STRIKER: Lords of Carnage MC Read online

  Back in my office, I watch through my window as the two of them leave a few minutes later. Tank opens the door of his truck for Cady and waits for her to climb in, then shuts it gently behind her.

  As they drive away, it’s hard not to envy them. It’s obvious that this petite, spunky woman and her huge, tattooed biker are destined to go the distance together. They’ll weather whatever storms life throws at them.

  And now, my job is to help make sure the little girl they love is by their side.

  2

  Striker

  “Hey, asshole!”

  A hard boot kicks against my leg, jolting me from a hazy black nothingness.

  “Wake the fuck up!” the voice says impatiently, loud enough to split my goddamn head open. “Jesus, you look like shit.”

  Reflexively, I kick back blindly, but my foot doesn’t connect with anything. I let out an incoherent sound halfway between a groan and a shout. At first I’m not sure if this is a dream I’m just emerging from, or if it’s real.

  But fuck me running, judging from the hammering in my head, my guess is I’m awake.

  The boot nudges me again, harder this time.

  “Goddamnit, Striker!” Tank’s angry growl shoots a dagger through my pounding skull. “I ain’t got time for this shit!”

  I flinch away from the sound. “Not so loud, dude!”

  Slowly, reluctantly, I work my way from horizontal to vertical, giving my head time to adjust. I squeeze my eyes together, and brace for the light that’s gonna stab at me when I open them. Letting out a deep breath, I open my eyelids to see Tank standing above me on the couch, holding a bunch of envelopes and flyers in one hand.

  “Jeezus,” I hiss. “Where’s the fire?”

  Tank takes a step back. “I’m surprised the fire ain’t comin’ from you.” He grimaces. “You got enough alcohol on your breath to be a human blowtorch, you drunk motherfucker.”

  “Who let you in, anyway?” I grumble.

  “The door wasn’t locked,” Tank tells me. “I’m guessin’ whoever your guest was last night left it open when she split.”

  In spite of myself, I grin. “Yeah, I suppose she must’ve.”

  “It’s after noon,” Tank gripes. “And Jesus, it smells like shit in here.” He gives me a critical once-over. “You look like you got the shit end of the stick last night. You lose another fight?”

  “I didn’t lose the fight,” I correct him, lifting a hand to my face. Ouch. The shiner I got from Aristo’s left hook is gonna be with me for a while. And my jaw’s pretty sore, too. “I threw it. I gotta make that shit look realistic, right?”

  Tank groans. “Why the fuck are you throwing fights, Striker? I thought you had more self-respect than that.”

  I let out a bark of laughter. “Self-respect don’t pay my bills, brother. Besides, I know I can take the assholes I fight. I don’t need to prove anything to myself, or to anyone else.”

  “If you know you can take ‘em, why don’t you get Rudy to book you some real fights?” he challenges. “Ones where you don’t have to fake shit to get paid?”

  “What the fuck do I care? More to the point, what the fuck do you care?” I say, wincing as the volume of my last words sends a lance of pain through my skull. “The money’s the same shade of green either way.”

  Underground fighting is something I’ve been doing for years. I started out before I joined the MC. Been doin’ it off and on ever since, to make extra scratch. Tank used to do it, too. The two of us were on the local circuit together for years. Hell, Tank was even a better fighter than me. But he got sick of it after a while, and eventually he walked away from it completely. Me? I’ve been workin’ the fights twice as often lately. The money’s good.

  Sometimes throwing fights, the money’s even better.

  And letting someone kick the shit out of me feels like the penance I deserve.

  “What the fuck ever,” Tank growls, rolling his eyes. He tosses the envelopes and other shit onto the couch next to me. “Here. Looks like you haven’t checked your mail in a while.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “So, what’s the deal?” he challenges. “Were you just gonna sleep all goddamn day if I didn’t wake you up, asshole?”

  I rub a rough hand over my face. “So it’s noon. So shoot me. I’m an adult, last I checked, which means I can get up whenever the fuck I want.”

  Tank sighs, looks down at my coffee table, and lifts a boot to shove the empty beer bottles and other shit cluttering it off to one side. A few of the bottles fall onto the floor. One rolls to a stop at my feet. I notice a pair of pink panties next to it. Huh. I don’t remember those from last night.

  Then again, I don’t remember much from last night.

  Tank clears enough room for himself to take a seat, perching on the edge of the table. “What the fuck is wrong with you lately?” he asks. I can hear the concern and disgust in his voice. “You’re livin’ in a garbage dump, brother. Christ, when’s the last time you cleaned up around here?” He sweeps his arm around the place.

  “It ain’t that bad,” I say dismissively. “And by the way, let me remind you I didn’t invite you in, so you can fuck off with the complaints about the state of my living room.”

  “The hell it ain’t!” he snorts. “It’s like you’re homeless, except you got a roof over your head. This ain’t like you.”

  “Brother, this is absolutely like me. Do you not remember the constant festival of booze and pussy that is the Lords of Carnage lifestyle? I mean, I know you’ve recently turned into a family man, and all of a sudden underground fightin’ and partyin’ hard is beneath you.” My lip curls. “Has parenthood and domesticated pussy wiped your memory clean in such a short time?”

  Tank unexpectedly became a father a few months ago, when one of his exes literally left a kid on his doorstep and skipped town. What happened after that is a long fucking story. But in the end, he got a great daughter out of it. Not to mention an old lady who’s hot as hell, and tough enough to keep my MC brother and best friend in line.

  I ain’t gonna lie, though. Even though he’s about a million times happier lately, it’s been kind of a drag that he ain’t around to hang with me as much as he used to.

  “Come on, Strike,” Tank frowns, suddenly more serious. “You know what I mean. You’ve been hitting this shit a lot harder than usual the last few months. It’s one thing to party, but I dunno. This is different.”

  “Different how?” I counter. “I ain’t been doing anything different than I usually do. Drinking, fucking, fighting. My three favorite hobbies. Oh, and riding. My four favorite hobbies.” I correct. “Which used to be your four favorite hobbies not so long ago, if I remember right.”

  But Tank isn’t gonna laugh at my little joke. “Different as in out of control,” he retorts. “Which you are.”

  Well, shit. I guess he ain’t gonna let this go. But dammit, he’s gone too far with this self-righteous, holier-than-thou attitude.

  “Look who’s callin’ who different lately?” I fire back. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?” Other than my best friend. “What gives you the right to come over here all up on your high horse? What, now that you’ve got a girl and a kid, you’re all into playing the big family man, and you look down on the rest of us? Shit, man, you even stopped smoking.” To make my point, I reach for the side table and grab my pack of smokes, lighting one and blowing a big cloud of smoke between us. “You’re the one who’s changed, man. Not me.”

  That stops him short. For a second he doesn’t say anything.

  “Yeah. I have changed, I guess,” he acknowledges. “But shit, Strike, at least it’s a change for the better. I’m fuckin’ happy. This…” he shakes his head, glances around the room. “Man, I don’t know. From where I sit, you look like you’re tryin’ to outrun something that’s about to catch up with you.”

  “Jesus Christ, Tank. Would you fuckin’ stop tryin’ to be my mother? Is this all you came here for, for fuck’s sake? Y
ou ain’t tryin’ to stage some sort of intervention, are you?” I sneer. “Cuz you can fuck right off and get the hell out, if that’s what this shit is about.”

  I take another angry drag on my smoke, wishing I had a coffee to go with it. Or some hair of the dog. Or hell, some weed.

  Tank blows out a long breath. “No, that ain’t why I’m here. I got a favor to ask you. Though I’m starting to have second thoughts about it already.”

  “Well, you got a hell of a way of buttering me up,” I quip. “Let’s see. You come in here, insult my cleaning skills, call me a drunk, then tell me you got a favor to ask me. Shit, I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t say yes.”

  “Look. I’m sorry, brother.” He raises his hands in a truce. “But just... Consider layin’ off the hard partying just a little, huh? That’s all I’m gonna say about it.”

  “You’ve registered your complaint,” I snap. “Now, what’s the favor?”

  Tank leans forward and props his elbows on his knees, making a steeple with his hands. “Okay, here’s the deal. You know how Cady and me are working on her getting divorced, and me getting custody of Wren?”

  I know all about this shit. Tank has told me Cady’s still technically married to some hard-on who works for her stepdad’s criminal enterprise. Tank wants to ask Cady to marry him, but that can’t happen until Cady gets her divorce. And Tank wants Cady to be able to adopt Wren, too, once he gets custody of her. I know this shit has been on his mind for a while now.

  “Yeah. So what of it?”

  “Well, we went to see the lawyer yesterday.”

  I sit up straight on the couch, forgetting about his nagging in an instant. “How’d it go?”

  “Pretty good,” he nods slowly. “I think this lawyer chick knows her stuff. And Cady likes her. This thing is gonna be a long fuckin’ process, though. There’s a lot of moving parts.”

  I keep my opinions to myself — of lawyers in general, and of getting a lawyer involved in this shit, in particular.

  “What’s that got to do with me? I sure as hell don’t know anything about the law.” Nothing except being on the wrong side of it, that is.

  “I want you to run protection on the lawyer.”

  I do a double-take.

  “What the fuck?”

  Tank fixes me with a stare. “Here’s the thing, Strike. I’ve been havin’ Tweak look into Cady’s husband and her family. There’s a chance there could be some trouble when the guy gets served with the divorce papers.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Cady’s stepdad is pretty high up in the criminal underground where she comes from. And Cady’s ex is his right-hand man. Cady skipped town and came to Tanner Springs because her uncle lives here. She seems to think that because they never came after her when she first left, they’re gonna let her go without a fight now. But I’m not so sure.”

  I sit up. “You think they’ll come for her when they get word she’s plannin’ to divorce this guy?”

  “Could be. I don’t wanna take any chances.” He leans forward and steeples his fingers. “I can keep an eye on Cady and Wren, but I want eyes on the lawyer for a while, since the letters and official shit will be coming from her. I want to make sure she’s okay. And I want to make sure this process is as smooth as possible. After everything she and Wren went through, I just wanna make sure Cady doesn’t get freaked out. You know?”

  My stomach does a sickening flop.

  Cady and Wren were kidnapped by some assholes who were looking to get revenge on our MC. They set Tank up, with Wren’s mom’s help. They were thinking Tank was a weak link that they could blackmail into giving them information that would destroy the Lords of Carnage, in exchange for not killing his girlfriend and daughter.

  The MC saved Wren and Cady in the end. And we destroyed the men who wanted to end us.

  But I’ll never fuckin’ forgive myself for my part in helping them take Wren and Cady. Even though I had no idea about it at the time.

  I never talked to Tank about what I did. I tried to. But I just couldn’t tell my best friend I almost cost his daughter and his old lady their lives.

  The fact that he’s coming to me right now with a favor — that he still trusts me, after all that —shit, I’m not about to turn him down, no matter what he wants me to do.

  But goddamn. Of all the people he wants me to provide protection for… a fuckin’ lawyer.

  And a goddamn adoption lawyer, to boot.

  I clear my throat, pushing down the sudden nausea that has nothing to do with my hangover.

  “Yeah. I get that.” I choke out. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Gratitude flashes in his eyes. “I just want someone to keep an eye on her. Keep watch outside her office while she’s at work. Keep an eye on her house when she’s there. Keep a tail on her when she’s out and about. Just until we get a sense of how ballistic Cady’s ex and her family are gonna go when he gets served the papers. A couple weeks, maybe. Get a couple of the other Lords to do shifts with you — hell, even one of the prospects would be cool. Just don’t leave her alone, until we know how shit’s gonna go down with Cady’s ex.”

  I mentally consult my schedule — which includes basically nothing but the aforementioned fucking, fighting, drinking, and riding.

  “I can do that,” I shrug.

  “Good deal.” He reaches out and claps me on the shoulder, then leans back. A shadow passes across his face. “Thanks, brother. Look, though,” he says. “There’s one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You gotta keep your head straight while you’re doing this, Strike. You can’t be goin’ off on a bender when she needs protection. Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head. “Maybe I should ask one of the other Lords.”

  “I said I’d do it,” I shoot back, immediately pissed at his lack of confidence. “You don’t have anything to worry about, Tank.”

  “You sure?” He peers at me.

  “I’m sure.”

  Tank exhales. “Okay. Thanks, brother. Oh, and the lawyer chick is off limits. And she’s married. So keep your dick tucked firmly in your pants. You got me?”

  I raise a brow. “She’s that good-looking, eh?”

  “What do you mean?” He juts out his jaw.

  “You wouldn’t be telling me to keep my dick in my pants if she was a dog,” I snicker.

  “Striker,” he warns.

  “Okay, okay.” I hold up my hands. “Jesus, don’t worry about it. I got enough pussy around here to keep me busy.”

  “Don’t make me worry,” Tank gives me a piercing stare, and thrusts his finger at me.

  I toss him an innocent grin and shrug. He gives me one more glare, then reaches out to shake on it. As I do the same, I notice the slight tremor in my right hand. Quickly, I glance at Tank’s face, but it doesn’t seem like he noticed.

  It ain’t the first time that has happened lately.

  Looks like I need some of the hair of the dog that bit me, after all.

  3

  Ember

  “Is this seriously how you’re planning to spend your evening again?” Margot asks me, wrinkling her nose.

  I scoop the documents and manila folders into my briefcase. “Yep. I’ve got a hot date with a divorce file. Jealous?”

  Margot eyes me skeptically. “You’ve been putting in eleven- and twelve-hour days all week. Here you told me earlier that you might not be staying late tonight, and I got all excited, only to find out you’re taking work home. Couldn’t you leave your job at the office for once?”

  “Let’s re-frame this,” I suggest. “Look at it as an improvement that I’m actually going home at a decent hour, instead of staying here in the office until bedtime. Progress, right?”

  My receptionist-slash-secretary Margot is sweet but annoying, the way she worries about my workaholic tendencies. I know she means well, of course. And I’m lucky to have her as not only a co-worker, but as my friend. My best friend, to tell t
he truth.

  Which is pretty unusual, considering she’s also my soon-to-be-ex-cousin-in-law.

  Are cousin-in-laws a thing?

  Or is it cousins-in-law?

  Anyway, Margot is my husband’s cousin. And in many ways, she’s like the sister I never had.

  “You need to get out and socialize.” She shakes her head. “Come on, Ember, you can’t spend your whole life working.”

  “I like working,” I insist. “Besides, how am I going to go out and socialize right now? You know it’s not easy for me. All of my girlfriends except you think Mark and I are still together. It gets tiring, you know? ‘How’s the hubby? Any fun vacations planned? Have you two decided to start trying for kids yet?’” I make a face. “How is that better than spending a quiet evening at home with Bert and my case files?”

  “Point taken,” she concedes. “But speaking of which, what’s the story with you and Mark? Are you any closer to filing for divorce yet?”

  “No,” I murmur, embarrassed. “I’m just… letting things stay status quo right now.”

  I know I should be pushing harder to get the ball rolling. I want it all to be over, more than anything. But pushing Mark in a direction he doesn’t want to go can be harder than Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the mountain. After months of shouting and screaming matches that turned scary more than once, I finally succeeded in getting him to move out of our house and into a studio apartment on the south side of town. In exchange, I agreed to keep up the façade that we’re still together with our friends and connections, at least for the time being. The resulting quiet has been like the relief that comes when you stop hitting yourself repeatedly in the head with a hammer.

  I need a break before I plunge back into the conflict and file for divorce.

  Margot purses her lips but doesn’t argue. “I just want you to move on to lead a happy, fulfilling life, Em.” After a second, she hastily adds, “And I want that for Mark, too, of course.”

  I give her a small smile. I know that Margot deals with feelings of guilt over her divided loyalty between me and her cousin. It’s true that the two of them have never been particularly close. Mark’s father, the older of the two brothers, is rich and important, having inherited the bulk of the family wealth from Mark’s grandfather when he died. Margot’s father, the younger one, got stiffed in the will, and scraped by with no help from the family until he died of heart failure at fifty-four.