STRIKER: Lords of Carnage MC Read online

  “Yep, that’s my man,” Jewel winks. “I’m also the manager here at the Skull. The Lords own this bar, just in case no one has mentioned that.”

  “They haven’t.”

  “Speaking of which, you don’t have a drink,” Jewel adds. “What’s your poison?”

  “Oh, um… white wine? Chardonnay?” I ask.

  “Bowser!” she yells over the din of the bar. A man with mutton chops and a red bandana on his head looks our way. “Chardonnay over here!”

  “Hey, Ember.” Another woman I was introduced to earlier, named Stacia, chirps. “Can I ask you a bit of a prying question?” She gives me a wink. “What’s the famous Striker Rossi like in the sack?”

  “Oh! Um…” I stammer. I notice Cady turns to me attentively. The other women start to laugh before I can think of anything to say.

  “Come on, Ember, don’t be embarrassed,” Jewel giggles. “It’s not like we’re nuns around here.”

  “He’s… um… good?” I choke out. The women laugh harder. “Okay, fine. He’s really good.”

  “Oooh, girl, I am not surprised! That man is a hot mess, but emphasis on the hot!” shouts an Emma Watson lookalike named Kylie.

  “I thought you and Striker were seeming pretty cozy earlier today,” Cady cries. “Ember, it’s none of my business, really, but I thought you were married.”

  I realize that at this point, there’s no reason not to be truthful with Cady and the others. “I’m about as married as you are, actually.” I hold up my left hand and wave it, showing her the fire opal ring. “This isn’t my wedding ring. My husband and I have been separated for a while now. I’ve been putting off filing for divorce, same as you.”

  Cady’s eyes grow wide, and then she starts to crack up. “You’re kidding me!” she chortles. “Striker has been protecting Ember, just in case my crazy ex comes into town and tries to cause some shit,” Cady tells the others, glancing around the table. “Tank was worried about her since she’s our lawyer. Crazy coincidence that we’re both separated from our men and end up with one of the Lords!”

  “Well, it’s not like I’m ending up with Striker,” I admit.

  “Sure, but I’ve definitely never seen a woman on the back of his bike before,” Eden says calmly, putting a hand on her belly. “Striker is even more of a dog than most of these men. But he’s also got a romantic side, I think. He tries to hide it, but I think he’s a one-woman man. He just hasn’t found the woman yet. Or at least hadn’t,” she corrects, wiggling her eyebrows at me.

  “Oohhh,” Eden’s sister Alix squeals, ducking her head. “He’s looking over here right now!”

  All the women’s heads swivel at once to stare over at Striker, who is indeed staring this way. He blinks, confused, and turns quickly away.

  “He liiiikes you!” sing-songs Stacia.

  “He’s a good one,” Eden says. “Striker’s a fixer-upper for sure, but with the right woman? I bet he’d be amazing.”

  “Plus, the heat he’s packing… and I don’t mean his gun,” Jewel winks.

  The bartender comes with my glass of chardonnay, and the chatter turns to Striker’s hotness relative to the other men of the Lords of Carnage. It’s raucous, hilarious, and loud as hell. I’ve never had a lot of friends, and not much family to speak of. These women are a tribe, it’s clear. And I find myself longing for a place in it.

  At some point, as the women move around in little mini-groups, I find myself sitting next to Eden.

  “You’ve accomplished something I would have thought nearly impossible, capturing Striker’s heart,” she says to me, her lips curving upward.

  “I really, really think that’s an overstatement. To be crude, we’re really just boinking,” I admit.

  She giggles. “These men don’t spend this kind of time with a woman unless they’re serious about her. Trust me. Lug Nut was talking marriage with me about a week after we met.”

  “Wow,” I gasp. “Well, I’m definitely not ready for that, even if you’re right.” I hesitate for a second. “I’m sorry about your husband. It must have been so hard to lose him, especially now.” I glance down at her very pregnant belly.

  Eden’s eyes glisten. “It is. I keep thinking it will get easier, but it hasn’t.” She sniffs. “I don’t know how much Cady or Striker have told you about me, if anything, but I was a heroin addict. I got mixed up with some really bad people, and the Lords saved me. Lug Nut was there. He stood by me the whole time while I was detoxing and afterward. He told me he believed in me, that he knew I could get sober.” A tear falls down one of her cheeks. “He was the first person to ever make me feel deep down like I was worth something.”

  “Oh, Eden.” My heart literally hurts for her.

  “The Lords gave me Lug Nut,” she says, wiping under her eyes with her fingers. “But then, their lifestyle took him away from me, too. It’s been hard being around them since his death. The club decided to go legit, in part because of what happened to Lug. But I just keep thinking, why after his death? Why did he have to be the one to die?” Her voice cracks. “I love them all. And they’ve been so good to me, taking care of me and promising to take care of the baby, too. They’re my family, but it’s really hard to be around them now. Everything in Tanner Springs reminds me of Lug.”

  Giving in to impulse, I put a hand on her shoulder. “I understand. Are you thinking of leaving?”

  She exhales shakily. “My sister Alix is here, so I feel like I should stay. And once the baby comes, I know I won’t want to be alone. But I don’t know. Sometimes I think I need a clean break.”

  Eden’s words are on my mind as we all order some food for dinner. Striker comes over and sits by me as we eat, and it really does feel like a date. He’s affectionate and funny, and more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him — probably because with all the other Lords around, he’s not as worried about guarding me. We stay out much later than I thought we would, and by the time we decide to leave, it’s almost midnight.

  “I hope you’re not too sleepy,” Striker says huskily in my ear as we get ready to go. “I’ve got some plans for us when I get you back to your place.”

  A bolt of desire shoots through me at the heat of his breath on my skin. “What would those plans entail?”

  “You’ll just have to wait to find out,” he murmurs.

  As he moves against me, I feel the hard length of him and let out a soft moan.

  “You play dirty,” I whisper.

  He chuckles. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  The ride home in the dark is magical. The stars are out, we’re almost alone on the road, and the crisp night air contrasts with the heat of Striker’s strong, solid body. I wrap my arms around his waist, laying my head on his back. I breathe deeply and marvel at how thankful I am for this day and for this moment. I resolve not to think too hard about the future, or what this means, or anything other than what Striker is going to do to my body as soon as we get home.

  By the time we reach my front door, I’m so drunk with lust I don’t even notice the scratch marks near the jamb and knob until later. I impatiently turn the key, abstractly noting there’s none of the usual resistance. Huh. Maybe I forgot to lock the door when I left.

  I push the door open and feel for the light switch to the right of the frame. I flick it on.

  Then I let out a loud gasp that ends in a scream.

  “What is it?” Striker barks from behind me.

  “Look!” I cry.

  Together, we stand in the doorway, gaping. My front foyer and the living room beyond has been ransacked. Broken furniture is everywhere. Cushions have been ripped open, bulging stuffing. Fragile things are lying in fragmented heaps on the floor next to walls, as though they’ve been flung against them to break. There’s almost nothing in sight that hasn’t been ruined.

  “Oh my God!” I turn to Striker, aghast. “What’s going on?”

  But he’s already switched into bodyguard mode.

  “Come here.” He grabs
my forearm, pulls me toward the bathroom off the hallway. “Stay in here and lock yourself in,” he says, pushing me inside. “Don’t open the door until I get back.”

  His stern, no-arguments expression silences any argument. I do as he says, locking the door behind him. I hear his first footstep, then his second, then nothing more, and I know he’s checking the rest of the house to see whether the perpetrators are still here. I lean against the bathroom counter, holding on to it so I won’t collapse in a heap on the floor. I stare at myself in the mirror, and the face that stares back at me is pale and hollow-eyed.

  I don’t know how long I stand there, dizzy with fear and ears straining for any noise outside this tiny room. When I hear footsteps again, they’re familiar enough that my lungs let out a whoosh of relief.

  “Ember!” Striker calls. “Open the door.”

  I’m so happy he’s back that I’m actually smiling as I do what he says. But when my eyes meet his, my smile falls away instantly.

  “What is it?” I ask, breath hitching.

  “It’s Bert,” Striker tells me in a flat voice. “I can’t find him. He’s gone.”

  29

  Striker

  “Bert!” Ember is screaming, nearly hysterical. “Bert!”

  She tries to whistle, but she’s crying and her lips won’t form the shape. Wild-eyed with panic, Ember turns to me in the backyard. “He’s not here! He always comes when I call him!”

  The hope that Bert fled the intruders through the dog door and is hiding back here disappears. “Okay, come on,” I tell her, taking her hand and leading her toward the gate. “He can’t have gone far.”

  “If they didn’t take him,” she moans, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “They didn’t,” I say. “Too complicated.”

  I’m working on the assumption that the intruders are connected to Cady’s ex. In which case, it doesn’t make any sense for them to take the dog. They wouldn’t be looking for a ransom, and a large dog who doesn’t like strangers would be more trouble that it was worth.

  Which raises another distinct possibility.

  If Bert attacked the intruders, the reason we can’t find him might be that they killed him.

  I didn’t see any evidence of blood or injury inside, so I’m not gonna say anything about that to Ember. Better to just hunt for him, and hope he’s okay.

  We run out of the gate into the front yard. Ember starts shouting for him again. Her cries ring out in the otherwise quiet neighborhood. It’s almost one in the morning, and the houses are dark except for a few porch lights here and there.

  “What if he got hit by a car?” Ember cries in a strangled tone. “Striker, oh my God, what if he’s dead? What if —”

  “Wait!” I command, freezing in my tracks. “Be quiet.”

  Instantly, she stops. “What?” Ember whispers.

  “Quiet,” I repeat, lower this time.

  We stand unmoving in her front yard. A few seconds pass.

  Then I hear it again.

  A low whimper, coming from the bushes on one side of the house.

  “Bert!” Ember cries, sprinting toward the sound. I follow her. As we get closer, the bushes emit a plaintive yelp that’s unmistakable. I take out the mini-flashlight I keep on my keychain and shine it toward the sound.

  Sure enough, the poor mutt is hunched behind a boxwood, curled into himself. He whines softly at us.

  “Hey, boy,” I murmur, crouching down. “Were you waitin’ for us to get back and help you out?”

  I reach toward him. For a second I think he might bite me, since he’s obviously in pain. But instead, he cranes his head forward a couple inches and gives my hand a lick.

  “Good boy,” I croak, feeling my eyes well up. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

  Next to me, Ember is sobbing. “What’s wrong with him?” she chokes out. “Did he get hit by a car?”

  “Not sure.” There’s no blood that I can see, but it’s dark so I might be wrong. “But he definitely ain’t okay.”

  I move closer. Bert shivers a little, cowering into himself. “It’s okay, Bertie. We’re gonna get you all fixed up.” Turning to Ember, I say, “I think we need to take him to a vet. Not sure this can wait until morning.”

  She blinks away tears. “Of course.”

  Whatever’s wrong with him, it doesn’t seem like he wants to move, so I decide to carry him. I shift my weight forward, and gently scoop my arms under him. He whines again, but doesn’t move away. “Good boy,” I tell him, because he is.

  For a second, it seems like things are fine. But then, as I start to pick him up, his right rear leg spasms against my touch. The scream Bert lets out sends a chill down my spine. Ember lets out a cry and buries her face in her hands.

  “Oh my God, Striker!” She sobs. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Shhhh. He’s gonna be okay,” I say grimly, wondering whether I’m telling her the truth.

  I carry Bert to Ember’s car and place him as carefully as I can in her back seat. Ember climbs back there with him. As I get behind the wheel, I see her get her phone out and start to type frantically.

  “It looks like there’s an emergency vet off of Post Road,” she says after a second. Her voice is trembling; in fact, her whole body is shaking. She hands me her keys, tells me the address.

  The whole drive there, I’m speeding but being as careful as I can not to go over any bumps. Ember croons to the dog as she continues to cry. It fucking breaks my heart to look at the two of them in the rearview mirror.

  When we get to the animal hospital, Ember is out of the car like a shot. She’s hammering on the buzzer to the front door when I get there, Bert in my arms. A chick with bright purple hair and horn-rim glasses lets us in. At first I think she’s a nurse, but she turns out to be the doctor. She tells us we’re in luck that it’s a slow night, and has me carry Bert right into an examination room.

  “I think it’s best if you stay out there for a little bit,” she says soothingly as she sees Ember’s pale, stricken face.

  I lead Ember away to a chair in the waiting room. She sits rigidly, hands on her knees, and stares straight ahead as I go to a water cooler and get her a paper cup full. Mechanically, she drinks, but shakes her head when I ask her if she wants another glass.

  “I can’t stand to see him in pain.” Her face crumples. “He’s such a good boy.”

  “The doc will give him something for the pain right away, babe.” I sit down next to her and put my arm around her. She melts into me instantly. “Let’s not worry until there’s something to worry about.”

  It’s a long damn twenty minutes before the vet comes back out again. She tells us Bert’s leg is broken, and asks us what happened. We tell her what we know, which isn’t much. “Someone broke into the house,” I say, because Ember is still having trouble talking. “He must have got out somehow. We think maybe he got hit by a car, but we don’t know.”

  The vet recommends an X-ray to check for internal injuries. Ember agrees immediately. I notice she never once asks how expensive any of this is going to be. All she wants is for Bert to be okay. I’m pretty sure she’d pay for anything that will make sure of that.

  We wait until the X-rays are done and Bert’s leg is set. The vet says he’s got some bruising and swelling around the abdomen, but she doesn’t see any evidence of internal injuries. Ember starts to cry with relief.

  “Can we take him home?” she asks weepily as she clings to me.

  “I think it’s best if we keep him overnight, just to make sure he’s fine,” the vet replies. “He’ll get good rest here. We can monitor him for any problems.”

  Ember agrees. We make arrangements to come pick him up tomorrow — well, later on today — in the afternoon. The vet lets us go into the back to say goodbye to Bert, and Ember clings to him and whispers some stuff in his ear before planting a long, soft kiss on his forehead.

  “Get some sleep, Bert,” I tell him gruffly, clearing my throat. I give him a
scratch behind the ear. “We’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” His tail thumps slowly in response.

  By the time I lead Ember out of the animal hospital, it’s after two in the morning. I’m fucking exhausted, and she must be, too, especially given how much she’s been crying in the last hour. I think about taking her back to her place, but I want her to get some rest and not be faced with her trashed house. So instead, I decide to take her to mine.

  I’d be embarrassed by what a shit-hole the place is, but it’s late as hell, and anyway, Ember’s too tired and upset to notice much. I take her hand and she trudges behind me to my bedroom, where we both fall onto the mattress. Wordlessly, she curls toward me. I take her in my arms.

  “If Bert had died because of me…” she sniffles into my shoulder, but she can’t finish.

  Silently, I swear to myself the people who did this will pay for it.

  I kiss the top of Ember’s head. “If you wanted to quit Cady’s case after this, I’m sure she’d understand.”

  “No. I won’t do that to them. But…” She pulls in a ragged breath. “I am scared. What would they have done to me if they found me there, Striker?”

  “If you had been there, I would have been there, babe.” My chest tightens with determination. “No one will hurt you, you hear me?” I say fiercely. “No one. And don’t worry. I’m gonna take care of this.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Don’t worry about that, okay?” I plant a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Right now, let’s get some sleep.”

  In the morning, while Ember’s in my bathroom taking a shower, I call Tank and tell him what happened.

  “Shit,” Tanks spits. “How’s she doing?”

  “Shaken up. We’re at my place.”

  “Fuck, I shoulda told you this, but Cady got another call from her family. Her stepdad this time, tryin’ to threaten her into coming home and dropping the divorce. Cady told him to pound sand.”

  I listen to make sure the water’s still running. “But no one has physically threatened her, or trashed your place?”