Unruly (22 page)

A
LAMO WASN
'
T TERRIBLY SHOCKED TO FIND
K
ILLER ON
his porch an hour later.

“I crawled out of a warm bed with Red to come check on your dumb ass,” he said. Most of the Wolves wouldn't show up unannounced, but Killer had been the club enforcer since he was old enough to pull a trigger for Echo. The normal rules weren't ever something he considered.

“Don't recall calling you,” Alamo pointed out even as he found an ashtray.

“Big Eddie called after he dropped Dash off here after getting Ellie's car.” Killer tapped the tip of his cigarette on the counter. “I'm leaving town soon. Dad's going to ask you to step up.”

Alamo stared at him. He'd been here only a short while. Gaining any position of importance with Echo himself was unexpected. On the other hand, Dash would be shit at being an enforcer. It didn't take a genius to see that he was more brains than violence. Carefully Alamo said, “I'm not looking to start trouble, but I don't want to be taking orders from Dash, especially right now.”

“I get that, and so does Echo.” Killer shrugged. “You did right by us with that mess over with the pricks who tried to screw with the girlie bars.”

That had been more of a showing that they had the muscle and manpower than anything. Another club had tried to start some shit at a strip club that the Wolves owned. The manager called. The Wolves rode over to the little roadside dive and made their presence felt. It was just business.

He shrugged. “It wasn't a thing. I'm good with a fist or two.”

“And that's what Echo needs,” Killer said. He cupped his hand around his cigarette as he lit it. After a long drag, he muttered, “I'm going to miss these.”

Alamo shook his head and grinned. “Little slip of a woman's got you whipped, boy.”

“Damn straight she does,” Killer said. “Red's worth it.” He inhaled again and crushed his mostly unsmoked cigarette in the ashtray. “Didn't say I was
opposed
to quitting for her, just that I'll miss it.”

After a moment, he continued, “You're going to need to sort your shit out with Dash. I'm not going to be here to keep you two in check, and Echo's not as nice as I am.”

Alamo snorted.

“Dad needs someone to do my job,” Killer said, clarifying exactly what position was open. “Dash . . . would be a fine president if that's the way things go, but he has no stomach for violence.”

“Are you saying I do?” Alamo asked lightly, even though Killer was affirming his own theories of the situation.

“I know you,” Killer said bluntly. “You'd keep him . . .
them
safe. Dash is an idiot sometimes, but he's my family. Echo . . . it would be bad for the club if he got hurt, and I need someone I trust to make sure that doesn't happen. I suggested he look to you.”

Alamo nodded. “Aside from the part where I need to take orders from Dash, it's doable.”

Killer laughed. “Boy's not going to end up president any time soon. My father's not stepping aside, and Dash isn't even ready to step up. For now, what you'd need to do is keep my father safe, do what he thinks needs doing. I'll talk to my cousin before I go.” He paused, and then when Alamo said nothing, he prompted, “Is that a yes?”

It was an honor. They both knew it. Being recommended by Killer was a testament of his trust. Being offered a position by Echo was even more remarkable. Not all clubs handled things the way this one did, but Echo was like a king. Alamo had heard stories of his devotion and ferocity before arriving. Since joining this chapter, he'd seen proof with his own eyes. Echo was well worth taking a bullet for.

“I'll keep your father safe,” Alamo swore.

A visible tension dropped from Killer's shoulders. He looked less strained, and Alamo wondered how hard this decision to leave the club was. Maybe it was easier because Killer was blood family to Echo, so there was still a tie to the club, but maybe that actually made it harder. Leaving Zoe in Carolina to move to Tennessee was difficult in a way that Alamo hadn't expected. She was a student, an adult, and thoroughly capable. He'd still felt like he'd left one of his lungs behind, stretched out on the sidewalk where anyone could trample or ruin it. If something happened to Zoe, Alamo would be more devastated than if he lost an actual lung. He realized that Killer was feeling a bit like that when it came to leaving the club, especially his cousin and his father.

“I don't like Dash, but I'll do my job there too.”

Killer nodded. “That's why I recommended you.”

They stood in a heavy silence filled with the kind of topics that neither man really discussed comfortably until Alamo wondered what was left on Killer's mind. After several moments, he had his answer. Killer added, “I count you as a friend, but that doesn't change things. Ellie's good people. She's got no father or brother to do this, and I didn't do it with Dash when he started sniffing around her . . . but I'm doing it now.” He met Alamo's gaze and said, “Don't hurt her. If you do, I'll be paying you a less friendly visit.”

“Not a whole lot of Wolves stupid enough to issue me threats.”

Killer nodded again. “Not a lot who would be able to take you down. Don't forget that I'm one of those that can. I should've put Dash into a wall years ago for how he treated her, but . . . I let myself think they could sort it out. That was a mistake, but I'm not making another one where she's concerned. Think of her as my sister. You hurt my sister, and I'll be paying you a visit.”

There were a lot of things that could be said, and maybe if they were different people, some of those things would need saying. Neither of them was big on explaining the details—nor did they need to. Killer had stood up for Ellen, but not in the territorial way Dash had done. He'd simply pointed out that there was someone who would take up for her if needs be. Alamo respected him for it.

“We going to paint each other's nails next or you want to see if there's any races on the television? I have an hour or so.”

Killer flipped him off and grabbed the television remote.

Chapter 20

I
WAS ALL BUT READY TO START PACING LIKE A CAGED BEAST
as I waited for Alamo to pull up outside. I was ready, and I'd never succeeded at patience. I examined my outfit again, fussing and reconsidering for what felt like the eighteenth time. I'd found a shirt that was layers. Underneath was a soft black camisole. On top of that was a deep crisscross V-neck in a sheer fabric that felt like I'd imagine clouds must, soft and almost intangible. I'd gone with mauve for that layer, and then I'd embroidered button tabs that gathered and pinched the fabric up slightly at mid-biceps. I'd made it myself, like most of my favorites. The unexpected benefit of being poor was that I'd had to find a way to create clothes with less. I repurposed things, shopped the bargain bins at the fabric store, and haunted thrift stores. It resulted in an eclectic style that was often both practical and varied.

Tonight, admittedly, my style was a little swayed by my audience. I wanted Alamo to want me badly enough that he couldn't see straight, so I was straddling a line between biker babe and girlie girl. Hopefully it would work.

It had been years since I'd gone riding for the sake of riding. Sure, Noah had given me a lift, and sometimes we'd gone riding, but with him there were strings. I hadn't realized how many until today. Even with him, it had been a good eighteen months since we'd gone for a relaxed ride. It had become an issue. We'd meet up and go where there was no chance of being seen, no risk of our status as friends with benefits being found out . . . at least that was what I thought. He'd obviously been a little less concerned since he'd put me under his protection.

The older bikers acted a lot like I was a little sister or a favored niece. It was always a joy to even get a ten-minute lift to class or home, but it wasn't quite the same as a long ride with no goal other than enjoying the machine and the biker. With the older bikers, I kept my distance as much as I could on the back of the machine. You'd never guess it by the way a lot of women were on bikes, but it wasn't technically necessary to wrap around a biker like a barnacle clinging to a cliff. Riding was an excuse to be close, but it wasn't actually
necessary
. . . just fun.

So I kept my distance from the older bikers, especially the one memorable time Echo himself gave me a ride to school. I felt like the queen of badasses that day. The club president let
me
on his Harley.

The younger bikers were mostly hands-off with me, and I now understood why. The renewed thought of Noah's meddling made me want to scream, but I had a much better plan for all that emotion. Now that there was no obstacle, I could simply be with Alamo, and that was exactly what I was looking for today. It wasn't a casual decision—or one I made often. I could count my bed partners without needing all my fingers, but I wanted to add one more to the list.

A small voice whispered that what I really wanted was for it to be the
last
one I added to the list.

I heard Alamo before I saw him. I watched as he roared down the street and felt a bit like a child about to open a present. In the street outside my house was a beautiful Wide Glide, chromed-out hot-red detailing on the tank. Astride that beautiful Harley was Alamo. He looked up at my window as if he knew I was there.

I waved. I wasn't about to start playing coy. He already knew I wanted him.

After I checked my lipstick and hair one last time, I grabbed my jacket and helmet, and then I headed downstairs.

“Going now,” I called out to Mama as I walked past her and opened the door. I stepped out and pulled the door shut behind me before she could reply.

Alamo was still astride his bike, and it occurred to me briefly that he was preening just a little too. I thought back over seeing him at the bar, and I had to wonder if this was something bigger for him too.

“How long?” I blurted out.

“How long what?” he asked.

“How long have you wanted me?”

Alamo took a breath before making an approving sound and saying, “You're something else, Ellen.”

“Yeah?”

He reached out and pulled me closer. I went willingly. There was always something intoxicating in being grabbed by a man I wanted. I liked it, the possessiveness and impatience of it. Being wanted was a powerful feeling. The only way to get closer was if I straddled his leg or tried to slide onto the bike in front of him. I ended up with his knee between my thighs, and one of my arms around his neck. The other hung at my side so I didn't drop my helmet.

I tilted my chin up and kissed him.

It was everything I could want, as good as our kiss in front of his tub. He might be quiet, but he applied that same sort of attention to listening to my body, responding to every cue I didn't even realize I'd offered. He kissed like I was an exam he wanted to pass—and I was pretty sure that there wasn't much that would curl my toes quite like his kisses.

I wanted to find out, though, enough that I wasn't sure I wanted to take the time to ride. I loved riding as much as any woman who has experienced the freedom and bliss of being on a Harley with a beautiful man. After a couple of kisses, however, I was willing to bet my voice that I'd enjoy sex with Alamo even more than a ride.

When he pulled back, he answered my almost-forgotten question. “Since I met you, Ellen. I wanted you the day I met you. You were fierce even though I knew you were hurting, and you were bold, and God help, you have a body that would make a saint want to sin.” His hand was splayed across my low back. He slid it down over the curve of my ass. “And I got to tell you that I've never been mistaken for a saint.”

I lowered my hand from his neck, trailing it down his chest and to his very defined abs. I stopped at his belt buckle. “Good.”

He smiled. “Climb on the back, woman, or we're going to end up missing the ride part of this date.”

“Date?” I didn't squeak the word, but it was a close thing.

“Date.” He cupped the side of my face with one hand. “I heard you on the no strings, but I want to get to know you better, so this
is
a date. I want you, but not just in my bed.”

“So . . . what does that mean?” I was feeling vaguely panicked at the idea of losing Alamo before I even had him, but I didn't want any confusion on what this was.

“It means that I want to
talk
to you too. It means that if you're riding with me, you're going to have to tolerate being with me in public. Is that a problem?”

“No . . . but I'm not looking for anything heavy. I mean—”

“How about we start with a ride like you said earlier?”

I stepped back a little further and put my helmet on. “We could talk in bed . . . just ride to your place.”