Lyric

Shock blanked Hustler’s face for a moment, before a terrifying anger filled his eyes and he snarled, “Are you fucking shitting me?”

My reaction was instant, and visceral. I tried to make myself as small as possible, to curl into a ball, but he wouldn’t let me. His hands tightened on my arms until they hurt, his fingers closing over the same spot where Pastor Middleton had grabbed me hard enough to leave bruises. I closed my eyes tight, terrified by the violence pouring from him.

“Answer me!” he yelled, loud enough that my ears rang.

“I didn’t see the man, but I heard them talking. They were just discussing mutual friends, so I didn’t think much of it. I was afraid Clint was there to try and take me back, so I didn’t stick around long.” I took a shaky breath, my voice high with fear. “Get off me, right now. I don’t want you touching me anymore. You’re hurting me. Stop.”

I was proud of myself for summoning the courage to say those words. In the past, when I’d been disciplined by members of the church, they’d often used their size against me. I was small, petite even though I was curvy, and it didn’t take much to subdue me when I was a child. I’d promised myself I’d never endure that again, and it broke my heart that Hustler was treating me like this.

He blinked once, twice, and the rage bled from his eyes, leaving behind shame and remorse. Looking at his hands holding my arms, he suddenly released me as if I was on fire. His roar was one of rage, and some aching emotion I couldn’t name. I scrambled off the bed, then grabbed my clothes as quickly as I could.

“Angel,” he said softly and took a step in my direction.

“Stop right there,” I snarled. “You don’t get to come any closer to me. You’ve—you’ve lost the right to touch me.”

“No, please, I’m sorry I freaked out—you don’t understand how important this is. The sooner we figure out who he is, the quicker we can start saving lives.”

“What?”

“You heard this guy talk, right? The one called Chief?”

“Yes.”

“Did he sound familiar? What do you remember?”

Frowning, I tried to recall the evening, the feeling of the night, the sensation of my heart pounding as I hid and listened to them.

“They were talking about a mutual friend who’d passed, a man named Red.” I frowned, looking away from Hustler and staring at the ceiling as I struggled to recall that night. “And something being taken from Chief, but I can’t really remember what. I didn’t really pay attention.”

Hustler’s voice grew rough as he said, “Can you remember anything about the other guy’s voice? You recognize it at all? Would you know it if you heard it again?”

“Maybe, why?”

Instead of answering my question, he said, “I gotta make some calls.”

“Hustler?”

He totally ignored me and grabbed his phone, then went into the bathroom and shut the door, then turned on the shower for good measure.

Staring at the now-closed door, I rubbed my arms and looked down at them, red marks from his fingers still showing on my flesh. The sight of those marks triggered something in me and I suddenly didn’t want to be here anymore. Tears burned my eyes and I stared at the closed bathroom door, the impulse to leave, to run, growing stronger by the second. I felt betrayed by Hustler, and the memory of how furious he’d been galvanized me into action.

I grabbed my backpack and dug out a clean set of clothes. Gray leggings this time, with a loose pink T-shirt. It must have been one of Swan’s T-shirts, because it hung down to almost my knees, more a short dress than a shirt. Staring into the mirror above the dresser, I grimly pulled my hair into a braid, then glared at it. I was so tired of having to deal with all of this.

My eyes scanned the dresser and I found Hustler’s sheathed knife sitting next to his saddlebag. Grabbing the blade, I pulled it out and tested the sharpness. Most people would think that having grown up on a commune, I’d have no idea how to use a knife, and that the church would forbid us weapons. They didn’t realize we hunted for our meat, and every kid at my church knew how to field dress a dozen different animals. I also had a surrogate mother who could throw knives better than any professional I’d ever seen. She made it beautiful, like an art form. Something ancient warriors would have practiced. I’d never been able to make myself train with Mike and Swan, but I could chill out with Mimi.

The exercises she led us through, they were like tai chi with knives.

Thinking of Mimi made me feel brave, strong. She believed in me, believed I was strong enough to lead my own life. She made sure I knew I could do whatever I wanted. And right now, I wanted to do something outrageous. Something that would give me the freedom I craved. A way to shed my old skin and reveal the true me beneath.

I grabbed my braid and held it in my fist. Once, a long time ago, I’d read that they could make a wig for someone with cancer out of ten inches of hair. So that’s what I cut off. It took a bit of sawing, but I worked fast and before I knew it, I was standing there holding my hair. I set it gently on top of the dresser, stroking my hand down the length of the severed braid. I hoped my donation would make someone happy, make them feel good about themselves again.

Taking a deep breath, I looked into the mirror and ran my fingers through the remains of my braid. My hair, which used to fall all the way to my bottom, now stopped in the middle of my back, just above where my bra strap would sit. I shook my head, loving the feeling of how light my head was without the weight of all that hair. Fluffing my fingers through it, I smiled, feeling that I looked at once older and younger. More modern, and less like I stepped out of the pages of a historical novel.

I looked like the kind of girl who could have a bright future, the kind of girl that could become part of the world.

Sliding the knife back into the sheath, I set it back on the counter and tapped the hilt. I really, really wished, with all my heart, that Hustler hadn’t freaked out on me like that. The trust I’d automatically given him was gone, and I didn’t know if he could ever earn it back. A small part of me was afraid of him now, and I hated that he made me feel that way. Tears of frustration threatened to fall, but I dashed them away and finished getting dressed and packed my bag. I was ready to get to Austin as quickly as possible, without Hustler. I now knew how to use a credit card, and thanks to Mimi, I had a valid ID and could buy anything I needed.

Hustler was still in the bathroom, so I slipped out the door after leaving him a note, telling him I was fine and on my way to Austin.

Once I made it to the elevator, I felt a sigh of relief fill me. We were on the top floor, and it seemed like we stopped at every single floor on the way down. To make things worse, on one of the floors we had to wait for what had to be a good three minutes for someone to go grab their purse. By the time we made it to the lobby, the elevator was full and I was squished in the back, behind a family’s luggage. I was already regretting my hasty decision to leave. Just the press of people in the small space with me was oppressive, and I felt so very alone. When the elevator doors slid open to the lobby, I was contemplating staying on the elevator and just going back up.

Rushing off by myself was a little impulsive, and possibly dangerous. I might have felt brave, but I was still so woefully ignorant of my environment. Keeping my gaze on the floor, I left the elevator and began to cross the lobby to a small sitting area off the main floor. I could call a taxi. Maybe.

I came to an abrupt halt as a strong hand gripped my arm. Before I could react, Hustler had me inside the elevator again, this time going up.

Sweat gleamed on his face, and I had a feeling he sprinted down those stairs to beat me to the lobby.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he snarled. “And what the hell did you do to your hair?”

Lifting my chin, I yelled back, “I cut it, because it’s my hair and I can do that. I’m donating it to a children’s cancer campaign that makes wigs for kids.” He reached for me, his expression softening, but I ducked out of his grasp. “I’m going to Austin, by myself. I don’t want to be around you anymore.”

“Well that’s too fuckin’ bad,” Hustler growled as he stepped closer, all up in my space, “because you’re stuck with me now.”

“What?”

“You know who Chief is.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Somewhere locked inside that pretty head of yours, you know him. We’re hopin’ that if you hear him, you’ll remember. Or something will surface in your memories about the conversation, some small detail you forgot about.” His nostrils flared. “Until that happens, I’m gonna be on you like bees on a honeypot.”

“No, you’re not. I don’t want you anywhere near me. I don’t like you anymore.”

“Baby,” he purred, his entire demeanor shifting, his gaze calculating. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t try to sweet-talk me like I’m a moron. It demeans us both,” I snapped. “Your behavior was unacceptable.”

The doors to our floor slid open and I marched out, only to find myself yanked back into the elevator.

“What?”

“Shhhh,” Hustler whispered. “Listen.”

I could hear men’s voices from somewhere down the long, curved hallway leading to our room.

A guy growled, “We sure they’re in there?”

“Yeah. My contact says the Hustler just called and said they were here. We go in, grab her, and shoot that border-monkey motherfucker in the head.”

My heart slammed against my ribs, and I whispered, “That’s Clint.”

Another man with a thick French accent spoke up, and Hustler tensed. “No, we take him. My president would be very, very interested in all the things Hustler can tell us. And Chief wants some alone time with him.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you do with him, but the girl comes with me.”

“Agreed.”

“Come on, let’s get this shit over with,” another guy muttered.

Moving quickly, Hustler pushed the Close Door button as male voices echoed down the hall. The doors slowly, ever so slowly, slid shut and I remained frozen the whole time. The look on Hustler’s face was not a good one, and when the elevator began to move, he let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh no, oh no, please, God, no… Clint’s here, he’s here! He found me. How did he find me?”

“Motherfucker.” Closing his eyes, Hustler rubbed his goatee with a rough hand. “I don’t fuckin’ know how they found us. I only told a few people where we were, and none of ’em would’a betrayed me. I recognized one of those voices. Froggie used to be with Iron Horse before Beach became president. Got chased outta the club for human trafficking. Runs with a rival club now, the El Diablos.”

“But how did they find us?”

“I have no idea, and I’ll worry about that shit later. Right now, my goal is getting you safe, which means we gotta move quick. Once we get outside, you do everything I tell you. No questions. Understood?”

“But what about your stuff?”

He nodded to his saddlebags. “I keep everything important in there, and bring it with me everywhere when I’m travelin’. Brought ’em with me just in case you managed to leave before I hit the lobby and I had to take off after you.”

That reminded me of his earlier asshole behavior, and the reasons I left in the first place. “Fine, but we’re not friends. We’re not anything.”

“Wrong.”

“What?”

“Wrong. You’re mine.”

“I am certainly not yours.”

He pulled me close, then gave me a kiss that set me on fire. “Too late. I’ve made the statement, Beach and Sledge will spread the word, along with the Anderson sisters, and soon everyone’ll know you’re mine.”

“But why?”

“Because I can’t let you go, Lyric. No one is going to protect you as good as me, no one would be willing to take a bullet for you more than me. I’d rather die knowing I kept you safe than live without you.”

“But you hurt me.”

He flinched like he was the one who’d been struck. “I know, and I’m so sorry about that. I swear, I’ll make it up to you.”

Our conversation stopped as we cut through the lobby, and my skin was crawling with fear by the time we made it out the front doors. The parking lot appeared empty, other than a family a couple rows down, filling their minivan with luggage. Hustler grabbed my hand in his and moved us quickly to his bike. He swiftly checked it over, then let out a sigh of relief.

“Looks like they didn’t mess with it. Probably thought we were sitting ducks. Lazy fuckers.”

After jerking my helmet into place, I practically leaped onto the seat behind him and wrapped my arms tight as he turned his motorcycle on. We swiftly pulled out of the parking lot, and my heart was racing as Hustler expertly cut into traffic. I clung to his back, trying to get my body to relax. This was crazy, all of it, but I felt so weirdly alive. Like all the adrenaline rushes had forced me awake.

“You okay back there?” Hustler’s voice came through the helmet’s speakers.

“Considering I’m running from Clint, and some bikers that call themselves devils, on the back of a motorcycle of a man I don’t like, I’m fine.”

“Salty.” The amusement in his voice rankled me. “You like me.”

“I most certainly do not! You scared me, Hustler, and that’s unacceptable.”

“Baby, I know I did, but you have to try and see where I was comin’ from. For years—fuckin’ years—Chief has been trying to destroy everyone and everything I hold dear, but the man’s a ghost. I’ve busted my ass looking for one tiny break, anything that’ll help us stop him and have come up empty.” He revved the bike faster and I clung to his back as we passed a slow-moving vehicle. “Then, outta nowhere, you give me the first real, solid lead I’ve had in months. I overreacted, I know, and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t make it better.” I sounded petulant to even myself.

He ignored me. “When we get to Austin, you’re staying with me.”

“The heck I am!”

“It’s the safest place for you.”

“I’m going to stay with Swan. Are you trying to tell me Smoke’s house isn’t safe? Swan’s told me about it, it’s practically a fortress.”

“It is, but do you really want to bring trouble to their doorstep?”

“What?”

“Clint, El Diablo, Chief—they all want to find you for some reason and they’ll keep trying to find a weak point, some way to grab you. I have no doubt Clint’ll show up around there sooner than later. You know why he wants you so bad?”

“I…” I almost told Hustler how Pastor Middleton tried to force me to marry Clint, but swallowed it back. No doubt Hustler would tell Mike, and then Mike and Mimi would go on a killing spree. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you need to think about it. What do they have to lose by you leaving? What do they have to gain by making you stay?”

“I have no idea.”

“Until we figure that out, I want you at my place.”

“Isn’t that going to mess with your whole ‘we can only be friends’ idea?”

He laughed. “Baby, that ship set sail a long time ago. I was crazy if I ever thought I could let you go, that I’d be able to resist you. I’d have done it, would have tried my best, but we both know that in the end, I would have found a way to make you mine.”

“But you hardly know me.”

“I know the important stuff. I know your heart, your soul, and I know we’re meant to be together.”

I recalled Swan talking about his reputation as a cad. “I bet you say that to all your women.”

“Nope. Never said it to anyone—never felt this way for anyone.” His mic cut out for a second before he said, “I got some calls to make. We should be at the clubhouse in an hour, so just hang tight.”

As we drove through the increasing traffic, I took in the sights of four lane roads jammed with people, of the stares we were getting as we rode past on Hustler’s gleaming motorcycle. Night had fallen, and I was amazed at how dull the sky above us was. I could hardly see any stars, the night hidden by the glow of streetlights. The noise was still intense, but considering how loud Hustler’s chopper was, I’d gotten used to it.

We drove out of the city, and the homes and businesses became more spread out. Vast expanses of open land, broken up by hills and trees, reminded me of home, and my heart ached. I wondered how my grandmother was doing, if Tess and June were okay, if my mom missed me. For a second, I wondered if maybe Clint was trying to find me because something had happened, but quickly dismissed the idea.

The motorcycle slowed as we approached a pair of huge galvanized steel gates guarded by two men. They raised their hands as Hustler approached, the patches on their black leather vests gleaming in the bright security lights. Each man was older, in maybe his forties or fifties, but they were big and intimidating. Their eyes held no light or warmth as they examined me, and became only marginally friendlier as they took in Hustler.

After waving us through, we drove down a tree-lined paved road that ended in front of a massive three-story building. There were motorcycles and people everywhere, along with a bonfire roaring off to the side. My eyes were probably bulging from their sockets as I stared at everyone, but mainly the scantily-clad women. Never in my life had I seen so much skin. And I don’t just mean short skirts or low-cut tops. Some of these girls were entirely topless, with sparkling pasties over their nipples or nothing at all. And they were beautiful, in a rough and wild way. Lots of hair, lots of big perky breasts, and lots of mile-long legs. They were so pretty, and more than one lit up at the sight of Hustler’s bike pulling up into a spot near the front of the building.

After he parked and helped me off, he started talking right away to a handsome Asian man who’d strolled up to us, asking where Sledge was.

I remained right by the bike, afraid to move and draw attention to myself. People were wasted all around us, and I couldn’t help but feel totally out of place. A group of women wearing leather vests was staring at me and pointing, clearly talking about me. When I looked away from them, I found a bunch of guys examining me with unfriendly expressions. Then I realized it wasn’t me the guys were glaring at, but Hustler.

Confused, I watched as Hustler and the Asian man spoke in hushed tones. They seemed to have completely forgotten me, so I awkwardly stood in place and took my helmet off, wondering how crazy my hair looked. I’d braided it again to keep it from being blown into knots by the wind, and I toyed with the much shorter end, slightly surprised to find a hunk of my hair gone. My heart sank as I realized I’d left my braid back in the hotel room, and I wondered what happened to it, if someone had just thrown it away.

Hustler grabbed my hand. “Come on.”

His expression was pissed, and I hesitated, digging in my heels slightly. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer me, pulling my arm and pretty much forcing me to follow along behind him, or get dragged like a child.

When we went through the double front doors of the clubhouse, I stumbled into Hustler’s back at the sight of pure debauchery.

People were having sex, like, for-real sex, right out in the open!

And it wasn’t pretty.

While there were a ton of really handsome men, there were also a lot of older, sloppy, greasy-looking guys grinding away on top of various women half their age. To my right, a guy who could have given Santa Claus a run for his money in the belly department was pounding away at a faceless woman bent over a table. Ahead of us and to the left, three guys were getting blowjobs while they chatted and drank beer. And somewhere behind me, a guy was making really weird grunting noises. I didn’t dare turn around to see what he was doing.

“Holy moly,” I whispered.

I must have been loud enough to hear because Hustler frowned down at me. “Sorry, should’a warned you.”

A woman wearing a small blue spandex dress with a riot of dark curls sauntered up to us, her hungry gaze focused on Hustler. “Hey, handsome, long time no see.”

“Darla,” Hustler said in a curt voice. “Ain’t got time for your shit tonight.”

“But Sir,” she said in a pouty little girl voice that made me want to barf, “I’ve been naughty.”

“Go. The fuck. Away,” Hustler growled.

Her gaze darted over to me, and I felt sick with jealousy and hot with embarrassment as she smirked. “Don’t be so mean. You know I’ve got no problem sharing your dick, Sir. Any way you want.”

I tried to pull away from Hustler, disgusted by this whole display, but he wouldn’t let my hand go. “You see this woman? This is Lyric, my woman. Only mouth that’s gonna be on my cock is hers. Only cunt I’m gonna cum in is hers. Spread the fuckin’ word, bitch. Anyone messes with her and they’ll regret it.”

Darla had paled, and I worried she was going to fall over in her heels. “Okay, Hustler.”

We made our way through the crowd and I leaned up to growl into Hustler’s ear, “What are you doing?”

“Staking my territory,” he said as he glanced down at me, his face unreadable.

We made our way up a set of stairs, guarded by more cold-eyed men with guns. When we reached the landing, a woman’s voice called out, “Lyric!”

I turned to find Marley, Sarah’s personal assistant and good friend, flying down the hallway toward me. Unlike the women downstairs, she was reassuringly normal-looking. With her long light brown hair back in a ponytail, dressed in jean shorts and a tank top with cute gray sandals, she beamed at me as she closed the distance between us.

Grabbing me up in a big hug, she jumped up and down with excitement. “I’m so happy to see you!”

Grateful for a familiar face, I returned her hug. “I’m so happy to see you, too.”

“I can’t believe you’re really here.” She pulled back, then her eyes went wide. “Oh my God, you cut your hair!”

Feeling self-conscious, I fiddled with the shorter braid. “Yeah.”

“I love it. You look adorable.”

Sledge, a big, bald Hispanic man covered in tattoos, strolled up behind Marley, his hungry gaze fixed on her before turning his attention to me. “Hey, honey. Welcome home.”

I’d hung out with the Iron Horse vice president before the wedding, and despite his size, he was a really nice guy. “Hi, Sledge.”

Marley grabbed my hand. “Swan and Sarah should be home sometime tomorrow. In the meantime, we’ll get you set up at my house.”

“She’s staying with me,” Hustler said in a firm voice.

Marley’s eyes got big. “What?”

“She’s staying with me.”

“No, she’s not. She’s staying with me. We already have a room set up for her and—”

“Marley,” Hustler’s tone was gentle, but no-nonsense. “She’s staying with me.”

“Lyric…” Sledge said in his rumbly voice. “Where do you want to stay, sweetheart?”

Hustler growled at the “sweetheart,” but I ignored him. “I’m going to stay with Hustler, at least for a few days, until things get cleared up and the danger passes.”

Marley frowned. “Until what gets cleared up? What danger?”

“Club business,” Sledge said.

Her cheeks got red and I could practically feel the anger sparking off Marley as she turned to face Sledge. “No, no, you do not get to pull that ‘club business’ card with me. Not about Lyric.”

Hustler leaned down and whispered in my ear, “The less she knows, the safer she’ll be. Tell her you want to stay with me so she won’t cause a fuss.”

“Marley,” I drew her attention away from a silent Sledge, “it’s okay. I want to stay with Hustler. We…uh, we’ve…ummm…been intimate.”

“He’s been intimate with a lot of women. Honey, he’s a player.” A note of sorrow entered her voice and she glanced over at Sledge, then back to me. “They all are.”

That hurt, but Hustler said, “You ever see a woman wear my patch?”

She blinked at him, her mouth slightly open. “No.”

“You seen me with anyone in the past six months?”

Her brows drew down as she frowned in thought. “No.”

“Then quit bein so fuckin’ quick to judge. I like you, Marley, but you like to label people, put ’em into little boxes inside of your head. Once you decide how someone is, that’s it. Even if they change, even if they bust their balls to try and make you see ’em for who they really are, it’s impossible. You’re so set on seein’ me as a player that you ignore reality. I’ll admit, I’ve had fun, I’ve been a bastard, and I’ve been a selfish prick, but that isn’t who I am anymore. I’ve grown up, realized what’s important, what’s worth fighting for.” He looked down at me and I swear my heart fluttered. “A good woman is one of those things. You find a good woman, you hold onto her with both hands, do whatever you have to do to tie her to you. You make her life so beautiful that she can’t imagine living without you in it. You sure as hell don’t let her go once you’ve found her. Life is too short, too precious to waste.”

With that, he leaned down and gathered me into his arms, lifting me off my feet before he brushed his lips over mine, the rough scratch of his goatee a delicious counterpart to his lips. I wrapped my arms behind his neck and buried my fingers in his hair, slanting my mouth against his while he took my breath away. I loved feeling him against me like this, suffused with the pleasure of his touch, his scent, everything about him.

Yes, he could be a jerk, and yes, we had a lot to talk about, but he was right. Life was too short, and I believed that God brought Hustler into my world when I needed him most. I had no idea what tomorrow would bring, but right now, as I lost myself in Hustler, I prayed I wasn’t making the biggest mistake of my life in trusting him.