Chapter 5

Struggling to wake as a rooster crowed nearby, Mary Jane turned over and groaned.

“Mom, tell Dad to lock Lenny in the barn and shut him up,” she mumbled.

“Who’s Lenny?”

The deep voice shot her straight to a sitting position in the bed. Blinking, she looked around and spotted the sexiest man she’d ever seen. His tousled blond hair made him look like he’d been well used during the night. He reclined in a huge leather chair, his broad chest bare, his thickly muscled arm slung across the top of the chair above his head, and a hand dangling over the back.

She wished she could move fast enough to grab her cellphone and snap a picture. Chances were he would move and spoil the effect.

When his gaze leisurely traveled down her body, she remembered everything. Then bing! Her nipples tightened. The man did charge her battery.

“Lenny?” he reminded her.

“Our rooster on the commune.”

“Commune, heh?” A twinkle brightened those beautiful eyes.

Her face flushed. Since moving into civilization, as Jimmy always—

Oh, my. Jimmy.

Tears welled up.

“Don’t start crying. You don’t have to tell me about it if you’re that homesick.” His alarmed expression said he was about to run out of the room.

“No. I’m not homesick. I remembered about Jimmy.” She cleared her throat. His gaze dropped and glued to her legs. Her face heated more. She pulled up the sheet to her waist. Wanting her mind on something else, she said, “Lenny was our rooster back home. He crowed every time we turned around. Used to drive us crazy.”

“I thought they only crowed at daybreak.”

“Oh, no, city boy. They crow like dogs bark whenever they become excited or startled.”

He glanced at his cellphone resting on a small table. “Speaking of daybreak, it’s eleven. Let’s get going and find some food. Then we’ll call the cops and ask if they learned anything new.”

She stayed under the covers and wrapped her arms around her raised knees. At first, she stared because the words “call the cops” sounded abnormal coming out of an outlaw biker’s mouth. Oddly, that was the second time he’d said it in the last twenty-four hours.

But when he stood and stretched, fingertips almost reaching the ceiling, her eyes refused to turn away. She squeezed her legs together. Had he any idea that his pecs, abs, and biceps were a sight to be seen? He was cut enough to impress without looking overblown.

Tattoos covered both arms and around his torso, but nothing on the upper back. She’d expected to see the club’s logo, a flaming skull sticking out its tongue, spread across his shoulders. She’d heard it was a common way to show loyalty and dedication. Only downside, if a person ever left the club on less-than-good terms, the tattoo would be taken off, by any means necessary. Something that would be terribly painful.

“I’ll be out of here in a few minutes.” He slid open a panel with finger holes she hadn’t noticed before, revealing a closet. He pulled out a T-shirt and another pair of jeans and headed for the bathroom.

She sighed, mourning a little when he shut the door.

She was glad she’d taken time to shower before hitting the bed last night. Although the bed still smelled of Storm: smoke, soap, and man. Resting between his sheets and knowing he slept a mere short distance away, she’d had the most risqué dreams.

She glanced toward the bathroom. Sure would be nice to know if he was as good with his mouth as he had been in her dreams.

The water turned off in the shower. She rushed over to the bags and looked inside. T-shirts and jeans. Several pairs of panties. Her stomach turned over at the thought of those men touching them. Gross. With no other options, she changed into the other clothes. At least she would be dressed like she belonged.

Storm brushed back his damp hair, avoiding his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The older he became the more he looked like his dad, and he hated it. Same reason he shaved only once a week. He once grew a beard but found it irritating. The scruff on his cheeks was enough to blur the image.

Then he remembered what the cop had told him. His dad was out on parole. The asshole deserved life in prison at the very least; he wouldn’t even have minded if the fickle legal system had given the son of a bitch a lethal injection.

He leaned, hands flat on the vanity, and shook his head. No need to think about that murderer. He meant nothing to him. It had happened years ago, and he and his sister, Cassidy, were better off without him.

Pushing away from the counter, he opened the door and strode into the bedroom. The bed was made and Mary Jane’s clothes were folded on top of his dresser. But no Mary Jane.

She shouldn’t go downstairs by herself. The boys didn’t know how to act with someone like her. Then again, they knew better than to touch what was his.

Shit! No. Not his. He grimaced and rubbed at his eyes. Most likely, in a couple weeks, after he worked out something with the Thirty-Second gang, Mary Jane would be on her way home. Then she’d be back in her world, and he would have a good chunk of her money for his services. If only she’d let him perform a few other services…Shit! He adjusted his cock. He had to keep his mind on track. Though she said she’d grown up in a commune, he’d noticed how easily she blushed.

Taking the steps two at a time, he went in search of her. He came around the corner and his gaze shot straight to where she sat at the bar. There could be a hundred people surrounding her, and he would spot her in a second. A homing pigeon couldn’t find her faster. She was unlike any woman he’d ever met. She didn’t back down or scream or act the diva. He liked her laid-back attitude and how everything fascinated her.

He looked around and spotted one Mayhem Brother stretched out on a couch sawing logs and another sprawled on the floor with a puddle of drool near his head. It was nothing unusual for any number of bikers to crash after a night of drinking beer and smoking pot.

What did she think this place was? A local community center? She looked as if she was enjoying the conversation with the Mayhem Brother on the stool next to her while she ate the late breakfast that someone had gotten for her.

Without hesitation, he started in her direction. He reached the halfway mark when she looked up and smiled. His chest tightened. When was the last time someone was so happy to see him?

Then the Brother next to her turned around.

Storm stopped dead still.

“Hello, son.”

Mary Jane looked from Storm to his dad. So this was Easy Ryder.

She knew he looked familiar.

Maybe partly because she hadn’t expected him to be on parole, she hadn’t caught the resemblance. Despite the deeper wrinkles at the corners of his light gray eyes, the gouges running alongside his mouth, and the silver strands sprinkled through the blondish-brown hair, he looked a little like his son. But he seemed to be in his late fifties. From the file she’d read from Jimmy’s investigation into the club, he’d been in his late teens and early twenties when Storm and his sister were born. That would place him in his forties. Despite the rough living obvious on his face, he appeared to have taken advantage of the gym in prison as his body was trim and lightly muscled.

Included in that file was the history of the club. What was publicly known, anyway. Easy and his dad were founding members, and Storm was a third-generation member. He could be considered Brothers of Mayhem royalty. No wonder Storm had landed the president’s position at such a young age and so soon after being paroled from prison.

Returning her attention to Storm, she almost choked on a gasp. She’d never seen such a look of pure hatred. His eyes darkened like his namesake. What would she do if he attacked his dad?

The arteries in Storm’s neck bulged, showing the strain he was under to be civil.

“Mary Jane, go to my room,” Storm said in a hard even tone.

She lifted her eyebrows. Common sense warned her to not say anything and start more drama that would only end badly.

“Sure. I’ll let you two talk.” Sliding off the stool, she stood to move away. Easy grabbed her wrist. She tensed. For goodness sakes, man. Don’t you see your son is on a short tether? She bit the side of her mouth to keep it shut.

His fingers caressed her palm. She tugged, and he squeezed her wrist tighter. Her stomach roiled. Even before she’d remembered what he had done, his cold, dead eyes told her he wasn’t quite right in the head. Father and son were dangerous, but in such different ways. She sensed Easy would kill at the least provocation, while Storm appeared to control his temper and only release it on those deserving. She hoped.

“Let her go, old man.” Storm grasped her by the waist. Easy lifted her arm and made a show of dropping it.

“Is that the way to greet your daddy?”

Storm ignored the question and pulled her a couple steps away. Then he kissed her. He held the back of her head as his tongue slipped between her lips. Her breath left her body. She forgot her audience and leaned against his hard body. Before she could wrap her arms around his neck, he released her, and his hand dropped to the small of her back and shoved.

“Go.” Storm clearly wanted her out of the way.

Dazed by the kiss, she blinked. What brought that about? She’d never seen him look so serious and dangerous. A mixture of fright and lust stirred in her. The man oozed alpha. Something was wrong with her. She should be running up the stairs screaming and hiding beneath the covers. But this side of Storm fascinated her. The kiss had been unexpected and mind-blowing. She felt he was a man who didn’t do anything without a reason. Warmth spread down her body.

Her curiosity slowed her steps. Unable to help herself, she stopped on one of the lower steps in the stairwell, out of sight, and listened.

Storm narrowed his eyes at the old man. By kissing Mary Jane, he ensured Easy understood she was under his protection. Of course, Easy didn’t always think things through.

One wrong move, old man.

His knuckles itched with the need to punch the bastard’s face. His old man acted as if he had nothing to atone for, despite the fact that he’d slapped around and murdered Storm’s mom. Easy never thought of how much the people around him suffered because of him, especially his kids. They never had new clothes or enough food, and heaven forbid anyone remembered their birthdays. Of course, he would never say any of those things. When Storm grew up, he’d learned to deal with what fate had dealt and moved on. Yeah. He had handled it until the asshole grinning at him reappeared in his life.

“What do you want?” Storm growled. Arms crossed, he waited for the answer.

“Well, Stormy boy, I’m doing what’s proper as a Mayhem Brother. I’m checking in with the president of my chapter.” He leaned back and canted his head, looking up and down at Storm. “You’ve got balls to be president at such a young age. Nineteen?”

“I’m twenty-one, but that has not a damn thing to do with it. As president, I have a say in who can be a member and who can’t. You’re not. Hand over your colors.” Storm gritted his teeth, wanting to push him some more.

“Wrong. There has to be a vote from all of the members and approval from the Skull. That’s my good ol’ drinking buddy, Speed Crane, isn’t it? How’s he doing?”

Storm could tell the old man wanted to hide the fury burning deep in his gut. He didn’t like “Stormy” telling him what he could and couldn’t do.

“It will be in your best interest to stay away,” Storm said, his tone threatening. “You can tell Twofer over there where we can find you after the vote.”

“You need some help, boss?” Twofer crowded the older man, trying to intimidate him so he’d do what Storm said. Twofer was known to crack a few heads.

Storm had to hand it to his old man; he didn’t show any fear.

Easy’s eyes narrowed as he nodded faintly. “Fine. I thought you had grown up enough to know that every story has two sides. When you’re ready to hear mine, let me know.”

“Is that what you told your lawyer and the parole board? That you’re misunderstood? Don’t feed me that bullshit. You forget. I was there.” Fury brought on a coldness to Storm’s limbs. If Easy didn’t leave now, he wasn’t sure he could hold back any longer.

Easy hadn’t been the boss of the Brothers of Mayhem all those years ago by accident. He was smart enough to know he wouldn’t win any fights at that moment. The old man sucked in his cheeks, lifted his chin, and walked away.

With a nod from Storm, Twofer followed a few paces behind, making sure the old man left.

Storm slammed his fist down on the bar, cracking the wood. Pain pounded along his arm like a heartbeat. The man infuriated him in equal measures for killing his mom and for making him yearn for it all to be a big mistake. Every child wanted to believe their parents loved them more than any earthly possession. He thought he gave up on that as a kid.

The asshole hadn’t even asked about Cassidy. If not for needing to check in with the president of the Sand County chapter, Storm doubted the old man would have even thought about seeing him.

He lifted his head and looked toward the steps. He heard light footsteps as Mary Jane ran up the stairs. Had he made a mistake by kissing her? Would his old man really know she belonged to him? Damn it! Not belonged to him. He squinted. She was under his protection. That was all. Though if he were to be truthful with himself, he sure as hell wished she belonged to him.

The door upstairs closed. She’d tried to be quiet, but the place was old and every sound carried unless they blasted music downstairs.

How much had she heard?

Didn’t matter. It was time for the two of them to talk terms.