Driving a truck since I first took on Ally, I forgot how fucking good it felt to balance my weight on two wheels and how free I feel on the road with nothing but the wind propelling me down the streets of Brooklyn. After the helmet fiasco, I didn’t press riding with Ally anymore. In fact, when Wolf returned my Harley that night I asked him to have one of the prospects drop off a car for me to use. Anywhere Ally and I go, I drive. Being at her beck and call has kept me and my baby apart.

Reunited with my chrome horse, I ride down to Pipe’s garage, my mind reeling with thoughts of Ally. From the way her lips feel against mine, to the way she fell into my arms after she fired that gun—I can’t get her out of my head. That ass, her smile, those freckles on her nose…she’s got me running in circles, chasing my tale like a bitch. And because God thought I wasn’t fucked enough, he sent Celeste over, revealing today is Ally’s birthday.

Realizing she had forgotten the day she was born was fucking torture for me and left me feeling torn. The logical part of me knew she should spend the day with Celeste and Cobra but the selfish fuck inside me wanted her all to myself. I wanted to be the guy who watched her blow out the candles.

Watching her reconnect with all the lost parts of herself has become more than just a job. It’s more than a responsibility or an act of commitment; it’s a thing of beauty. Funny how through all the ugly God still gives us bits of beauty to find.

Still, I tamed the beast inside me and ignored the aching feeling inside my chest and encouraged her to spend time with Celeste. I thought I was doing the right thing—giving them a chance to reconnect—figuring Celeste was better suited to help Ally come to terms with the forgotten day than me; I didn’t even know it was her birthday.

Yet, here I am straddling my bike in the parking lot of the garage, wondering if I made the right call. Knowing Ally still didn’t feel comfortable around Celeste and Jagger, I fear I threw her into a fire she wasn’t ready for.

“Well, well, well, look who is taking a hiatus from babysitting duty,” Riggs sing songs as I throw down my kickstand and dismount.

Tearing the helmet from my head, I hang it off the handlebars and glare back at him. Ignoring his comment, I glance around the lot.

“Where is everyone?”

“Jack is in the office with Blackie, Stryker’s fixing some hunk of shit Oldsmobile and Wolf is around here somewhere,” he says, pushing his sunglasses onto his head as his eyes scope the perimeter. Pointing to the far right corner of the lot, Riggs grins like a fool. “There he is.”

Following the direction of his finger, I spot Wolf on his knees wrestling with a plant.

“What the hell is he doing?”

“Planting tomatoes,” Riggs replies like it’s a natural occurrence. Like there is nothing strange about a no-nonsense biker, dressed in his leathers, planting tomatoes in a parking lot.

“What the fuck for?”

“He’s on a health kick,” he explains with a shrug. “We got zucchini and fresh basil too,” he adds.

“Was I really gone that long?” I ask in disbelief.

“A lot can happen around here in twenty-four hours.”

No fucking shit.

I’m about to ask what else changed when Jack and Blackie emerge from the office.

“Look who it is?” Jack calls, grinning for a split second before narrowing his eyes at me. “Where’s Ally?”

“Celeste came by and took her out,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets.

“What about the clinic?” Blackie asks. “She didn’t miss her appointment, did she?”

“No, of course not,” I tell him. “She hasn’t missed a single one.”

“What about therapy?” he continues.

“She went yesterday,” I tell him, growing irritable with his questions.

“Lacey mentioned that Ally’s going to need an ADL helper and that the therapist would find her one,” he informs me.

“What the hell is an ADL helper?” I growl, clenching my jaw.

Annoyed he’s questioning my ability to keep Ally on the straight and narrow, I bite back the smart reply and try not to glare at my vice president when really all I want to do is throw his own shitty past back in his face.

“ADL stands for Activities of Daily Living. Someone like Ally who has been pulled from society sometimes needs help acclimating to daily activities. You know, like the normal everyday bullshit, balancing a checkbook for example,” he explains. “It’s nothing bad, Deuce. It’ll help her.”

“She doesn’t even have a job, let alone a checkbook to balance,” I retort. “Look, I’ve got it all under control. She’s doing good…real good.”

“Whoa, calm down,” Blackie defends, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m only trying to help.”

“Deuce,” Jack intervenes, placing a hand on my shoulder. “No one is saying you’re not doing your job. All Blackie is saying is that the sooner she gets all the help she needs the better off she’ll be. Cobra wants her to be able to do everything she sets her mind to. He wants her to function like she should’ve been all this time.”

“Yeah, well tell Cobra Rome wasn’t built in a day. He doesn’t know her. Something he’d know if she felt comfortable enough to visit him for longer than ten minutes. She’s worried he’s going to want her to relive every day of the last twelve years,” I argue. “You gave me Ally, made her my responsibility, now you need to trust my judgment when it comes to her. I promise you I’ve got her.”

Riggs opens his mouth to say something but Jack’s eyes dart to him and he shakes his head.

“Don’t,” he warns before turning his attention back to me. “Fair enough,” he adds with a nod. “Now, enough about Ally. It’s good you’re here. Rick is on his way with some information on Yankovich.”

“Where are Bas and Needles?” I ask, glancing around the lot making sure I didn’t miss them.

“They’ve been riding back and forth, tying up loose ends in Albany and making arrangements to move down here.”

“Are they going to stay at the motel too?” I ask.

“Maybe,” Blackie answers. “Bas used to be in a carpentry union. Over the next few days he plans on breaking ground on the clubhouse. I told him we’d make sure to have a couple of extra hands on deck to speed up the process.”

“Before any of you chumps hammer one fucking nail or lay one brick you better haul your asses to my house and build me a ramp,” Wolf barks as he walks up behind me. “They’re releasing Linc and you all need to make my house wheelchair accessible,” he adds as he waves his finger around.

“They’re releasing him? What about the therapy?”

“It’s going to be outpatient therapy. I’m working with Cobra’s woman to get him a therapist who will come to the house instead of transporting him to a rehabilitation center every day.”

“You know, Bianci was telling me he added physical therapy to Xonerated. I could ask my favorite brother-in-law if he’s got a guy,” Riggs offers then a second later he laughs. “He’s got a guy…so fucking typical.”

Riggs’ brother-in-law also happens to be the late Victor Pastore’s son-in-law. Once an enforcer for the mob, Anthony Bianci retired from a life of crime and opened a boxing gym.

“Does he still do those self-defense classes at the gym?” I ask, immediately wondering if that’s something Ally might be interested in. Like shooting is therapeutic for her so might be self-defense classes. It would also get her out of the motel and amongst the living and all these idiots off my back.

“Yeah, of course,” Riggs replies. “The bull is turning itsy bitsy women into prized fighters. Shit, you should see my Kitten. If I’m ever in a fight I’m putting her ass in the ring. On top of a killer swing, the woman can lay a fucker out.”

“That why you had a black eye three weeks ago?” Jack teases.

“Man, ain’t nothing but love going on at Casa della Kitty,” Riggs grins. “Talk to me when she’s in the third trimester and looking to hang my balls on a flagpole.”

Just then Rick pulls into the gated lot and the mood changes from light to lethal in a matter of seconds. Silence falls over us as he steps out of the car and makes his way over to us. Shoving a folder under his arm, he extends his hand out to Jack and tips his chin toward the rest of us.

“Let’s go inside and talk,” Jack says, leading us into the garage. Wiping his hands on a rag, Stryker drops what he’s doing to join us. We all take a seat around the table and as usual Jack slams the meat mallet before leveling Rick with an intense stare. “Tell me you nailed this cocksucker to a place on the map.”

“I wish,” Rick mutters, sliding the folder across the table. “I’ve got nothing on Vladimir, but I did find a person of interest.”

“Don’t fucking tell me this bastard has another girl,” Wolf grunts.

“No, but he does have a brother.”

“Igor Yankovich,” Jack reads from a piece of paper. Handing the paper to Blackie, he narrows his eyes at Rick. “What does this mean for us?”

“Igor owns and operates several underground casinos across the Eastern seaboard and recently purchased a cruise line,” Rick explains. “That might explain why Vladimir is off our radar. If he’s moving through the cruise line and posing as a dealer at one of Igor’s card games he can easily fly under the radar and move whatever he needs to move.”

“So where are you going with this?” Jack asks angrily. “You’re giving me a bunch of possibilities when I told you I need hard proof of everything.”

“I’m giving you everything I have,” Rick retorts. “I’ve spent years following this guy, and trust me when I tell you I want him just as bad as you, if not more. I’ve exhausted every possible scenario and this is what I’m going to chase. You can get on the wagon or you can step off, but my gut is telling me Igor is the key to bringing down Vlad.”

No one says anything and we all just sit there mulling over his words until Jack turns his gaze to me.

“You’re not going to like what I have to say,” he warns.

“Then don’t say it,” I retort, bracing a hand on the table in front of me. “If it’s got to do with Ally, don’t fucking say it, Jack,” I add, shaking my head.

“Ally is our best chance at catching this motherfucker,” he argues.

“No,” I assert. “We’re not using her pain to go after the guy who fucking caused it all.”

“No one is using her,” Jack growls. “But like it or not, she’s the only one who can answer the questions we all have. She’s our ticket to Yankovich and at the end of the day you don’t really have a fucking say in the matter. In the end, it’s Ally’s choice on whether she talks or not and I’ll respect whatever she decides, but you need to let me talk to her.”

Balling my fists, I clench my jaw as I think about what he’s proposing and I know him well enough to know he’s going to do whatever the fuck he wants. He’ll corner Ally with or without my permission. What Jack doesn’t know though, is the last president to fuck with my commitments ended up a rotting corpse in a swamp.

Wolf clears his throat and turns to Rick.

“The last time you sat down at this table you said there were three girls other than Ally. Did you get any information on whether they’re alive or not?”

Turning my attention to Rick, I watch as he stands and takes the folder from Jack. It’s selfish of me to think but I can’t help but hope one of those girls is alive. That way Jack can play the hero, ride to her rescue and ask her all the fucking questions he wants and I don’t have to fucking kill him if he hurts Ally.

It’s a shame too.

I like Jack.

He’s batshit crazy but he’s got heart.

It’d be a shame for him to end up like King, but if he doesn’t take a step back… What the fuck am I saying? Realizing I’m actually contemplating offing another president for a woman sends a jolt of awareness down my spine and I start to talk myself down.

Focusing my attention on Rick, I watch him sift through the folder. He pulls out three photographs and passes them around the table. My phone sounds loudly, alerting me of a text message and disrupts the silence. A small part of me is grateful for the interruption because I feel like I’m losing my mind.

Not to mention the idea of connecting three more faces to this mess fucking makes me sick. Being close to Ally, listening to her as she tells me bits and pieces of her life is enough as it is. Call me a pussy, call me whatever you want, but I don’t think I can bare anymore of this shit.

Pulling the phone from my pocket, I glance down at Ally’s name and a sense of peace washes over me. It’s crazy what just seeing her name does to me. A minute ago I was plotting Jack’s murder and now I’m smiling because she’s texting me.

She threw me for another loop earlier when she called me from her new phone. At first I kicked myself because I hadn’t thought of getting her a phone but then I pushed that aside when she told me she discovered her favorite color was red.

Opening the text message, I let out a laugh and all eyes turn to me.

Yeah, they think I’m just as fucking nuts as Jack. You know it’s bad when the bipolar guy is looking at you like you got a screw loose.

“Excuse me,” I tell my brothers. Pushing back my chair I walk across the room.

Glancing down at the text, I smirk at the selfie she sent me of her hair full of tin

“What are you doing?” I ask when she answers.

“Trying to pick up HBO…what does it look like I’m doing?”

“Smart-ass,” I growl but it loses its effect when it turns into a laugh.

“Aww, you’re thinking about my ass again. Ain’t that sweet,” she teases.

At the mention of her ass, I almost whimper. They say abstinence won’t kill a man but I wonder if they had Ally’s ass staring back at them if they might change their tune. Really, I should just quit while I’m ahead and hand in my man card before it gets revoked.

Who the fuck am I kidding? I’m not ahead of anything. I’m like six fucking steps behind.

“Did I lose you?” she calls, dragging me away from my own private pity party.

“No, you said ass and I got sidetracked,” I confess, leaving out I’m fucking horny and jerking off in the shower isn’t cutting it anymore.

“I’m almost done here then I’m going to the hospital.”

“All right, I’ll be headed that way soon. If you want I’ll take you home. We can grab something to eat or whatever.”

Just as long as we’re not stuck in that fucking room. I can’t take it—the scent of coconuts, the way she lays across my body like I’m a fucking pillow—I can’t fucking take it.

“Under one condition,” she says.

“What’s that?” I ask regretfully.

Of course there’s a condition, why wouldn’t there be?

“Call me darling,” I whisper.

“Drop the g, baby…it’s darlin’,” I drawl, leaning against the hood of a car.

“God, I bet women drop to their knees when you say that.”

Picturing Ally on her knees sends me over the edge and I groan.

“Is that a promise?” I ask, imagining her mouth around my cock, painting it the color of her lips.

“Are you flirting with me?”

“No, absolutely not.”

It’s not a lie, I’m really not flirting with her.

I’m flirting with fire.

“You totally are.”

“Goodbye, Ally,” I grunt, unable to take another minute of this shit. Hastily, I disconnect the call and comb my fingers violently through my hair. Because I’m a fucking asshole and I can’t help myself, I draft a text message back to her and click send.

Can’t wait to see your hair.

Yep, I was flirting with fire.

Before my insanity escalates any further, I shove the phone in my pocket and turn around to face Stryker.

“Everything okay?” he asks, forcing me back to the situation at hand.

“Yeah, everything is good. What did I miss?” I question, tipping my chin to the men breaking up the meeting.

Aside from making me fucking horny, that phone conversation solidified the fact Ally was off limits to everyone.

Off limits to Jack.

Off limits to Stryker.

Off limits to the whole fucking club.

I guess old habits die hard.

“Rick showed us projection drawings of the girls he linked to Yankovich. One of them was found dead a couple of years back in Miami. Jack is going to reach out to Rocco because at the time he was running Vic’s nightclub in Miami so he may have some intel.”

“Christ, this gets worse and worse,” I mutter as my phone dings with a text message.

“How’s Ally?” Blurting the question, he pulls the baseball hat from his head and swipes his hand over his bald head. Studying him, I can tell he’s genuinely concerned and maybe even a little regretful.

“She’s coming along,” I reply.

“I’ve been kicking myself in the ass for not putting two and two together. The truth is…back then I wasn’t thinking about anyone but myself. I didn’t think of her as some damsel in distress. I thought every fucking problem was self-created because she was using.”

“I get it,” I pause for a moment. “I wonder why she never told anyone the truth.”

“She knew no one would care,” Stryker answers before letting out a sigh. “Anyway, I’m glad she’s opening up to you. Under all that pain, I bet Ally’s a great girl.”

“Even with the pain weighing her down, she’s pretty great. She’s fucking funny. I mean once you get to know her and realize she isn’t a total pain in the ass, she’ll make you laugh.”

“Careful, man,” he says with a hint of a smile. “It almost sounds like she’s got you wrapped around her finger.”

“No,” I argue with a quick shake of my head.

Bull-fucking-shit.

“For now,” he says, before patting me on the shoulder. I open my mouth to say something, anything that might make sense as to why Ally has me so twisted but I fall short.

“Did you know today was her birthday?” I call out, watching as he freezes. Slowly turning back to me, he shakes his head.

“No, I didn’t,” he replies, and for some reason that makes me feel good. He may have had her on the back of his bike but he never got to celebrate with her. I shouldn’t be bothered by the idea at all. Stryker is head over heels in love with his woman and the sensible part of me knows he’s just feeling guilty for using Ally in the past.

“Hey, Stryker?”

“Yeah?”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I reach behind me and cup the back of my neck.

“You took Ally riding, right?”

“A time or two,” he replies before patting the top of his head. “She doesn’t like helmets with face shields.”

I nod and as he turns to walk away, I decide on how Ally and I are going to celebrate her birthday.

Fast and hard.

Wild and carefree.

We’re going to ride.