Wed to the Bad Boy (27 page)

Chapter 5

Layla

“We need you in the club today.” That was all my uncle said on the phone, but it was enough to know that it wasn’t a request.

It was an order. 

Two weeks in the house was enough.  I knew that, but I wasn’t ready.  Not yet.

It didn’t matter, though, because I had no choice.

So I got dressed and rooted around until I found the keys to the truck in the driveway.  It was my brother’s.  It was what he drove to Chicago in to visit me.

He called it a rusty old cage, but not a bad one.  “It isn’t a pussy ride,” he had said.

I knew my brother well enough to know that he was proud.  He’d restored it himself, had it painted.  This old, sixties model Chevy was like a last piece of him, still here for me.

It even smelled like him.

I tried not to let the emotion overwhelm me, but living in his house, driving his vehicle, it wasn’t the easiest thing to come back to Pittsburgh and do.  I reached up and grabbed my locket, turning it in my hand.

I felt like I was paying the price for leaving in the first place.

I rumbled down the road in the truck until I reached the clubhouse.  It was already alive with activity.  Bikes parked outside, along with cars.  Not even nine in the morning and it was buzzing.

I was a little surprised.

As I slid from the truck, I asked a nearby prospect, “What’s going on?”

The guy stared at me for a moment, then said, “We meet here before we open the shop every day.  Talk a little bit of business.  Get the schedule sorted.”

“When did this start? The guys didn’t used to do this.” Hell, shit was a mess back then.  I was surprised they were even able to keep the garage going, especially when the rest of the town had so little money coming in.

“VP made some demands when he came into office.  Straightened the place up, from what I’ve been told.  But that’s all I know.  Shit.  I’m not supposed to tell anyone anything.” He looked scared.

“Don’t worry about it.  I’m family.  Besides, I don’t even know your name to rat on you.” I remembered the way my brother looked when he was a prospect.  He was strong and tough.  Definitely not scared.  Not even of Bones.

I wasn’t sure this new prospect was going to last.  I’d seen boys like him before.  The first sign of gunfire, and he’d be out of there.  At least it’d be coming sooner rather than later.

Nothing like getting your chest tattooed just to have it blacked out at the first sign of a fight.

I’d seen that, too.  First time, I was ten years old.  Guy left the club just as my brother and I were coming in.  All battered and bruised.  Black ink all on his chest.

It wasn’t pretty, but it was better than the alternative, my father said.

“What’s the broad doing here?” Some young prospect without a patch spoke up, but he was quickly silenced.

“You better bite back those words before I shove them right down your throat.” Uncle Mickey stood up and puffed out his chest.  It was a fearful sight.  The old man turning into what he was in his prime.  Just for a moment, a second.  I would never, ever challenge a man like that.

There was a reason he used to be their main enforcer.  He’d had it all, once upon a time.  It was almost enough to make me want to turn around and run.

“I didn’t realize she was one of yours, man.” It was a young guy, the one from the day of the funeral.  Was he too stupid to realize who I was? Probably not much older than me.  Another prospect, and one that stepped in the shit.

“She is not one of mine.  She is my niece.  Get the fuck out of here, Troy.  And you better not come around until I’ve fucking cooled down.” Uncle Mick was seething.  He meant every single word he’d said. 

All it did was remind me of the brutality that this club used to get exactly what it wanted.  At any cost.  Still, Troy lit out of there and my uncle gave me a sad look.

“I’m sorry, hun.  I don’t think he knew who you were.”

“It’s okay, Uncle Mickey.  Really.  I’m not as fragile as you think.”

“So, you’re here for your first day of work?”

I nodded.

“Good.  ‘Bout time you got the hell out of that house and into the real world, Lala.  You can’t just sit there all day and night.”

I’d only been a week, but I just blinked.  He was right.  I had to do something.  I had to earn my keep, and I had to find a way to contribute.  Sure, I didn’t want to stay, but it was my best option.

“You said it would all be above board?”

“Yes.  You’ll just be doing the garage’s books.  Taxes, inventory, all of those things.  I promise.  Nothing to do with the other business.  Some of the official finances, but no knowledge of anything else.”

The fact that there was “anything else” was almost too much for me.

“What do I do?”

I turned to see DeMarcus Wallace standing there, staring at me.

Cullen said, “Thrash, this is—”

DeMarcus laughed.  “Sean’s sister, I know.  Remember the little twerp from when she used to run around here, crying about every little thing.”

He smiled as he said it, his eyes bright and his arms out for a hug.

“It’s great to see you, kid.  I’m just sorry it’s under these circumstances.”

I embraced him and then looked him over.  I was feeling a little playful so I said, “You sure grew up good.”

“Says the smokin’ hottie.  Damn, girl.”

That handsome man was just barely on the edge of adulthood the last time I saw him, and while I may have caught a glimpse of him at the funeral, I certainly didn’t recognize him.   He’d gone from a wirey, awkward youth to the able-bodied man before me.  An undeniably attractive one. 

His dreads were beautiful.  Strong and tight, they seemed to beg my fingers to stroke them.  Tattoos and brands laced across the dark skin of his arms in a tapestry of warm flesh and silent promise. All together, he was dizzying to be near.

‘Uncle’ Mikey noticed.

“Come on, Layla.  Stop ogling the boys and get to work!” he barked, laughing.

I grinned sheepishly and nodded at Uncle Mick.  I’d get to work, but there I couldn’t promise anyone I wouldn’t marvel at the men before me when they were hot as hell. 

I knew it was going to get me into a heap of trouble.  I wasn’t sure I cared.

Cullen

I  walked up just in time to see her eyeing Thrash like a hot mess.  Great.  Just what I wanted to.  For her to come back and go for someone else.

I was pissed, but I tried not to show it.  There wasn’t anything I could do about it. 

Thrash was one of us, even if he wasn’t white.  Hell, we weren't
that
kinda club.  We didn’t discriminate, as long as someone in their line came from Ireland.  We were a club born out of old connections to the mob and an old immigrant history.  Bloodlines were muddy and rich in America; and Thrash belonged by blood. 

Besides, he had just as much of a right to Layla as anyone else, and we’d all been friends since childhood.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to smash his face in just for looking at her.

I glared at them both.

“What the hell are you looking at?” I asked Thrash when his eyes finally met mine.  I was pissed off all the time lately.  How would they know this was different?

“Your ugly face.” It was the standard retort between us, and it made me laugh, but not because it was funny.  Thrash noticed and caught my eye.  Words weren’t needed.  He knew something was bugging me.  And that it wasn’t really him.

“You’re a little late, aren’t you?” Layla snipped at me, unimpressed.

“What? No, I was just over at the shop getting a few things.  I have a list of duties for you, but Mick can walk you over and give you a rundown.  Everyone else, you have either shift work or patrols.  Tonight we meet to discuss the current situation of our club.  Five fifteen, got it? Not five-thirty or six.  Five-fifteen.  Well, everyone except for Mick and Troy.  They’ll be doing patrol then.

“What business?” she asked, looking me over.  She really was concerned.

“None of yours.” Mick spoke up in his sweet way, trying to make it sound like she didn’t want to know.  Maybe because she didn’t.

Tonight we were going to discuss exactly how to get back at these little punks who’d started this war.

“Anyways, as I was saying—”

But no one was looking at me anymore.

Everyone had turned their heads to look past me. 

I heard the high heels before I saw her.  Hell, I could smell her before I saw her.  I didn’t even have to turn around, I knew it was Brandy. 

“Cul, I—hicc—don’t understand how you could—hicc—do this to me.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in before I turned around.  Brandy, high and drunk, was waltzing in here, hiccupping and making demands.  She was in my clubhouse while we were trying to discuss business in the open bar.

It wasn’t the first time she’d done this, but it sure as hell would be her last.

“Brandy, I told you not to come around here no more.  Get the fuck out.  You want me to put your ass out on the ground again?”

“You wouldn’t do that.  I’m a lady.  You won’t hurt me.  Not with all your boys watching.  Oh, and a girl.  Who’s that girl?” She burst out laughing suddenly.  “Why are you letting a girl in here when you’re meeting? That ain’t fair, Cullen.  I never got to come in here.” She would’ve rambled on, but I cut her off.

“It’s none of your damn business.  Now get the fuck out.  I’m warning you.” I was at a low growl.  It was a warning cry, but I swore to God I would back it up if I had to.

“You don’t gotta be mean.  I just want to talk.”

“That’s it.” I’d had enough of her bullshit.  I picked her ass up like a sack of potatoes and started hauling her out.

That was when she raked her claws down my back, so I gave her ass a smack.  Hard.

I didn’t hit women, but when they deserved it, they sure as hell got a spank.

She seemed to be caught between laughing and chewing me out.

Since she wasn’t making a lot of sense, I spoke over her.  Made my point.  “Knock your shit off, Brandy.  I warned you.” With a heave I threw her right out of the club and onto the pavement, where she landed on her ass.  Hard.

“Owww, Cully,” she whined.  “That
hurt
.”

I fucking hated when she called me that.

“Get the fuck out of here.  Now.  I don’t want to see you again.  You keep it up and I’ll get you fired from the Cat House.  I swear.”

She pouted at me, but I slammed the door and turned around.

All the boys were leering, shouting, or clapping.  But not Layla.

She was staring at me, disgust blazing in her eyes.

Layla

“So, what exactly do I do?” I asked my uncle as he showed me around my new work space.  I’d gone to school to be an accountant, but each organization had their own system.  The garage’s dingy little office and half-legal accounts weren’t what I had had in mind. 

“It really isn’t that hard.  You put the invoices into the software, you process payments as they come in, and if Donna gets backed up on calls in the lobby, she’ll buzz you and you’ll cover for her.” He walked over, through the books and piles of paper, and turned on a little machine that sat on a big, steel desk.

“This isn’t the hardest job ever, and I’m sure you’ve had better.  But it’s something.  Something to get your mind off…” He trailed off.  I knew what he meant.

Something to get my mind off Sean.

“You can’t wallow forever.” There it was again.  That insinuation that I was wallowing.  I was grieving for my brother and for the relationship I never got to have with him.  The relationship that this very club had destroyed.  Grief took time.  Went through stages.  Isn’t that what they said? Stages of grief? Something about refusing to believe it, then guilt.  Or was it anger?

I certainly felt anger now as Mick’s words stoked it in my chest.  Like little embers that were just starting to fade.

They rose up now, a burning flame through my belly and along my tongue.

“It’s only been a few days,” I snapped.

“Two weeks, Layla.  It’s been two weeks.  If you work, if you put your mind on something else, it’ll go faster.  Besides, you’re gonna stay? You need a job.”

He showed me the computer and opened up the software.  I’d already been trained on it at school, so it wasn’t difficult to deal with.  I was set up in a matter of minutes and Uncle Mick was out of my hair, leaving me alone with the smell of grease and motor oil.

I got to work immediately, starting with the largest stack of invoices and working my way through them.

I was almost halfway through the first pile when Cullen burst into my office, not saying a word to me.  Which was just as well, because I was pissed at him, too.  The way he’d handled that woman was barbaric.

I tried to ignore him but he was rooting noisily through the paperwork.  It was like trying to ignore an ornery dog.  Left to his own devices, he was going to really make a mess of my office.

That seemed to be exactly what he intended too.  “You’ve moved everything around, and I don’t fucking know where you put it,” he said, messing up my freshly arranged pile.  He sighed.  I sighed back.  He was really starting to piss me off.

“Why in the hell don’t you just ask me, instead of wrecking my entire setup?” I finally asked when I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I need the damn invoice for this bitch of a client.  She doesn’t like the work I did on her car.  Wants me to show her exactly what I did and go back through each piece, but she doesn’t have her fucking copy of the invoice.” Cullen worked as a mechanic for the Club garage.  They all did.  It was a good job, decent pay, and a good cover story for the club.

“Let me know what you’re looking for.  Maybe I could help—”

“I’ll do it myself.” He looked into my eyes, leveling a direct challenge.

I wasn’t about to let it drop.  I was just like my father, and my brother, in that way. 

“You assume you know how to run things better than anyone else.  You throw some women out on their ass and boss everyone around like you own the place.  When did you become such an ass?”

He growled.  “I’m in charge now, Lala.  That means I have to take responsibility.  I have to be the boss.  I call the shots.  I make the decisions.  I’m second in command, and I have to remind everyone of that.  Even you.”

He was so close to me as he said those words, his breath hot on my face.  The two of us were ready to throw down in that hot little room. 

“Well,” I managed, shaking but defiant.  “This is my office now.” They were good words, but I don’t think either of us really heard them.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when he reached down and pulled me into him.  Or when he swooped down and met my lips with his.

But I was.

I pushed against him, resisting his touch, but I didn’t break the kiss.  I wanted it.  I craved it.  Hell, I’d been asking for it and more for years, and being away hadn’t changed that.  I knew what starting this up again would do to me, but I couldn’t stand it.  My tongue ached to taste him.   I needed to feel him against me. 

All those years of want, all those years that I thought about him.  Tried not to think about him.  Tried to forget him.  None of that mattered now, not in that moment.  What mattered was the touch of his lips against mine.  His strong, calloused hands wrapped around my back, holding me against his body.  The firmness of his grip, his body...

Suddenly, I bucked, rearing back but not quite away. 
Fuck
.  This wasn’t happening! This couldn’t be happening.  He was walking death, the embodiment of danger, and I needed to stay clear of him.

But it was Cullen.  I’d loved him once.  Maybe I’d never stopped.  I didn’t know.

To my shock, he push me away completely.  “No,” he said, putting his hands up as he looked me over.

“No?” I sputtered, confused.

“This can’t happen.  Not now.  Not yet.”

“What do you mean?” I was confused.  Angry.  Who was he to come in here, stomp around, and then kiss me? And then tell
me
no.  What the hell?

“Just… not now, Layla.  Not now.” He looked around the papers for a split second and then grabbed one, turning to head out of the office.  I didn’t want him to leave me on my own, completely confused, so I thought of anything I could say to hold him there with me.

“Why?” I shouted after him.

“Because I have a killer to find,” he yelled back.  And just like that, he was gone.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to even be with him.  I mean, hell, he was the Vice President of the MC that caused the death of my father.  Of my brother.

But I wanted to know exactly why he didn’t want me.  “Not yet.”