Unruly (7 page)

“I still like you, too.” I paused and then added in a small voice, “I've missed talking to you.”

He nodded again. “Don't know why we stopped talking. Sure Dash was a dick after you and I . . .” His words faded. “I should've been around, though, not let Dash's issues mess up our friendship.”

“Right there with you,” I admitted. “I hated that you knew about me and him, but I still had to pretend you didn't.”

“You know that
you
were the last time Dash and I were at odds over a girl. The only other time, actually,” Killer pointed out. “That time I stepped off. He said you were his, and I stepped away.”

“Then tell him to do the same now,” I suggested. “If Aubrey means that much . . .”

Killer gave me a slow smile. “Difference between Dash and me is that I want her to
choose
me. I don't want to be the only choice she could make, but the one she wants to make. Stupid, maybe, but there it is.”

We had reached my badly dinged and faded Honda Civic, and when we stopped, I looked up at Killer and told him, “It's not stupid at all.”

He nodded and motioned toward the car. “Go on. I need to go tend to a few things, and I'm not going to be able to go do any of them until you're in the car and on your way.”

I debated pointing out that I'd have been walking to my car on my own, that I did so all the time, that I was the daughter of a Wolf, so most people wouldn't bother me anyhow. Killer knew all that. The fact was, he'd always had an overprotective streak, and if we were going to be friends again, I'd need to either deal with it or fight with him regularly. I decided I'd
try
to accept it.

“If it's meant to be with her, it will be,” I told him.

Killer grinned. “It is. Red's the one. She just needs to admit it.”

I shook my head, not in doubt but because I felt a little bit of sympathy for Aubrey. Killer wasn't the sort to let anyone or anything stand in the way of what he wanted. Neither was Noah. That used to be something we
all
had shared, but I'd let myself forget it. I wanted things with Noah to work, but he hadn't. If he had really wanted us to work out, we would've. That was all the proof I needed to realize that we would've never been more than the half relationship we'd had. Once Noah realized that, too, we could resume our friendship. He would realize it eventually. The thought made me smile slightly: I'd have my friend back someday. Of course, then I'd have both him
and
Killer circling me like rabid guard dogs again.

I climbed into the car, thinking about the past and the future. Noah and I weren't meant to be, and we'd been fighting it by pretending that we could be something we weren't. If Aubrey and Killer were
right
together and they both wanted it, they could find a way. That was the magic: fitting and wanting it to work. Noah and I had neither, not in a relationship way. The longer we'd been apart, the more obvious this became to me. When I was around Alamo . . . I felt something unexpected. It was a click, a strike of lightning, that rare zing that marked an incredible possibility. That didn't guarantee anything, but I wanted the chance to find out.

Chapter 6

L
IFE WENT BACK TO NORMAL
. I
WORKED ON MY DESIGNS
and tried to keep up with everything else. The familiar routine of it was comforting. I wanted more, but after years of drama with Noah, I'd come to enjoy the peace of the way things had been the past few months.

Okay, I wasn't
entirely
enjoying it. I was frustrated that Alamo hadn't so much as asked me to grab coffee. His gaze lingered often enough that either he was studying me like I was an insect or he liked the look of me, but he did nothing about it. So when I finally ran into him at the parking lot of Wolves & Whiskey bar alone, I stepped in his path.

“How are you?”

He looked at me, expressions on his face changing so rapidly that I didn't know what to think. After an awkward moment, he said, “I'm good.”

“You seem busy.”

“Settling in with the club.” He shrugged. “Doing a few jobs.”

The door opened and a couple of strangers came out of the bar. Alamo tensed as he glanced at them. I wasn't sure if it was simply the tendency of Wolves not to like people walking behind them or if it was being seen with me. I tried to tell myself that not everyone was like Noah. There was no reason I could think of that Alamo wouldn't want to be seen talking to me.

“Are you okay, Ellen?”

“Always.”

“Did you need anything?”

I forced a smile and said, “No. I just never seem to be able to catch you unless there's a bunch of people around, so I thought I'd stop you . . . Sometimes it's nice to talk without an audience, you know?”

Alamo looked away from me, gaze fixed on the door of the bar as if he was expecting it to open again. When he glanced back at me, he said, “You let me know if you
do
need anything.”

“Right,” I muttered. “If you don't mind, just tell Aubrey that I'll call her. You'll save me a few minutes. I was to be here, and I can't stay, so . . . do you mind?”

Apparently, it wasn't just a coincidence that he was never around long when I was. Sure, he offered to be there for me if there was an emergency or a crisis, but offering to be there was just what the Wolves did. Bikers were all about protecting the people that were part of their club. Since Alamo's first encounter with me was a rescue, it wasn't shocking that he was stressing that he would be there for me. He knew that Killer and Noah cared about me, so it was good logic to watch out for me. Maybe it wasn't all politics—and I hoped it wasn't—but it wasn't what I wanted from him, either. His attitude today made it far too clear that he wanted nothing to do with me.

I tried to tell myself that it didn't hurt, that it was nice not to have a plateful of drama. I tried to convince myself that it didn't sting that Alamo rejected me at every turn. I tried to pretend that it was better to know now. I lied. I felt that connection, that potential for electricity, and I wanted it.

He obviously didn't.

“Are you sure everything is okay?” Alamo asked as I started to turn away from him.

I waved over my shoulder without turning back. “A lot to do,” I lied.

Then I got in my car and drove away without even glancing at him. It was silly to let myself care that a man wasn't interested in me. I'd spent enough time dealing with that with Noah. I wasn't going to do it again . . . except I couldn't seem to stop thinking about Alamo. I felt like the air around us was humming when I saw him. How could he not feel it, too?

I cranked up the radio and sang the whole way home. Like always, music was the cure to my mood. I wasn't so foolish as to think that singing would fix the
causes
of my emotions, but it let me siphon them off so I wasn't a wreck because of them.

When I pulled in at my house, I was extra glad that I'd done so. The man sitting on my front porch was the one man I owed the most loyalty in this world. The president of the Southern Wolves was the man who'd protected and sheltered my mother and me for as long as I could remember. His visits weren't always a good omen, but as the daughter of a Wolf, I was still at his command—as were the families of the rest of the Wolves. We could've stepped away from the club when Daddy died, but instead we'd become even closer to the Wolves, especially Echo.

I cut off the engine. The lack of music seemed suddenly loud in that way that sudden absences can be. My tension was lessened slightly as Echo looked my way and gave me a small smile.

“Ellen,” he said by way of greeting as I walked toward him.

“Echo,” I said as lightly as I could. It was still an effort not to sound like a child about to be chastened when I was alone facing him. Of the three of us who had Echo's attention growing up, Killer was the only one who managed to pull off sassing Echo. Noah and I still looked at the club president like he was a combination of God and Santa Claus.

It wasn't exactly normal to see Echo on my step, but I had always been more niece than anything to him. Maybe it was just that Dash and I were Killer's childhood playmates, or maybe it was that Dash and I lost our dads, but he paid close attention to both of us, too. There weren't a lot of club-related deaths, but things happened. It was inevitable when guns, tempers, and cash were just a part of business. Regardless of the reason, I had a complicated relationship with the man who held the leash on the rest of Wolves.

“Tell me what you think of the new guy,” Echo said when I sat down on the steps in front of him.

“Alamo?”

Echo nodded. Much like his son, Echo didn't usually phrase things as questions but as orders. Usually, however, with us there were pleasantries of a sort. He was a gentleman. Even if his business included drug deals, gambling, and strip clubs, Echo still remembered his manners.

“What do you need to know?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Everything.”

“Killer trusts him” was my first answer. There wasn't a higher endorsement I could give. Killer was a great judge of character.

Echo nodded. “You?”

I resisted the urge to just blurt out “Yes!” because this wasn't a question of libido or even affection. Echo was asking my opinion, and it wasn't the sort of thing to take lightly when
he
wanted my opinion. There was obviously something on his mind if he was asking about Alamo.

“He's a good man,” I said. “Loyal to the club. Came around asking why I was paying attention to Aubrey”—I paused and met Echo's eyes before continuing—“and I told him that it wasn't his business, but he was trying to look out for Killer. He offers me help, but isn't . . . asking for . . . anything.”

Echo gave me a paternal look before saying mildly, “I know you're not an innocent, Ellen, but thank you for not spelling it out any further.”

I fought a blush. “My point is that he's a gentleman. When Noah and I . . . you know, I assume?”

“That you kicked him to the curb? I knew the day Mike sent Alamo to fetch you home.” Echo gave me a patient look. “You are the only one outside the club who's spent time with him.”

“I'm not exactly outside the club,” I muttered.

Echo quirked a brow at me. It was an old argument. I didn't exactly raise my voice at him over it, but it was certainly a subject that we'd discussed in heated tones. “You're not patched in, girl. That's never going to change. Women have their place, and it's
not
in harm's way.”

I sighed. “I trust him. He's got good instincts, is aware of his surroundings, pays attention to the little things, and . . . hides it behind a drawl and throwaway smiles. He's kind without looking for anything in return, and he's loyal to Killer.”

We sat in silence then, and I waited. Echo wasn't one for a lot of extra words or noise. It was a trait of his that I'd adopted years ago, and I found myself slipping into silence more with him and Killer than anyone else. Most of the bikers were noisy bastards, and my mother managed to
speak
even when she was technically silent. Echo's silence was comforting. The only other biker I'd met who seemed able to just
be
in silence was Alamo.

Finally Echo nodded at me and said, “I always thought one of the boys would snap you up. They both missed out.”

“Thank you, but . . . I wasn't what either Killer or Noah needed, and they aren't what I need.”

Echo sighed. “I would've liked you to be with one of them. They're good men, and you've grown into a good woman. Roger would've been proud.”

My throat tightened a bit at the mention of my father, but I only repeated, “Thank you.”

“He wouldn't like that you stopped singing, though. You ought to start singing again, but I suspect it'll happen sooner or later, won't it?” Echo lifted that one brow inquiringly again, and I knew without his having to say it aloud that he knew that I'd been singing in Memphis. “A man who can get you to sing might not be someone Roger would dislike, either.”

“It was the anniversary of Daddy's death. I missed him extra, and . . .”

“So you had Alamo carry you to Memphis to sing.”

I nodded. Aside from my one afternoon in Memphis, my car was the closest to a public place where I sang. Sometimes I sang at home, but Mama was an unholy terror about it. We'd had the Talk about what a career I could have if I'd “use my God-given talent” one too many time
years
ago. These days, it was one of the few surefire ways for us to end up in a fight.

“No shame in that, Ellen. Miss Bitty would prefer you to sing here. She misses Roger's singing too.” Echo held my gaze, and I suddenly felt like a recalcitrant child again. It wasn't anywhere near the first time he'd made me feel that way.