STRIKER: Lords of Carnage MC Read online

“Yeah.”

  She sticks her head in the doorway. “What did he want?”

  “He came here to ask me to go to dinner with Denise Hadley’s parents this Saturday.”

  Margot rolls her eyes so hard I’m afraid they’ll get stuck.

  “Good God, how can he be so insensitive?” she explodes. “Hold it, scratch that question. It’s Mark we’re talking about here.”

  I flash her a grin, grateful that I have at least one person with whom I can share how ridiculous my life is.

  “So, you said no, obviously,” Margot guesses. “Judging from the way he blew out of here.”

  “I did. Can you imagine having to make small talk with Fletcher and Gayle, and not tell them that their daughter is a cheating whore?”

  “Thank God for that,” she exhales. “You were too much of a glutton for punishment while you were married to him. I’m glad to see you’ve regrown your backbone.”

  Margot leaves about fifteen minutes later to go pick Benji up from school. For the next hour or so, I do my best to concentrate on work, but after Mark’s unexpected appearance, I’m too out of sorts. I make it until almost four-thirty, and then decide to call it a day.

  “I promised Bert a long run when I get home, anyway,” I say aloud to the empty office. As though I need the office’s permission to leave at a reasonable time.

  As I lock up and stride out to my car, I can’t help but cast a quick glance at the parking spot next to mine. The one where Striker was waiting yesterday.

  I’m not sure if the adrenaline spiking through my veins is dread or anticipation at the thought of seeing him again.

  10

  Striker

  “Prospect!”

  Jude looks up from repainting the storage shed on the edge of the clubhouse compound and comes ambling toward me, perpetually cocky grin on his face. “Yeah, Strike, what is it?”

  “You haven’t earned the right to call me by my name yet,” I growl, even though I know it’s no use.

  He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, sorry. You called, sir?”

  “Fuckin’ A,” I grumble, shaking my head in irritation.

  Jude lives to push my buttons, and the buttons of everyone else in the damn MC. He’d have been out on his fuckin’ ass months ago, if he wasn’t the brother-in-law of our club president, Angel. Not only that, but Jude’s sister Jewel used to be our bartender at the clubhouse for so many years I lost count. That was before Jewel and Angel got together. Since they hooked up, Jewel’s been managing one of our other businesses, the Smiling Skull Bar. We’ve gone through a bunch of different bartenders at the clubhouse since Jewel took on that job, but we’ve never managed to replace her.

  Jude, cocky motherfucker that he is, thinks he’s goddamn club royalty because of all that.

  Unfortunately, he’s also proving himself to be a damn good prospect, if you overlook his mouth and his attitude. He was a little piss-ant when he came to Tanner Springs at seventeen years old, but he’s pulled his act together since then. Sure, he’ll pretend to bitch about shit we have him do. But he’s never blinked at any real order we’ve thrown at him, no matter how dangerous or demeaning. He’s proving his mettle for sure.

  “Get yourself cleaned up and meet me out in the front parking lot,” I bark at him. “You got yourself a new job.”

  “What about the shed?” he asks, looking back over his shoulder.

  “The shed can wait. You’ll finish it later. Right now, stop askin’ stupid questions and do what I say.”

  Jude salutes me and snaps to attention, like he’s in the army. “Sir yes sir!” he calls out. Then he turns on his heel and heads into the clubhouse by the side door.

  “That fuckin’ kid,” I mutter, grabbing a smoke out of my pack. I’d be more pissed than I am, except his cocky-ass bullshit reminds me of myself at his age.

  A few minutes later, he emerges out the front, paint cleaned off his hands and wearing a flannel shirt and his prospect’s cut over that. He climbs into the passenger seat of my Tahoe and slams the door. “So. What’s the job?”

  “Tank has me doing protection for this lawyer chick he hired to handle Wren’s custody thing.” I put the Tahoe in drive. “You’re gonna be covering her when I can’t.”

  Jude mulls over my words as I pull out of the lot. “So what does that mean?”

  “What the fuck do you think it means?” I snarl. “You’re on call until further notice. You’re to remain in contact with me at all times, and be ready to take a shift whenever I need you to. Tonight, you’re takin’ midnight to eight a.m.”

  Jude frowns. “It ain’t midnight,” he observes. “It ain’t even five o’clock yet.”

  “Jesus, it’s tough to pull a fast one over on you, ain’t it? No, it ain’t midnight, you dumb shit. I’m showing you where her place is, and what you’re gonna be doing.”

  My plan is to take Jude over to Ember’s office and introduce them. Then after that, I’ll take him over to her house to show him where it is. As I drive, I explain what’s up with Tank worrying about Cady’s ex causing trouble. “Angel’s got a guy he knows keeping an eye on the ex over in North Carolina, where he lives. Tank’s got eyes on Cady and Wren. We’re watching the lawyer until we figure out whether this asshole is gonna go ballistic on her when he gets the divorce papers.”

  Jude rubs his chin. “Does Cady think that’s gonna happen?”

  “Not really. But Tank thinks it’s a possibility. Anyway, after what almost happened to Cady and Wren, he ain’t willing to take any chances.”

  “Yeah.” Jude goes quiet. “Can’t blame him there.”

  Tank can be forgiven for being overprotective of his daughter and his old lady. After all, the two of them were kidnapped by a man with a long-standing grudge against the Lords of Carnage. The motherfucker, named Demon, planned the whole goddamn thing to use Cady and Wren to blackmail Tank into helping him destroy our MC.

  Our club rescued Cady and Wren. In the nick of time, as it turns out. And we destroyed Demon and everyone associated with him. But the memories of that day — and what could have happened to Tank’s old lady and his daughter — still haunt him. I know that.

  Hell. They haunt me, too.

  My gut lurches at the thought of what could have happened to Cady and that little girl. Every time I think about it. That, and my own part in it. The fucking mistake I made that almost cost them their lives.

  “Hey,” Jude says, interrupting my thoughts. “Light’s green, man.”

  “What?” I stammer.

  A horn honks behind me.

  “Oh. Fuck.” I punch the accelerator, wave out the window at the pissed-off dude in my rearview mirror.

  “You okay, dude?”

  “Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to, prospect. This is where Ember works. That’s her name, by the way. Ember Wells. Esquire.”

  “Hot,” he answers. I resist the weird urge to punch him right out the window.

  When I pull into the parking lot of Ember’s office, the first thing I notice is that there aren’t any cars in the lot. Huh. Sure enough, when I try the front door, it’s locked, and the inside is dark. Well, fuck. She must have gone home for the day.

  “I thought she’d be working later,” I say, half to myself. Well, starting right now, she’s under constant surveillance. I won’t make that mistake again.

  I climb back into the Tahoe and take off toward Ember’s house. Jude keeps up a monologue as I drive, complaining that his night shift is gonna make a dent in his nocturnal activities. For a prospect, Jude is a big hit with the club girls. I tune him out.

  We turn into her neighborhood, about a quarter mile away from Ember’s house, and lo and behold, there she is, jogging down the street away from us about half a block away. Bert’s leash is in her hand, and he trots obediently beside her. Even from here, I notice her curves, revealed by the tight black running pants she has on. Jesus Christ, the ass on that woman.

  “Like two puppies fighting under a blan
ket,” I murmur appreciatively, as my cock stiffens.

  “What?” Jude looks at me, arching a brow.

  “Never mind.” I throw the Tahoe in park, open the door. “That’s Ember up ahead.” I give Jude her address. “Take the car and wait for us there.”

  I hop out and start jogging toward Ember, who still hasn’t seen us. It only takes me a few steps to realize I’m gonna have to up my pace to catch up to her. She’s faster than I expected. I speed up a little, and the sound of my boots on the pavement must alert Bert. He turns his head back, still running next to Ember, and lets out a soft yip.

  “Ember!” I call out.

  Startled, she glances back as well. When she sees it’s me, she slows but doesn’t stop. It’s enough to let me catch up with her, though.

  “You left work early,” I say when I’m even with her.

  “Yes, I know,” she says between measured breaths. “I owed Bert a run. Oh, and I met Wren today. Cady stopped by with her. She had some information to drop off for me that she could have emailed. I’m thinking she brought Wren in so I’d see how cute she is and wouldn’t drop the case.”

  “Did it work?” I ask, resisting the urge to point out she already promised me she wouldn’t do that.

  “Unfortunately, yes, I think it did.” Ember lets out a rueful chuckle, her high ponytail bouncing behind her. “She had good timing, too. I actually was reconsidering.”

  “I thought we went over this,” I growl. “Come on, Ember, this bodyguard thing ain’t gonna be for that long. Maybe Tank is overreacting, but believe me when I say it’s his right.”

  “I know,” Ember says quietly. “Cady told me about what happened.”

  “She did?” My gut lurches.

  “Not everything, I’m sure. But enough.”

  I swallow, relax a little. “So, you’re gonna let us guard you until Tank feels like it’s safe?”

  “Yes. For Cady and Wren’s sake, I will.”

  “Good deal.” I pause. “Hey, are you at the beginning of this run, or the end?”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I ain’t exactly dressed for it,”

  Ember looks at my cut, my jeans, and my boots, and lets out a peal of laughter.

  “Okay,” she says, slowing, “I’ll take mercy on you.”

  She does a loop in the middle of the street with Bert, and together we jog back in the direction of her place.

  “You’re gonna need to let me know when you’re deviating from your routine in the future,” I tell her. “Though starting tomorrow, there’ll be someone stationed outside your office during work hours, just in case.”

  “I’m really going to be watched every second of the day?” She wrinkles her nose.

  “Well, it ain’t like we’re gonna follow you into the bathroom or anything, but yeah.”

  We’re coming up on her house now. My Tahoe is in her driveway, parked behind her car. Jude sees us and climbs out the passenger side.

  “This is Jude,” I say. “Wanted to introduce him to you, so you’d be used to seeing him around. He’s gonna be taking the midnight to eight shift tonight.”

  I call out to him as he walks toward us. “Jude. This here’s Ember.” I reach down and pet the dog. “And Bert.”

  “Hey, there, darlin’,” Jude drawls, shooting her a smile that’s half-respectful, half wondering what he can get away with. I give him a warning look, but he ignores me.

  Ember smiles politely at him. “Hello.”

  “Jude will be out here watching all night, starting at midnight. You’ll have both our numbers. You call one of us if you experience anything funny — anything at all.” I glance at Jude to make sure he’s listening. “If anything happens, he’ll call me right away. We’ll have people here within minutes.”

  I half-expect Ember to argue with me, thankfully she doesn’t. “Okay,” she nods.

  “Okay then. You go on ahead inside. I’m gonna talk to Jude a bit more, then he’s gonna take off. I’ll be out here if you need me.”

  Ember clicks her tongue and leads Bert up the front walk. Jude and I watch her go.

  “Holy shit, she’s hot,” Jude whistles. “You didn’t tell me she was hot.”

  I scowl at him. “You’re workin’ overtime to get thrown outta this club, motherfucker. And don’t think because you’re the prez’s brother-in-law I can’t make that happen.”

  “Chill, man, I was just sayin’. Lighten up. Or are you planning to hit that? Cuz I definitely respect first dibs.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I bite out. “Now take the Tahoe and get outta here. Come back at midnight on the dot. And don’t joyride. I know how many miles are on the odometer.”

  Jude smirks. “Gotcha.”

  I watch him as he gets in my vehicle. He starts the engine, backs out of the driveway, and squeals the tires a little on purpose as he takes off.

  “Goddamn that kid…” I hiss as I watch him drive down the street. I contemplate making a night out of calling him and sending him on errands for me every half-hour until midnight. But just as I’m formulating the plan, I hear Ember’s voice calling to me from the front door.

  “Hey, have you had dinner?” she asks as I trot up the sidewalk.

  “No. Why?”

  “Well…” Her cheeks are pink and rosy from her run, and they shine in the late afternoon light. “I mean, if you’re going to be here for hours anyway, there’s no point in you just sitting outside hungry, is there? Why don’t you come in, and I’ll make us both something to eat?”

  11

  Ember

  The question is out of my mouth before I give myself a chance to second-guess it. Even as I’m saying the words, my brain is firing the panic alert. Are you crazy? What the hell are you going to talk about for more than ten seconds? Why would he even want to come hang out with a weirdo introvert lawyer?

  Why would you want to invite an outlaw biker into your house?

  Striker doesn’t say anything for a couple seconds. My cheeks flame.

  “Sure,” he finally replies. “Saves me from havin’ to call Jude to bring me an order of McDonald’s.”

  “Great!” I say brightly, feeling slightly idiotic. My instinct is to be a little offended that I only rate slightly higher than lukewarm fast food, but I push that thought away.

  Striker follows me up the path to my front door. “Come on in,” I say when I get inside the foyer. He steps in behind me, peers around. Striker’s face is inscrutable as he takes in the foyer, the flowers, the high ceiling with the drop chandelier, the winding staircase to the second floor. But even though I can’t read his expression, I can’t help but feel like he’s judging me, somehow.

  I resist the urge to blurt out that I didn’t pick out the house. That I don’t even particularly like it. It isn’t huge — at least it’s not the biggest one in the neighborhood — but it is definitely on the imposing side, and it’s decorated in a style chosen by the professional decorator Mark hired when we first bought the place.

  “You want me to take these off?” he asks, pointing to his boots.

  “Oh, no. That’s okay. Really,” I say quickly. I don’t want him to think I’m any fussier than I already feel. I unclip Bert’s leash and set it on the large, round table in the center of the entryway, the sole purpose of which is to hold a large vase of fresh-cut flowers. These days, the vase holds an artificial array, which I notice now could use a dusting.

  “Um, I’m sort of sweaty from my run,” I murmur. “I’m going to go up and take a shower, if that’s okay with you.”

  He lifts a corner of his mouth. “It’s your house.”

  I feel so freaking awkward with him in here right now. This was probably a huge mistake. I can see the entire evening stretching out before us, with me struggling to make conversation, and him wondering how long he has to stay before he can decently take his leave.

  “Do you want something to drink?” I offer, pointing toward the kitchen. “I have some white win
e.”

  Striker chuckles. “I ain’t exactly the wine type.”

  “Yes, I probably should have guessed that. What type are you?”

  “Whiskey. Beer.”

  I bite my lip. “I don’t think I have either of those.”

  “That’s okay. I’m on duty. I shouldn’t be drinking, anyway.”

  “You want iced tea? Water? I have sparkling and still.”

  “Just some tap water is fine.”

  Leading him into the kitchen, I go to the cupboard, pull out a water glass, and fill it from the tap. I start to grab some ice to put in it, but he stops me with a raised hand.

  “No ice.”

  “Here you go,” I say awkwardly.

  “Thanks.” He lifts it to his lips, takes a drink. I don’t know how he does it, but he manages to make even that look sexy. Those hard, muscled forearms. The large, powerful hands, with fingers that I already know are callused but can be gentle. The square jaw, with those sensual lips that are usually set in a scowl but also sometimes surprise me with a rare smile.

  Striker drains the glass, sets it down on the counter with a slight bang that startles me back into the present moment. My skin flushes, even though I know he can’t know what I was thinking.

  “I was thirsty.” His lips quirk up, and it somehow makes me want to melt into a puddle.

  “Would you like another glass?” I stammer.

  “I can get it myself.” He lifts his chin toward the second floor. “Go. Take your shower.”

  “Right. I’ll only be a minute.”

  Gah. This mundane exchange has left me feeling so frazzled that need a drink. I grab myself an insulated wine tumbler and splash some wine in it, then head upstairs before I can say anything else ridiculous. I go into the master bedroom, lock the door, and lean against it, raising the tumbler to suck down a long drink of the cold wine.

  “This was a bad idea,” I say out loud. “And also, why in the hell am I talking to myself?”

  Thankfully, ten minutes in the shower makes me feel slightly better and more ready to face Striker again. After standing under the hot water, rinsing away the sweat and my embarrassment, I pad back out into the bedroom wrapped in a towel and contemplate what clothes to slip into. I find myself wanting to look good for him, which irritates me I even think about putting some makeup on.