It won’t happen again.”

It damn well better hadn’t. That’s what she wanted to say, but she held her tongue, determined to be nice and give the man a chance. Everyone was entitled to one screw-up. “We tried calling several times, but no one answered. There’s no other number on file besides yours either. You might consider informing the office of a backup in case anything like this happens again.”

Blake Mahone’s eyes narrowed a fraction, his impression of her obviously shifting to something more unfavorable. A muscle in his jaw flexed and, with a curt nod, he reached back to assist Ash onto the bike.

“Duly noted, Miss Morgan.” Then he pulled his helmet back on and acted as if she wasn’t even there. “Ready to fly, buddy?”

“Wait, you’re not seriously driving your son home on this…
thing
, are you?”

The dark, reflective visor turned toward her, gifting her a vision of herself. A deep, dark scowl pinched her lips and scorn-filled eyes she normally thought were fairly attractive stared back at her. Man, did she really look that bitchy?

His rough voice followed, muffled behind the helmet, reclaiming her attention. “That’s the plan.”

She opened her mouth to protest once more, intent on informing him of all the possible dangers, when he revved his engine, canceling her out. She waited for the engine to die down to a low rumble before her lips parted, but once more, he twisted the handle, filling the air with the bike’s angry roar.

Oh, wow. What an ass.
Clearly the man didn’t care to hear it. But what else should she expect from someone who couldn’t even bother to be on time. A scowl twisted her face and she pursed her lips, backing up a step and making a motion with her arm for him to proceed.