STRIKER: Lords of Carnage MC Page 18

  “Tank almost lost that little girl, and the woman he loves, because of me,” he tells me raggedly, his arms tightening around me.

  The vulnerability of this man — knowing how hard it is for him to tell me this — unlocks something within me. He’s holding me tight, but somehow it seems like right now, I’m the one holding him together.

  I feel myself falling for him. Harder than I’ve ever fallen before.

  “Stay the night with me,” I whisper.

  Striker lifts his head to look into my eyes. In spite of his haunted, tortured look, the lines in his forehead ease just a bit.

  “You might not get a lot of sleep if I do,” he warns me, one side of his mouth curving upward.

  I bite my lip, gaze at him through my lashes.

  “Sleep is overrated,” I say.

  Wordlessly, he pulls me to him.

  27

  Striker

  I’m having one hell of a good dream about me and Ember naked in her office. We’re doing hot and nasty shit on her desk, that sexy skirt of hers pushed up over her hips, when somehow in the middle of fucking her, she reaches over and puts an ice cube in my hand.

  “What the fuck is this for?” I mutter, giving her a confused stare.

  Then the ice cube starts to jump around in my palm like a fucking jumping bean.

  Seconds later, I startle awake to find a cold, wet dog nose nuzzling me.

  “Jesus Christ, Bert,” I hiss, pulling my hand away. “You don’t know what you interrupted there, buddy.”

  Bert lets out a soft whine in response, then cocks his head, looking hopeful. Blinking away the sleep, I glance over at Ember, eyes closed, dark hair feathered out around her on the pillow. The soft glow in the room tells me it’s early morning, just around sunrise.

  “Well, you got me, dude,” I murmur at the dog. “Now I gotta pee, too.”

  I haul myself up to a sitting position and reach for my jeans, careful not to jostle the bed too much and wake up Ember. I carry my jeans into the bathroom and take a leak, the dog following closely behind me. I pull my jeans on, then slide my cell phone out of the pocket to check my messages as I head downstairs. Nothing important.

  Pushing the back door open, I watch in amusement as Bert bolts outside. I don’t know why he doesn’t just use the doggy door. Maybe he likes an audience, I don’t know. As he does his business, I send a text to Jude.

  Your shift starts at 9 at Ember’s office

  I don’t get a reply right away, but that’s okay. I know he’ll be there.

  Yawning and stretching, I fumble around in Ember’s kitchen until I figure out where the coffee is, and brew us each a cup with her fancy pod coffee maker thing. Bert pushes back in through the dog door, and when the coffee’s ready I go back upstairs with him following close behind.

  Ember is sitting up in bed, blinking the sleep out of her eyes, when I come into the bedroom.

  “Oh my God, are you bringing me coffee?” she breathes. “You’re my hero.”

  “This is all it takes?” I joke.

  “I’m a woman of simple needs.”

  I hand her a cup and slide back into bed beside her. It seems natural somehow, to be here with her, even though I’ve never spent the night at a chick’s place before, and I sure as hell haven’t had one spend the night at mine. I should be itching to get out of here, but I’m not. I tell myself it’s because I have to stay anyway, since technically I’m still on my shift until she goes to work.

  “Sleep well?” I ask her.

  “Mmmm…” she hums, closing her eyes as she sips her coffee. “Like a brick. You?”

  “Yeah. Pretty good.” Which is surprising, because these days I don’t sleep through the night unless I’ve got a good amount of whiskey in me.

  “What time is it?” Ember yawns as she reaches for her nightstand. She grabs her phone, which she had switched off late last night. It boots up, and as she stares at the screen, she lets out an incredulous laugh.

  “What?”

  “Apparently, Mark drove by here last night around two-thirty.” She holds up the phone and shows me the screen. “He sent me a text about the Mercedes parked in front of my house, asked if it was yours, and even implies that you stole it.”

  “He’s good and pissed that people know you guys aren’t together anymore,” I guess.

  “I’m sure.” She rolls her eyes. “But honestly, it’s time to get the divorce process started. I can’t put it off anymore. This is a good thing. Except that he’ll probably use this to say that I was cheating on him and try to get more in the divorce.”

  “Oh, shit.” I didn’t think of that.

  “Honestly, it’s no big deal, Striker. I don’t want anything. I just want to walk away.” She waves her arm to indicate the house. “This place is nothing but an enormous mortgage, anyway. I’m good with a clean slate.”

  Ember’s face is relaxed. She seems well-rested, and happy. Right now, she’s not December Wells, attorney. She’s just Ember, the hot chick who screamed my name over and over last night.

  And if I have anything to say about it, she’s gonna do it again real soon.

  My cock wakes up at the thought.

  “Hey,” I hear myself say. “You ever ridden a motorcycle before?”

  She cocks a brow at me. “Do I look like someone who’s ridden a motorcycle?”

  “Well, maybe it’s time you start. The club’s doing a poker run this weekend. Why don’t you come with me?”

  Ember sets her coffee cup on the nightstand. “What’s a poker run?”

  “It’s basically a poker game on wheels. You pay a hundred bucks to enter, and then you ride to a bunch of checkpoints, and you draw a single playing card at each one. The object is to have the best poker hand at the end of the run. Winner gets five-hundred dollars, and the rest of the money goes to charity.”

  “What’s the charity?”

  “We’re raising money for one our Lords family. Her name’s Eden. Her man was in the club, and he was killed a few months ago. She’s pregnant with his kid, and we’re raising money for the birth and to give her a good financial cushion for as long as we can.”

  “Wow. That’s really nice.” Ember stares at me with an odd expression. “You know, you guys are a lot more family-oriented than I would have thought.”

  “Family is everything,” I tell her sincerely. “Blood or not.”

  Ember blinks. Somehow, I know she’s remembering what I told her about my brother Richie.

  I clear my throat. “Anyway. You want to come?”

  “It sounds like fun,” she says slowly. “Except what if I get on the bike and freak out?”

  “Then I’ll take you to hang out with the women who aren’t riding along.”

  “Will Cady be there?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Okay.” She exhales. “I’m a little shy in crowds, but if she’ll be there, I won’t be as nervous.”

  “How are you shy in crowds? You’re a lawyer. You must speak in public all the time.”

  “Being a lawyer is kind of persona. It’s a role I play, like an actor. But in real life, I’m… I don’t know. Shy, I guess. Introverted.”

  “Cady will introduce you around. You’re gonna love the old ladies. I promise.”

  “If you say so.” Ember glances at her phone. “I guess I’d better think about starting to get ready for work. I’m gonna go take a shower.”

  “Yeah?” I wait a beat. “You want company?”

  She looks at me coyly. “Ooh, I’ve never taken a shower with someone else before. I could use some help with those hard-to-reach places.”

  I tell her I fully intend to explore every inch of her body under the steam and water.

  And then, I do.

  After all the hot water’s gone and Ember’s almost late to work, I follow behind her to her office. Jude’s already there, and I give him a one-finger wave as I drive off. I stop by my place first, to drop off my duffel and the tux, then go to Twisted Pipes to
bring the Mercedes back and pick up my bike.

  While I grab a greasy breakfast at the Downtown Diner, I pull out my phone and look up the address for the office where Ember’s ex works. Good thing his last name is so damn ridiculous it’s easy to remember.

  Panty’s office is on the north side of downtown, not too far from the main hub, in a small white two-story building that’s got some fake Greek pillars on it. I recognize his Beemer right away as I pull up, parked front and center in a reserved spot. I laugh my ass off when I see his vanity plate reads SUCCESS. Fuckin’ typical.

  I park the bike behind it and go in. The directory tells me his business is on the first floor to the right. I find the suite, push inside, and tell the middle-aged receptionist I need to see him.

  “Do you have an appointment?” she asks, the sour-lemon face she gives me making it clear she knows I don’t.

  “He’ll want to see me,” I assure her. “I’m a family friend.”

  “Your name?”

  I give her a shit-eating grin. “I want to surprise him.”

  Still staring at me suspiciously, she picks up the phone and speaks a few words into the receiver. A few seconds later, Mark Fucking Pante comes out, swaggering like the officious prick he is. He blanches when he sees me.

  “Panty.” I lift my chin at him.

  “What are you doing here? What do you want?” His lip curls into a sneer.

  “Need to talk to you,” I grunt. “In your office.”

  I get the feeling he’s thinking about refusing. Then he glances over at the receptionist and gives a curt nod. “Fine.”

  Panty swivels on his heel. I follow him into his office and close the door. When he turns back to me, my hand’s around his throat before he knows what’s happening. Pivoting, I get my foot under his legs and take his balance away from him, then slam him against the wall, pinning him there.

  “You and I need to have a little talk,” I rasp. “This thing where you drove by Ember’s house last night, checkin’ up on her? That’s gonna stop. You don’t live there anymore. Which means you’ve crossed the line into stalker territory.”

  “I’m… not… stalking…” he gasps. “Just wanted… to check… up… on… her…”

  “Nope. Potato potahtoe. That’s stalking, motherfucker. You two are separated. Se-pa-ra-ted.” I say it loud and slow. “That’s a fancy word for ‘over’. From now on, you don’t show up there. You don’t drive by her place. You don’t go to her office. You keep your fuckin’ distance. You got me?”

  Panty’s eyes bulge. “Are you seeing her?” he chokes.

  I tighten my grip, cutting off his air enough that he starts to struggle.

  “Ah, see, now that’s one of the things that ain’t your business anymore,” I explain in a tight voice. “Apparently, you’re a slow learner.” I wait a beat, savoring the view of him starting to turn a purplish shade of red.

  “Stah—!” he wheezes, as he starts to claw at my hands. But he’s a fuckin’ pussy, and too scared to think straight. I slam him against the wall again.

  “You don’t go to her office,” I repeat. “You don’t go to her house. You keep your distance. Are. We. Clear?”

  Eyes wide with fear, he chokes out a yes.

  I release my grip, shoving him back into the wall one more time for good measure as I do.

  “Good,” I say. “Then we understand each other.” I take a step back, glancing around his office for the first time. “Nice decor, dude. A little fussy, though. Did your receptionist pick it out for you?”

  I don’t wait for an answer, just leave him there as I step back out into the front reception area. The middle-aged woman is standing at her desk wide-eyed, like she’s trying to figure out whether to call the police.

  “You have a good day now,” I tell her pleasantly as I head for the door. “You might wanna check on your boss, by the way. I’m not a hundred percent sure he didn’t just piss his pants.”

  28

  Ember

  Once Striker and I start having sex, we don’t really stop.

  I mean, we stop so I can go to work and stuff, but… yeah. Once the barrier comes down between us, we enjoy a rabbit-like frequency of sex that would embarrass me if anyone but the two of us knew about it. By the day of the poker run on Saturday, I’ve already lost count of the number of orgasms I’ve had. And I strongly suspect that the number is higher than during the entirety of my marriage to Mark.

  I feel amazing. And sexy. And a little confused. Because Striker has gone from being my bodyguard, to something else that doesn’t have a label. A dozen times a day, I argue with myself about trying to put a name to it, and just letting myself enjoy it for what it is, no matter how long it lasts.

  Hi, I’m Ember Wells. Crazy, impetuous, live-in-the-moment type of gal.

  Yeah, right.

  And that’s how I find myself on the back of a large, low-slung Harley-Davidson motorcycle on Saturday afternoon. There’s a heavy helmet on my head, and my feet are propped up on some fold-out pegs for the passenger. My arms are clamped around Striker’s waist so tightly I’d be afraid I was cutting off his air supply, if he wasn’t so much bigger and stronger than I am.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, babe.” He starts the engine. “Just relax and enjoy the ride.”

  “If I start screaming hysterically…” I begin.

  “If you’re that freaked out, we’ll deal with it,” he promises me. “But I don’t think you will be.”

  I take a deep breath and hold it in my lungs as Striker puts the bike into gear. The soft clunk sends a burst of adrenaline through me, and I flinch but don’t scream.

  Then, before I can say, Stop! This is a horrible, horrible idea! the bike starts to move.

  The first minute or two is like when I went on the ferris wheel for the first time as a six-year-old and spent the whole time hyper-focused on every tiny movement of the basket, convinced I was going to fall out and plummet to my death. My stomach lurches every time we go over a bump. Every time Striker turns the bike, I almost beg him to turn around and take me home. But little by little, as I make myself take deep breaths and focus on the solid warmth of his body instead of my fear, I start to emerge from panic mode. Just a little.

  Enough to notice that the colors of the leaves seem more vibrant on a motorcycle than behind the windshield of a car.

  Enough to notice the fresh, clean smell of the air as it teases its way past me.

  Enough to realize there’s a different relationship with the road on a bike that moves and turns in harmony with it.

  When we get to the spot where the poker run is set to begin, there are a lot more people there than I expected. Dozens of motorcycles line the large parking lot of a bar outside Tanner Springs called the Smiling Skull. Striker explains that the run is organized by the Lords of Carnage MC, but a number of other clubs from the area are participating.

  “Fund-raising,” he reminds me. “The more we raise for Eden, the better.”

  Eden herself is here, too. She’s hugely pregnant, and surrounded by a group of women and men. Striker and I go up to them and he introduces me. Eden smiles, shy and frail despite her swollen belly. Her eyes are beautiful, dark brown and wide-set, but the shadows under them remind me she’s a widow. A widow whose first months as a mother will be overshadowed by the fact that the father of her child isn’t there by her side.

  Cady squeals when she sees me, running over and giving me a big hug. She announces to everyone around us that I’m the lawyer who’s helping Tank with Wren’s custody case. It seems that’s all she needs to say for everyone here to consider me a friend.

  “I didn’t know you were coming today.” Cady cocks her head, glancing curiously between Striker and me.

  “Where she goes, I go,” Striker rumbles. “I wanted to go to the poker run, so I asked her to come along.”

  “Oh, that makes sense,” Cady says, and turns to the other women to tell them how good a lawyer I am. I play along, and try to ign
ore the cold knot of disappointment in my gut that Striker hasn’t introduced me as a friend, at least.

  The poker run gets started about twenty minutes later. All the bikes line up in the lot and someone up front gives the signal. Over the sound of his engine, Striker tells me we’ll make seven stops, and get a card at each one. We’ll build the best five-card poker hand possible, and the winner will get the prize.

  “It’s not a race,” he tells me. “It’s an excuse for a long ride on a nice day.”

  By now, I’m feeling more comfortable about my ability not to flip out from anxiety, so I settle in and tell myself to just enjoy the day. And I do. It’s a lot more fun than I expect it to be. At every stop, we get our card, admire some motorcycles, and I get introduced to more of Striker’s friends from the club.

  By the end of the run, I’m exhausted yet exhilarated. We don’t win the poker game. Someone named Rourke, from another chapter of the Lords of Carnage MC down in Ironwood, takes that honor. They also raise several thousand dollars for Eden and the baby. When it’s all over, Striker takes me back to the Smiling Skull. It’s jam-packed with people inside, but the Lords have tables reserved for them in one corner.

  “You gonna be okay for a few minutes?” Striker asks as he casually puts an arm around me. “I need to go talk to Angel, my prez.” He nods toward a ruggedly handsome man with dirty blond hair, who looks to be in his mid- to late- thirties.

  “Sure, I’ll just glom onto Cady.”

  “Good deal. I’ll be back for you in a bit.”

  I watch Striker walk off, and wander over to the group of ladies with Cady, Eden, and some of the other women I recognize from earlier. When Cady sees me, she immediately signals to me to grab a chair and pull it over next to her.

  “Ember, this is Jewel,” she tells me as I sit down, pointing to the leggy blond woman sitting next to her. “She’s Angel’s wife. He’s the club’s president.”

  “The guy over there that Striker’s talking to,” I confirm.