Mason
I got out of bed on edge. My skin too tight, muscles coiled, and my head screaming.
Last night was the first night I didn’t hear from Trix.
I checked my phone every fucking hour, only dozing off in thirty-minute sessions before jerking awake to check it again. And every time . . . nothing.
She warned me that this would happen. One day that fucker would roll back into town, and she’d text me to let me know, that is, unless he showed up unexpectedly and she couldn’t. I’ve contemplated calling, blowing up her phone with messages, driving by her house, all the things I promised her I’d never do in this situation. I gave her my word that I wouldn’t be a complication to her plan, a chink in her iron-clad mission. I’m re-thinking that. Big time.
I throw down the dregs of my protein shake and force myself to swallow, worry and anxiety taking up most of the space in my stomach.
She better fucking be okay.
I check my phone again and still nothing. It’s six-thirty a.m. Maybe a quick drive by her house on the way to the training center will help to calm my nerves. Chances are I won’t be able to tell if either of them is there, but it’s worth a try if it means setting my nerves at ease. Hell, it’s all I’ve got!
Today is Friday and she works tonight, so there’s always a swing by Zeus’s later to make sure her ass is safe there. I brace my weight on the counter in my kitchen and blow out a long breath. Never thought I’d see the day where I’d be hoping my girl showed up for her shift at the strip club.
Never thought I’d all but give her permission to date another guy either.
Fuckin’ hell. Why did I do that?
As soon as the question filters though my head, so does the answer.
She gave me no choice.
In order to be with her, I had to agree to this. Otherwise, I’d be standing here doing the exact same fucking thing, but she wouldn’t be keeping me in the know.
Lose-fucking-lose situation if I’ve ever seen one.
My phone rings, and the speed in which I grab that shit, press “accept” and press it to my ear shocks even me.
“Hello?”
“Hey, bro.”
“Drake.” Disappointment settles in my gut, heavy and annoying. “What’s up?”
“Listen, man . . . I have a favor to ask.”
“No.”
“Dude, fuck off. I haven’t even asked yet.”
“Don’t need to. I’m sure the answer’s no.”
“Whatever. Listen. I need you to let us crash with you this weekend.”
“What? Okay, you’re right. I take back my ‘no’ because the answer to that is ‘hell motherfuckin’ no.’ No way. Uh-uh.” I shake my head as if he can see me. “Nope. No.”
“You finished?” He sounds bored.
“If you heard me say no and don’t plan on driving that shit home a hundred million times until I concede, then, yeah, I’m finished.”
“It’s only for two nights.”
“I don’t have a spare bedroom, Drake. You think I want six fuckin’ guys crashed all over my place? This isn’t a damn hostel. No.”
“It’s for Jess.”
Oh . . . well, fuck.
“I don’t want to leave her in Santa Cruz. She’s been . . . upset, and . . . I’m not headed to Vegas to party. I’m just going to meet with my dad and some of his crew, talk about getting out. I need to put Jess up somewhere she feels safe, and shoving her in a damn hotel room in Vegas ain’t it.”
“Gotta say I’m semi-impressed that you’re finally takin’ care of your girl.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“Yeah, you two can have the bedroom. I’ll crash on the couch. Only two nights, right? No plans on an extended stay?”
“Nah, we have a doctor’s appointment on Monday for the baby.”
Damn, I almost want to make some wisecrack about the grown-up on the phone, but something about the tension in his voice tells me he’s probably not in the best mood for jokes.
“Alright. I’ll leave a key under the mat. You remember where my place is?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m training ’til late. Have something I need to do tonight. Tell Jess to make herself at home.”
“Sweet, bro. Thanks.”
We disconnect after grunted good-byes, and I throw some clean sheets on the bed and pull out some fresh towels before snagging my keys to head out.
There’s a little part of me that’s looking forward to Drake and Jess staying for the weekend. At least it’ll distract me from worrying about Trix. Ah, who the fuck am I kidding?
Trix
A firm grip on my shoulder shakes my body. “Trix.” Another shake. “Babe, wake the fuck up.” There’s tension or anger in the voice that I immediately identify as male.
And not Mason.
Sadness washes over my body, leaving me heavy with an ache in my chest. I groan and bat at the hand that will not let up its grip. My mind settles back into my head, and I instantly regret it as the throbbing pain between my temples roars.
Hatch.
Did we . . .? I take quick stock of my clothes, the aches and pains in my body being in my stomach, neck, and head. If it didn’t hurt so bad to do so, I’d smile at how well my plan to get drunk and pass out in the bathroom worked.
“Trix, come on. Wake—”
“Stop—aargh!” I grip the sides of my head and curl into the fetal position on the hard floor. “My head. Shhh.”
“I’m outta here. I left the shit about tomorrow night on your dresser.” His voice is farther away, as if he went from crouching beside me to standing up. “Bring Angel and that other chick, the redhead.” The sound of a fast-flowing stream of liquid hitting water permeates the air. “These guys have cash, high-roller types. Dress to impress. They don’t—”
“Are you peeing!?” I curl up into a tighter ball, as if the act could protect me from Hatch’s lack of respect for my personal space.
He groans, low and raspy. “Didn’t give me much choice, babe. Tried to get you up.”
“Ewww, get out—ugh! Stop making me yell.” I dig my fists into my eyes and whimper. “Fuck.”
He zips up his fly and the toilet flushes. “You strapped one on last night. Not shocked you feel like shit today.”
“Stop. Talking.”
He grips my shoulders, rolling me to my back, and sets me on my butt. My brain feels like it should leak out my ears at any minute, and I groan as the room sways. He dips to meet my gaze. “Anything you wanna tell me, Trix?”
What a strange thing to ask? I blink, trying to figure out what the hell he’s getting at. “Um . . . no?”
“You sure ’bout that? I’m giving you a chance to come clean.” He holds up a finger. “One chance.”
Oh shit, he must know about Mason. I stretch my legs out, feeling for my phone without making it too obvious. No phone. Dammit. “I don’t know, Hatch. I mean . . . I’m sure there’s a lot we haven’t talked about.”
“You stickin’ with that?” He lifts his eyebrows, giving me a chance to fess up.
“You do realize making me think this hard is excruciatingly painful, right?” I close one eye and look at him. “Are you trying to hurt me?”
I expect him to laugh or at the very least crack a smile, but he doesn’t. He stands and walks away. “See ya tomorrow,” he calls out just before the sound of the front door closes.
What the hell brought that on? I deleted all Mason’s messages on my phone, so if Hatch did snoop, he’d only read one that must’ve come in recently. I drop my head into my hands. If that’s what all this is about, Hatch can get over it. We’ve always had a no-strings relationship that’s gone both ways. No way he’s allowed to get jealous now.
Pushing up to standing, I stumble off-balance, bracing myself with my elbows on the sink. My mouth is dry, and as much as I want water, just the thought of drinking has my stomach protesting. I breathe through a fresh wave of nausea, remembering that I never did end up tossing up my liquor last night. Too bad. Probably would’ve felt better if I had.
Hatch and I drank until . . . fuck, I have no idea. We talked, and with the exception of a few stolen kisses, I managed to get too drunk and avoided having to cheat on Mason.
Memories from the night trickle back, one at a time. He told me about Mexico, that he was on the run for killing a couple of guys who got too deep in MC business. He swears he didn’t do it, not that it matters now. A rival MC wasn’t happy about Hatch’s men offing their members and went after Hatch. I guess the rival MC ended up with an indictment and several mysterious deaths. So things mellowed out. Hatch came home.
I’d brought up the man he started to tell me about before he left—the one who he said, “cut women up for fun.” He’d remembered telling me about him, admitted the dude is bad news, but didn’t give me anything else.
At least he’s back to talking, and I seem to be on the right track. Getting in with Hatch and his associates can only bring me closer to finding out who this guy is, and tonight’s party is the perfect opportunity to do that.
I splash some cold water on my face and pull two pain relievers from the cabinet, washing them down with a palm full of tap water. I never did text Mason last night, but by the time Hatch showed up, I’m sure Mase was already sound asleep. If he tried to contact me this morning . . . A red flag fires in my head. That would explain Hatch’s interrogation. What did Mason say that Hatch read?
Unease crawls through me as I search out my phone. Last time I had it . . . I close my eyes and concentrate, pushing through my painful headache and focusing on what I was doing when Hatch showed up.
Sorting my drawers. I push from the sink and head to my room.
My bed is still strewn with clothes, Hatch most likely slept on the couch. I run my hands through and beneath everything, searching for my phone, when my fingers brush across a photo, slicing into my skin.
“Ouch!” I pull my hand out, sucking on the thin line of blood from the paper cut. Damn, that hurts.
I shove my uninjured hand into the pile and pull out the photo of my brothers and sisters and me. I grin at my Mickey Mouse sweatshirt and Mason’s response to my Disney obsession.
Right, Mason. I need to find my phone. I search my pocket. “Swore it was there . . .”
I race out to the living room, the back patio, and even pull all the cushions off the couch, but it’s gone. Nowhere to be found.
What the fuck? Where is it?
I find my charger in the kitchen and head back to my room. Sitting on my dresser is my phone with a slip of paper beneath it. Scrawled in barely legible writing is Car will pick you up at nine. Dress fuckable.
Charming. I shake my head and go to read whatever is on my phone that got Hatch’s hackles up. Dead battery. I move to the kitchen, plug in my phone, and wait for it to get enough juice to power up.
No new texts. Hm . . . then what the hell did Hatch mean?
I hit Mason’s contact.
It rings and I check the clock. It’s almost noon. I’m sure he’s working. His voicemail picks up, and I close my eyes, allowing the sound of his recorded voice to soothe my racing heart and aching head.
Beeeeeeep!
“Hey, Mase, it’s me. Sorry I didn’t text you last night, but . . . he’s back.” My lips pinch together, almost as if I’m waiting for him to get angry, even knowing this is a one-sided conversation. “Don’t worry. I’m still only yours.” God, I want to see him. Fall into his arms until I feel better. But I can’t. I’m too close now. “I love you.”
I end the call and then move back to the bathroom to take a shower. I have to be to work by six. I have only nine hours to revamp my plan to get information. Getting him drunk and talking isn’t working, but maybe the right combination of biker buddies and a whole hell of a lot of booze will do the trick. I’ll try just about anything at this point because I’m ready get what I need and go back to Mason.
Mason
The sun is almost down by the time I head out of the training center for home. I think Rex and I set a damn record for longest sparring session. Usually I don’t train this hard on Saturday, but with Trix tied up and my brother and Jessica taking up most of my place, I need to be gone and keep myself busy.
I drove by Zeus’s last night around seven and saw her car in the lot. It was near torture knowing that she was just inside, separated from me by a wall of brick and mortar while men, possibly even this Hatchet guy, were in there enjoying my woman’s body. I could’ve put a hole through my damn dashboard, but, instead, drove up to our spot in the mountains and lay in the bed of my truck, thinking about her.
When it was quiet and I was left to nothing except my own thoughts and the infinite stars, I prayed. I’ve never been a religious guy, but Trix is rubbing off on me. Either that or I’m desperate with nowhere else to turn. Hell, I’d do anything if it keeps her safe. Including praying to a God I’m only now starting to believe in.
I pull out my phone to call Drake, but notice I have one new voicemail. How the fuck did I miss that?
I freeze in the parking lot, halfway to my car, when I hear her voice.
“He’s back. Don’t worry. I’m still only yours. I love you.”
“Fuck!” I speed walk to my truck, throw my shit in the back, and peel out of the lot toward her house. Deep inside, I know I could be fucking up all her plans, but hearing those three words lights a fire in my chest. I need to touch her, to lay my hands on her, feel her warm skin and her beating heart behind her ribs to know she’s okay.
It doesn’t take long before I’m parked in her driveway next to a gray Smart car in the driveway. Not what I’d expect a guy named Hatchet to drive, so I jog to the door and pound hard.
The door swings open to reveal a smaller brunette. She’s dressed in conservative pants and a professional-looking button-up collared shirt, untucked. “Can I help you?”
A man comes up behind her. He’s average height, dressed similarly, with glasses and a frown. “Kim, you know this guy?” He glares at me.
“I’m looking for Trix. Is she here?”
Her eyes narrow. “And who’re you?”
My chest warms at how protective Trix’s roommate seems to be. “I’m her boyfriend.” It’s bold, but fuck it. It’s the truth.
The brunette, Kim, shakes her head. “No, she’s not. I’m pretty sure she’s at work, but I don’t know. We don’t cross paths often.”
Work. Of course. It’s Saturday night. “Okay, right.” I shake my head and step back. She’s fine, at work. Safe. I force my pulse to slow. “Sorry to bother you.”
“Wait.” Kim holds up her hand and disappears back inside while her man watches me intently. When she comes back, she hands me a Zippo lighter with an eagle engraved on the side and a black Harley Davidson tee. “Are you looking for these?”
I flip the lighter over in my hand then shove both items back at her, fighting the urge to roar. “These aren’t mine.”
“Oh, oops.” She flashes an embarrassed smile, hissing through her teeth. “I’m sorry. I thought . . . Never mind.”
“No, thought what? What did you think?”
Her gaze darts to her boyfriend’s and then back to mine. “Well, I mean you know Trix. She uh . . .” She chews on her lip.
“Guess you weren’t here for the party last night?” Kim’s boyfriend chimes in, a sympathetic smile plastered across his dorky face.
“No.”
“I just assumed . . . wow.” She rubs her forehead. “This is embarrassing.”
“No, it’s okay.” It is so not fucking okay. “I knew she had a party.”
I swallow hard and take another step back. Did he spend the night? Here. With her. I’ve never even spent the night here.
Without saying good-bye, I turn toward my truck, not moving nearly as quickly as I was when I got here.
Fine. He spent the night. But she said she’s still mine, so no sex. Does that include her mouth on his—fuck, no. I can’t go there. Not even in theory.
This is torture. Absolute fucking torture.
I growl and stifle the urge to put my fist through the window of my truck. How will we ever be able to survive this?
At this rate, we won’t.