Ryder (7 page)

Friday night. I flopped down on my bed and closed my eyes for a moment, reliving the bizarre experience
from that afternoon. I still had no more information on Ryder, other than he was a doting father and had a sexy wife, who he clearly couldn’t wait to spend alone-time with. Probably to make baby number three.

Somewhat reluctantly,
I had to admit that they made a gorgeous couple and produced beautiful babies. Totally different to what his and my babies would look like. Mia carried the dominant genes: dark olive skin and raven hair and big brown eyes. Her DNA was powerful, because I saw very little of Ryder in the children, other than the dark hair they all had and the dimpled cheeks when they smiled.

If I had Ryder’s babies, I’d wan
t them to have his piercing grey eyes. His dimple in their cheeks when they smiled. I wouldn’t mind if their hair was dark like his or blond like mine, I knew they’d be cute as hell.

Goddamn! What was I thinking? Having babies with R
yder would mean I’d have to have sex with Ryder. Yet strangely, the idea was not as awful as I’d initially thought. There was something about him that got my panties damp. I’d never believed the notion that women were drawn to badass men. I was sure I’d never be that dumb. Bad boys weren’t my style.

But my
treacherous body was betraying me, showing me that I was like most other women. Since all six foot two of taut muscles and bad attitude had walked into my office that day, I hadn’t been able to think of anything else other than Ryder—his eyes, his lips, him on top of me…

A
n image of him fucking Mia played in my mind. Her big breasts luring him, his hands all over her velvety skin, kissing her, fucking her—making babies. Why that image riled me as much as it did, I couldn’t understand.

I tried to read a
book on my e-reader, as I usually did to relax after work, but I just couldn’t concentrate.

Marcus was picking me up for a movie
later. In spite of it being a blockbuster that I really wanted to see, I wasn’t that excited. Did my lack of enthusiasm have anything to do with my date being Marcus? Shouldn’t I be thrilled at the thought of going on a date with my new boyfriend?

Besides the movie,
Marcus had lined up all sorts of outings for the weekend. He sure was taking this courting thing seriously.

If only Marcus could get my hormones raging the way Ryder did, everything would be perfect.

“Hey, man,” I croaked. Hammer gripped my arm and his heavy body bounced against mine as he hugged me in a fierce bear like grip.

“Hey, brother,” he growled, a grin splitting his face. I’d known Joe, aka Hammer, since I first came to the Scorpions MC. In my book, he was as close to a real brother as a man could get.

I’d come to meet my bo
ys from the club to catch up and make a few arrangements. We met at a park which was only two minutes from the house we were renting. It was just safer here and quicker for me to get back to Mia and the kids.

Ratbag patted me on the back and repeated the greeting. Fuck, I’d missed these guys. They were practically my shadow at the club, and not seeing them for a couple of weeks was something I wasn’t used to.

“So what’ve you fuckers been up to? Causing shit?” They shook with laughter.

“It’s no fun when you’re not part of it, man.” Hammer was still grinning—he hadn’t replaced the tooth he lost in the showdown. Guess he was keeping a low profile, like the rest of us.

I rose an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you cunts missed me? Fuck, you’ll make me cry.”

Ratbag looked at me
as if I was crazy. “What makes you think that, bro?” He drawled in his heavy Australian accent.

Yeah, I’d never admit I missed the fuckers. Or the way Ratbag called the brothers “bro”, as they did in the Land Down Under. He never failed to amuse me with his stories about his homeland and their strange way of speaking.

Since I’d found Ratbag on the streets one night five years ago, pissed out of his fucking skull, he’d pretty much latched on to me as his mentor.
Yeah, like I could ever be someone’s hero.

He’d been robbed of his passport and all his cash by one of our rival gang members and had nowhere to go. Since he was in the country illegally at the time, there wasn’t much he could do, other than live on the streets. Yet somehow, because of his crazy accent, somebody always gave him money or food.

The food he’d guzzle down, because usually he’d have skipped a few meals by then. Ratbag was
always
hungry—he could eat and drink any man under the table. He had an appetite that never quit, yet he was as skinny as he was tall. Even though I was six foot two, I still had to look up to him. And he was fast—he could outrun anyone. Hammer joked that he’d seen Ratbag dodge a bullet once, Matrix style.

The cash he’d collected over the days, he strapped to his body and when he had enough saved up, he’d go on a binge. He’d buy a ‘slab of piss’, as they called a carton of beer in Australia, and treat everybody to a beer or two. For a night, he’d be OK, accepted into the fold of the homeless, and have a few friends.

It was his generosity that impressed me. Even though he had virtually nothing but the clothes on his back, he’d share whatever he had the good fortune of coming his way. I wasn’t an easy man to impress, and I’d never actually tell the fucker that, ‘cause I couldn’t afford him getting a big head about it. But I trusted him with my life. He had a good heart underneath all that fucked up boozing shit. It was a good day when I found Bruce Williams, our Ratbag, the boy from Australia.

“Hey, I need you guys
to come to the house to look after Mia and the kids. I need to go to the hospital to see Cobra. Brother isn’t doing too well and I need to discuss business with him. You cool for nine pm?” 

“Yep. We’ll be there.”

“You can’t come into the house. Young Jamie is having nightmares about everything that’s happened.  I’ll tell Mia you’re outside while I am gone, so she’ll feel safe. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone for, we have a lot of shit to talk about.”

“Take your time, we won’t be in a rush to leave.” Ratbag patted my back. He knew it was going to be hard for me to see Cobra in a hospital bed, shot to fucking pieces, tied to machines to keep him alive.

“You can’t come with the bikes. Wrong for the
neighborhood. Leave your bikes at the shopping center and catch a cab to the house. And make sure nobody is following you.”

“Sure, boss.”

“Don’t call me that. Cobra is still fucking breathing. As long as he’s alive, he’s the boss. Got it?”

Ratbag nodded.

“Anything else I should know?”

“Yeah. Razor said there was a fucking cop looking for you. Asked for you by name. Special anti-terrorist team.” I heard the concern in
Ratbag’s voice.

“They got wind of the arms deal that went bad. They’re sniffing around the compound. Razor said to stay away from there. Meet at shopping
centers or parks whenever necessary.”

Fuck. I knew that shit would come back to haunt me. Cobra and I needed a plan. I couldn’t stay away from the fucking compound forever. I’d go crazy. Suburbia was too quiet for me, the silence at night freaked the fuck out of me. Ever since I was a kid, I couldn’t sleep unless there was noise around me.

“Who’s the cop? Do we know him?” I grunted. I didn’t need more shit in my life. Dealing with our rival MC club, The LA Demon Skulls, was enough.

Ratbag pulled a face. “Mean looking fucker with a vendetta against bikers. Big as a house. If he wasn’t on the copper’s team, he’d be a good brother. He has so much anger
, it fucking pours out of him.”

Just what I needed—an angry cop with revenge issues. Fuck. “Do you have a name?”

Hammer worried his lip for a moment. “Ahh, it has something to do with the weather. Winter, Summer—”

“Get me all the info on him. Should
I be kicking your fucking ass that you haven’t done that already?” I growled.

I shook my head. Was I the only one who could think logically? With both Cobra and me away and just Razor to run the show, I was starting to worry about what was going on at the club. I’d better sort this shit out, fast.

“Hammer,” I barked, “don’t let me down man, I want everything on the motherfucker. Are we clear?”

Hammer was our IT guy. He could hack into any fucking computer and get whatever info we needed. He could also forge a document so that nobody could tell the difference. And even though he’d made Ratbag a new Australian and US passport, Ratbag wasn’t leaving his newly adopted country any time soon.

I’d known Hammer since I was a kid. He’d helped me find Max with his genius hacking skills after we were split up. As soon as I got out of that hellhole of a detention center, I came to the compound with the Malone boys and called it home ever since. Yet I needed to know what’d happened to my little brother. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if he’d survived Tiny’s brutal attack.

Hammer found Maxwell. He was still living with the band, waiting for Marianne to come back. I’d convinced Max that she was never returning, and he came to the
Scorpions MC compound with me for a few years. But Maxwell didn’t fit in. He was too smart. He wanted to read and study, not play pool and darts and drink till he fell down. He refused to get involved in dirty business, and kept telling me I was too smart to live like this for the rest of my life. What he didn’t understand, was that these boys were now my brothers. I owed them my life and my allegiance.

In all that time, t
he only person Max had connected with, was Hammer, because he was really smart and they could talk shit for hours. Hammer had taught Max how to ride a motorcycle and Max tried his best to be a badass, for my sake. But my brother had grand ambitions—he wanted to change the fucking world. Do something good and worthwhile. Good fucking luck to him.

“You look like a sack of shit man,” Cobra said, his eyes beaming.

“And you look like a girl,” I grinned, “wrapped in all those fucking bandages. What’s all this shit keeping you alive?” I gestured toward all the machines he was hooked up to. “Grow some fucking balls, man.” Even though I was kidding with him, I was shocked at how much weight he’d lost and how frail he looked lying in the hospital bed.

Cobra held his side. “Don’t make me laugh, it hurts.”

“Yeah, well white’s not your color. I’ve never seen you wear anything else than black. You look like fucking shit.” I wanted to pick him up and carry him out of there—take him back to where he belonged.

“Well you look like prince fucking charming without your cut. A fancy boy, dressed in a fucking proper shirt. I’d say you’re the one who lost his balls.”

“Glad to see you haven’t lost your fucking sense of humor, brother. Guess it’s a good sign that you can still insult me, like always. Means you’re getting better. And I can kick your ass again sometime soon.”

“It’ll be weeks before they let me out. All the fucking shrapnel they had to dig out—.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with your brain. We can talk...business.”

Concern flickered in his eyes. “How’s Mia? And the kids?”

“She’s good Cobra. So is Isabella and James. They miss you, though.”

“How’s Mia taking what went down? Losing the baby?”

“She’s a woman. You know what bitches are like. All tough the one minute, then a heap of tears the next. But, I’m taking good care of her. I promise.”

“I want to see her, Ryder. See with my own eyes that she’s OK.”

“Right now, you can't. But as soon as she’s strong enough to visit, I’ll make a plan. OK?” He wasn’t happy with my suggestion, but he nodded his head.

He looked worn down. For the first time since I’d know
n him, he looked older than his age. Dark circles under his eyes and deep frown lines changed the highly strung, but proud man I’d always known, into a pathetic looking creature.

“Tell her I'm really sorry.” His voice cracked.

He lay back, closing his eyes. The machines keeping Cobra alive sounded even louder in the thick silence that fell between us.

After a few minutes, he opened his eyes. “Yeah, about talking—I've had a lot of fucking time to think while I’ve been tied up here. Listen, shithead. I want you to promise me something?”

“Yeah? What?” Cobra knew I’d do anything for him. He just had to name it.

“Promise me that if I cark it, you will take up the gavel.” His voice was strained.

“Don't you fucking croak on me, motherfucker.” My insides churned at the thought of losing Cobra. I wouldn’t let him die on me—or Mia and the kids—not if I had any say in it.

“I'm fucking serious, Ryder.” His breathing was
labored. The man was exhausted just from talking. Fuck.

“Cobra. Focus on getting better, man. We’ll worry about passing the gavel when you're six foot under. Not before.”

“The shooting has changed everything. Fuck, for a minute there I saw my whole fucking life flash by. There’s nothing like death staring you down, to make you think about living—and dying.”

“You're too young to snuff it,” I protested.

“We’re all gonna die.”

“Yeah. I just don't want to talk about it.”

“You haven’t promised me yet.”

“Jesus, you're a persistent fuck. I can't take the gavel.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Razor. It should be his.”

“Fuck, Ryder. You’re my brother as much as Razor is. I choose you.”

“I know. And I’m grateful you think that much of me. But Razor—”

“Razor is a fucking hothead. He’s not prez material. You and I know that.”

“It’ll be anarchy at the club. Some of the Originals and the crew will back Razor. Right now we have enough shit with the Demon fuckers.”

A nurse came in to measure Cobra’s blood pressure. We fell silent for a while, lost in our thoughts.

The nurse broke the silence. “Mr. Malone looks tired. I suggest you let him rest now.”

“Yeah. Sure.” I nodded. We still had a shitload of club business to talk about, but now was not the time. I'd wait till the man was stronger. I got up to leave.

“Brother,” Cobra said, his eyelids heavy, “I'm trusting you to take care of everything while I’m in this place. You have to go
back to the club again and check in on what’s happening there.”

“I'll arrange for Ratbag to come
and stake out the house, while I go to check the club. Don't worry, everything’s under control.”

He laughed, a bitter sound. He shook his head slowly. “Wish I believed that. The
Demon fuckers are just waiting for their chance. They want me dead, Ryder—
and you too
. Watch your ass, man. Be careful.”

I gripped his hand and squeezed. “Rest brother, I'll be back soon. We’ll talk more then.”

I hadn’t even told him about the cop who was digging for dirt on me, and therefore on him and the club. I didn't want him to worry any more than he already was.

Cobra felt responsible for Mia having a miscarriage after the shootout. That alone weighed heavily on the man. Although he wouldn’t hesitate to take a fucker’s life, the innocent life of an unborn child was still valued highly by the Scorpions MC.

We were criminals, not monsters. We killed scum of the earth, not one of our own.

Cobra would never forgive himself; he'd taken full responsibility and would carry it to his grave.

Brother had some shit to work out—and a lot of healing to do—not just from the bullet wounds.

Would Mia ever forgive him? Of everything that went down that day, I think that was the one thing Cobra was
most
worried about. I couldn't blame him.