Chapter Thirteen
Sangre tilted back the folding chair until it hit the concrete wall. Church had been going on for over two hours, and he’d grown weary of all the yelling and pounding the brothers kept doing every time someone mentioned the Satan’s Pistons or the Deadly Demons. He figured there would be trouble with the asshole clubs in Sturgis, but with the Insurgents and Fallen Slayers willing to help, he knew the Night Rebels could handle any shit they threw their way.
“The more immediate problem is with those damn 39th Street punks,” Diablo said.
“They need to stay the hell in Durango,” Goldie said, and the brothers whooped in agreement.
“You’d think the Los Malos fucks would be clamoring to do some shit seeing that we wiped out their strip bar in Silverado,” Chains said.
“They’re pussies now. We cut their balls off,” Paco answered, and the whole brotherhood roared.
Steel leaned against the wall, laughing, then when the noise died down, he pushed off and looked each brother in the eye. “They think Silverado is open now that the West Avenue Bandits and Los Malos are outta business. They also think each of them double-crossed the other. The Pistons have been itching to establish a smack trade in the south for a long time. There’s no fucking way I’m letting heroin anywhere in this area.”
Silence descended on the room as an air of sadness fell over the members. Paco clasped Steel’s shoulder, pulling him in a bear hug while the brothers lifted their fists in the air.
“We’re all with you, bro,” Sangre said.
“There’s no way we’re gonna let that shit get through,” Shotgun added.
Each brother voiced his support until Steel stepped forward and raised his fist. “Thanks, brothers. I knew I could count on you. Each of us is strong, but together we’re a fucking atomic bomb.”
The members rose to their feet, their fists pumping in the air as they chanted, “Night Rebels forever, forever Night Rebels,” over and over. After several minutes, they sat down, and Diablo came up to the front.
“Chains is monitoring the activities of these assholes.” He looked at Chains. “We’re in awe of your computer genius, bro.” The members clapped and whistled. “Brick, Knuckles, Patriot, and me are feeling out some informants in Durango and Silverado. We’ve gotta crush them before they make a move, but right now it looks like they’re not doing much but yapping.”
“Satan’s assholes haven’t forgotten what we did to them. I don’t think they’re gonna want to butt heads with us any time soon,” Muerto said.
“I agree, but we still gotta watch them. It’s when we get cocky and too lax that shit happens.” Diablo crossed his arms.
“Keep us informed,” Paco said to Chains and Diablo. “I guess that covers it for now. We need to take the threat of this street gang seriously. I’d like to annihilate them and the damn Pistons.”
“You may get your chance,” Sangre said, standing up. “There’s no way we’re gonna let any shit happen, so I think we need to allocate some funds to building up our arsenal. We took a hit when helping the Fallen Slayers out a while back.”
Steel nodded. “All those in favor of spending some of the club’s money for weapons, say Aye.”
“Aye!”
“Looks like you got the okay. Give Liam a call and arrange a date and time we can meet up with him in the next week.” Steel brought the gavel down on the wood block. “Church is over. Go forth and booze, fuck, and get high.”
The men guffawed as they pushed back their chairs and left the room. In the main area, Sangre went to the bar and picked up a bottle of beer and a shot of Jack. He walked over to an empty table and sat down.
“We got some major shit that’s threatening to hit the fan,” Army said as he joined him at the table.
“Tell me about it.” Sangre threw back his shot.
“What’s going on with the strip mall?” Jigger asked, pulling out a chair with his boot.
“Still getting the numbers together. I should have something concrete in the next couple of weeks. Chains is helping me gather the data.”
“I don’t know how the hell he can do all that computer shit.” Army motioned to the club girls who were sitting on the couch next to the wall.
Angel pointed at herself and mouthed “Me?” Army nodded and held up three fingers. Kelly and Lucy jumped up and followed Angel to the table.
“You gonna play with all three of them?” Jigger asked as he watched the women approach.
“Maybe later, but right now, I want some damn food,” Army said.
“What’s going on?” Angel said softly, wrapping her arms around Army’s neck from behind.
“Hey, Sangre.” Kelly smiled and stood next to him.
“Hey. I think Army wants you ladies to drum up some food for us since tonight’s Lena’s night off.”
“Is that all you can think about when you look at us?” Lucy folded her arms and pushed out her lips in a mock pout.
Army smacked her ass. “I see you as dessert, sweetie.” The girls giggled and walked toward the kitchen. “How’s your guarding going? Does your sexy friend still have her virtue?”
Jigger guffawed. “That’s a good one.” He gave Army a high five.
“Yup. Still intact.” Asshole.
“Yo,” Eagle greeted as he dragged a chair next to Sangre. “Seems like we had a problem last night with Isla’s account.”
Sangre’s hand stopped in midair. “What problem?” He brought the beer bottle back down to the table.
“Some fuck up with Jon and Ron. She ripped me a new asshole. She was madder than hell she couldn’t get a hold of you, so she took that out on me too. The chick’s got a mouth on her.”
He pulled out his phone and saw only one call from her during church. “I gotta get a new phone. Mine’s been acting up big time.” He stood up.
“What the fuck? The girls are bringing our food. You can call your friend after you eat. It’s not like she’s going anywhere.” Army leaned back in his chair and jutted out his jaw.
“The friend shit is getting old, dude. And I don’t need you to tell me what the hell to do. Get your own fuckin’ life and stay outta mine.” He stalked out of the room and bumped into Kelly coming out of the kitchen. “Sorry,” he said as he looked at the sandwich and fries on the plate she carried. “Is that for me?”
“I made it just for you.” She pressed her soft tits against him.
He took the plate. “Thanks. Eagle’s at the table and he may want one too.”
“That’s it? Don’t I even get a kiss for all my hard work?”
He kissed the top of her head then walked down the hall to the back porch. A wicker chair with a cushion covered in a bright tropical flower pattern stood near the window, and he sat on its arm. The club girls had been bothering the brothers for months about redecorating the screened-in porch, and they finally relented. He’d given them a few thousand dollars to redo the room with the proviso that they had to get a kickass grill for club barbecues. The women went all out, and the result was a bunch of furniture that looked like it belonged in a home décor magazine rather than in a biker clubhouse. He missed the comfortable, worn out couch and the overstuffed chairs they used to have. The only thing the girls got right was the stainless steel mega grill. Now, that one definitely kicked ass.
Sangre took a big bite out of his sandwich and tapped in Isla’s number.
“It’s about fuckin’ time I heard from you!”
“Eagle wasn’t kidding when he said you were pissed.” He chuckled.
“I don’t think anything about what happened last night is funny, nor do I think it’s funny that you ignored me all day. I’m beyond pissed!”
“First off, I didn’t ignore you. My phone’s shit and I have to get a new one. Second of all, what the hell happened last night?”
“Eagle didn’t tell you? Unbelievable.”
“He said there was a mix up on who was on duty.”
“No one was on duty. My car broke down and I had to walk to Main Street in the dark. I knew someone was following me. I could hear his footsteps. I could sense him. I’m not making it up. Someone was there, and if the bus hadn’t come when it did, who knows what would’ve happened. And then, Jon pops up out of nowhere, insisting he was there all along. He was lying. I’m telling you that no one was on duty last night.”
A sick feeling punched his gut. “Jon isn’t supposed to be watching you at all. I told Eagle not to use him for your contract. Ron should’ve been there. I make it a point to know who’s on. I’ll call Ron and Jon and see what happened. What wrong with your car?”
“I don’t know. It died on my last night. It’s at the shop right now.”
“How’d you get home?”
“I bumped into my next door neighbors, and they took me home.”
“Why the hell didn’t you call me when you noticed no one was watching you? I can’t believe you didn’t call me when you had car trouble.”
“My phone was dead, and I forgot to take the charger out of my other purse. It just made me feel vulnerable. I’ve started feeling better the last few weeks, but then last night happened, and it let me know that he’s still out there, watching me, waiting to pounce.”
“Damn. I let you down. You shouldn’t have gone through what you did last night. I’m sorry. I’ll get to the bottom of it. I’m coming over.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
He smiled; she never could stay mad at him. “You can let me hear the new songs you’ve been working on.”
“I’d like that.”
“I’ll be there soon.” Sangre tucked the phone in the inside pocket of his cut and finished his sandwich and fries. He went back inside and came over to Eagle. “I had Ron on the schedule to watch Isla. What the hell happened?”
“After I talked with her, I called Ron. He said that Jon had called him and told him he was on the schedule and there was a mix-up. Ron balked at first, but he said the dude was practically crying about not having enough hours, and Ron’s had over ninety this pay period, so he said okay to Jon. I was surprised when Isla said no one was there until a few hours later. I tried to call Jon to sort it out, but he’s not answering his phone.”
“I know where he lives. I’ll swing by and try and make sense of what happened last night. And make it clear to Ron that unless it comes from us, he does the post he’s given. I’ll let him slide this one time, but next time, he’s out on his ass.”
As he turned to leave, Shotgun came up to him. “Are you gonna meet me at the pool hall?”
“I forgot about it, bro. Something came up, so we’ll have to do it another time.”
“Meeting your friend?” Army sniggered and the others joined him.
Ignoring them, he walked out of the club into the brilliant summer sunlight. After donning sunglasses, he straddled his Harley. Nearby, the faint buzzing of bees filled his ears while he breathed in the sweet scent of hay. It was a hot, still day. The trees stood mute in the summer air, the sun beat upon his back relentlessly, and wavy lines hovered over the road in front of him.
He rode over to Jon’s apartment and banged on the door, but there was no answer. He checked out the parking lot and the streets around the complex, but he didn’t see his car. After several calls to Jon went to his voicemail, Sangre climbed the metal steps once again to Jon’s apartment and pounded several times on the doors and windows before he left.
By the time he arrived at Isla’s two-story, brick house, beads of sweat poured down his neck, and the bandana he wore across his forehead was soaked. He took it off and threw it in a plastic bag then pulled out a towel from one of the saddlebags and mopped his face. He saw a colorful stand between Isla’s house and the one next to it; two young girls sat behind the small counter. A man stood in front, his head tilted back and a cup to his lips. Sangre took off his sunglasses and saw the man wore a deputy sheriff’s uniform. He ran the towel through his thick hair, tossed it in the plastic bag, and walked over to the stand.
“Would you like some lemonade, mister? It’s homemade,” a girl with brown pigtails said.
The deputy turned around and grimaced, and Sangre stiffened. What the hell is Jeffers doing in front of Isla’s house? “Did you make it yourself?” He looked at the large pitcher filled with ice and lemon slices. His throat was parched, and a big glass of freshly squeezed lemonade sounded damn good.
“Our neighbor did. It’s her own recipe,” the other girl said, pointing to Isla’s house.
“Then I’ll take the largest glass you got.” As the pigtailed girl poured, Sangre turned toward Jeffers who’d been staring at him since he’d arrived. “I thought you people go to donut houses.”
The deputy’s face grew taut. “What’re you doing over here?”
“Same as you. Having a glass of lemonade on a hot as hell day.” He looked over his shoulder and saw Mark approaching him.
“Here you go. It’ll be one dollar for a large,” the girl said.
He handed the money to her then drank it down all at once. “That was damn good, girls.”
“Isla made it for us this morning. She gave the recipe to our mom.”
“Isla?” Jeffers said. He glanced at Sangre.
He’s such a bullshitter. There’s no way he doesn’t know Isla lives here. He didn’t just randomly come into this neighborhood for some damn lemonade.
“You know that, officer. You kept telling us her name was Jordan. Don’t you remember?” one of the girls asked.
“No, I didn’t. You must’ve misunderstood me. I said I knew a girl in high school who used to bring lemonade to some of the school functions that tasted just like the one you have. I said her name was Jordan.”
The girl’s pigtails flew back and forth as she shook her head. “That isn’t what you told us. You said—”
“You girls have a crowd here,” a blonde-haired woman in shorts and an oversized T-shirt said as she came over.
“We’re doing real good, Mommy.” The girl in pigtails showed her mother a big jar that had coins and dollar bills. The other girl beside her nodded vigorously.
She smiled and extended her hand to Deputy Jeffers. “I’m Faith—the entrepreneurs’ mother.”
“Nick Jeffers, ma’am.”
She ran her eyes over Sangre, her gaze stopping on the tattoos coloring his arms. A look of concern spread across her face as she crossed her arms and stood closer to her daughters.
Mark came over and the girls giggled. “Didya want another one, mister?” one of them asked. Smiling, he nodded. “This is his fifth one,” the girl whispered loudly to her mother.
“Carly, that’s impolite,” her mother said, giving a small smile to the security guard.
“No worries,” he said as he took the cup from Carly. He dropped four quarters into the jar. “It’s real hot today.”
“Sangre!” Isla yelled from the porch.
He looked over and smiled as she stood on the threshold, holding the screen door open. Her shoulders in her lavender blouse turned slightly while the sun caught her hair and spun through it, threading it with golden honey and making the blue sheen sparkle like stars in the midnight sky. Suddenly, he couldn’t move—he was mesmerized by her. Then his whole body shuddered as he sucked a big breath into his lungs.
“How are the girls doing?” she asked.
“Great. Everyone loves your lemonade,” Faith said.
He locked eyes with Isla and everyone drifted to the background. In the silence surrounding them, he could hear the hum of voices, the whirr of a lawn mower, and the call of a magpie somewhere behind him.
“You taking over the watch?” Mark’s gruff voice broke through the spell Isla had cast over him.
Tearing his gaze away, he nodded. “Yeah. You can relieve Kevin over at the train depot. He’s pulled a twelve-hour shift, so I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.” Mark nodded then headed to his car.
Sangre threw his plastic cup in a small trashcan next to the stand and headed up the sidewalk to Isla’s house. She’d stepped inside and when he entered, the scent of coconut and pineapple wafted around him. He heard some rustling in the living room. “It smells like the tropics or something,” he said as he walked in. Sitting on the built-in shelves, the flames of brightly-colored candles danced.
“When I light these candles, it makes me feel like I’m in the Caribbean, lying on a white sandy beach, looking at the pristine blue water, and drinking a sweet, fancy drink,” she said from the kitchen.
He glanced at the wet bar in the corner of the room. It had a large glass filled with small paper umbrellas, another glass brimming with maraschino cherries, and a platter of pineapple, lemon, orange, and lime slices. “Looks like you’ve taken the steps to having that fancy drink.”
She laughed, and it sounded like chimes from a collection of small bells. “I have. I bought some shooters—white and dark rum, cherry brandy, and gin. I’ll be there in a sec.”
He sank down on the couch and glanced around the room. It was bright with the sunlight streaming in through the sheer curtains on the picture window. White, built-in shelves surrounded a sleek chrome fireplace. Books filled up the majority of the shelves, the rest had various music-inspired knickknacks, and the burning candles.
Isla walked in carrying a silver tray that had a couple of short and tall glasses on it along with an ice bucket. Throwing him a small, sly smile, she walked over to the wet bar, her hips swaying as he drank her in. She had the kind of ass made to wear a thong … or better yet, nothing at all. And then she bent over, her short skirt taut around her delectable butt.
“Whiskey, right?” she asked in a low, throaty voice.
“Yeah,” he growled, growing tighter in his jeans, his eyes never leaving her backside. The things I can do to that tempting ass.
She stood up and pivoted slowly, glancing at him through half-lidded eyes. The swell of her breasts peeked out from her low-cut top and when she raised her arm up, running her hand through her hair, her top crept up, revealing a glimpse of color riding up the side of her toned body. He inhaled sharply, his gaze rolling over her narrow waist and breasts. Against the thin fabric of her top, her nipples pebbled as if waiting for his hands … his mouth. Fuck. He clasped his hands together to stop himself from grabbing her and tossing her on the couch. What the hell am I thinking? She’s my friend. I can’t blow this just ’cause I’m hornier than shit.
“Here you go,” she said, handing him a glass and shooter of Jack. Her dark, sensual scent wrapped around him, making his dick jerk against his zipper. He groaned inwardly and took the glass and plastic bottle.
She sashayed back to the bar and poured some liquids in a glass as his gaze bored into her. Turning around, she held up the tall drink full of orange-y liquid, ice cubes, and a garnishment of pineapples, limes, and strawberries. A multi-colored paper umbrella floated next to the side of the glass. “Mai Tai. Paradise in a glass.” She winked at him, and he thought he’d lose it right then and there; she was so damn cute and sexy.
Isla joined him on the couch and pushed a small bowl of bright red cherries toward him. “I know these are like total chemicals, but I love them. You want one?”
Chuckling, he shook his head. “We should use those in the club to get back at our rivals.”
She smacked his thigh gently then popped one in her mouth. He brought the glass of whiskey to his lips, acutely aware of her sidelong glances at him as she munched on her corrupted cherries. That static was there again, that crackling in the air whenever they came within a foot of each other. He wondered if she felt it too.
“I’m guessing you’re not mad at me anymore,” he said, turning toward her.
“Not really. If you’d been here last night, I would’ve let you have it good, and then you’d probably never talk to me again.”
He chuckled and brushed his hand against hers. “That would never happen.”
“It did once,” she whispered, curling one of her fingers around his.
“I was a fuckin’ idiot for not trying to contact you,” he said in a low voice.
“I won’t argue with you about that.” Dipping her chin slightly, she looked up at him from under her lashes.
The way the light hit her face made her eyes ignite with a glow that dazzled him. She slowly moved her gaze from his down to his mouth, staring at it for a few seconds and then looking back up to his eyes.
“Right now, it doesn’t seem like all those years have gone by.” Without breaking her gaze, she licked her lips with the tip of her tongue.
Fuck. He couldn’t stop himself from gazing at her parted lips, imagining his hard as granite cock sliding between them, pushing in and out until he filled her. His eyes moved to the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat, the musky scent of arousal penetrating his nostrils.
“Did you ever think about me?” She stared at his mouth for a long moment.
“What?” A fog of lust had clouded his brain, making it hard to concentrate on what she was saying.
“I asked if you ever thought about me over the years. I know I’ve thought about you.”
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I thought about you a lot. I wondered how you were, what you looked like, and other things.”
“And how do I look?” Her gaze went back and forth from his eyes to his mouth, and it was driving him crazy. He wanted her.
“Damn hot.”
She ran her fingernail over his lips, past his chin, and down his throat until resting it on his pecs. “You’re pretty hot yourself. I bet you have a ton of women wanting you.”
“You’re fuckin’ killing me,” he rasped, his arm snagging her around the waist, yanking her to him.
Then they were kissing like crazy. Like their lives depended on it. Lips grinding. Teeth biting. Tongues tangling in a frenzied dance. She knotted her fists in his shirt, pulling him harder against her. He groaned softly, low in his throat as he wrapped his fingers through her hair, thrusting his tongue deeper into her warm mouth. She tasted like rum and pineapple, and the scent of her curled around and stroked him, and he want so much more.
Pushing her down, he pressed the weight of his body on top of her, letting her feel his hardness. Heat filled him as she writhed against him. The small sounds she made drove him wild, and he slid a hand up her thigh, pushing under her short skirt, touching skin he’d fantasized about ever since high school. The soft feel of her was incredible and more than he’d imagined it would be. But then, everything about her was irresistible. It always had been.
“Sangre,” she rasped, digging her fingers into his shoulders.
He slipped his hand between her legs, resting it on the soft flesh of her inner thigh all the while his mouth was still fused with hers.
Door chimes resounded through the house, and she stiffened under his touch. “Forget about it,” he said hoarsely as his fingers crept slowly over her silky skin, inching toward her panties. He was pretty sure that when he pushed them aside, her soft folds would be slick with need. He couldn’t wait to taste her, to push inside her, first with his fingers then his tongue, and then his cock.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Isla twisted under him as she placed her palms on his shoulders and pushed him gently away.
“What the fuck?”
“Someone’s at the door.”
“You can’t be serious. Who the hell cares?” He drew her back to him, but she resisted.
“It could be important.”
Frustration stabbed his body as he sat back on the couch watching her pull her skirt down and walk out of the room. For a second he just sat there, pissed as hell, waiting for his cock to calm down, but then he remembered that a wacko was stalking her and leapt up from the couch. When he got to the door, he saw a skinny guy with black hair, brown eyes, and a crooked nose staring at him. With the tats, the jean vest with a ton of band patches, and a spike cuff bracelet on his right wrist, he looked like a rocker.
“Who’re you?” he asked.
The man jerked his head back as he stepped into the foyer. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“This is Arsen – our lead guitarist.” Isla kept smoothing down her hair, avoiding Arsen’s gaze. “And this is Sangre. His company is the one who’s protecting me. Remember I told you I hired a bodyguard service? It turns out that Sangre and I are old friends from back in the day when I lived here. A small world, isn’t it?” She glanced at Sangre.
He grunted and stared at Arsen. The rocker flitted his eyes between them, and Sangre knew he wasn’t buying Isla’s bullshit for one minute. She looked like the musician had interrupted something: hair tangled, lips red and slightly swollen, cheeks flushed, and black smudges under her eyes. Satisfaction spread through Sangre as he watched realization spark in Arsen’s gaze. If he’s anything like Army and some of the other brothers, he’ll hightail it outta here as fast as he can to tell the fucker who doesn’t deserve Isla.
“Do you want a drink? I just bought a bunch of shooters. It’s been so hot that I had the urge to make a bunch of tropical drinks.”
“No thanks.” An awkward silence filled the space between the trio.
“Then what do you want?” Sangre said, cutting through the quietness.
Arsen looked at Isla. “You asked me to come by and pick you up at four. We have to be at the studio at four thirty.”
Her hands flew to her mouth. “Shit! I forgot.”
The guitarist gave Sangre a sideways glance. “I can see that.”
“Let me just get my purse. I’ll be right down.” She dashed up the stairs.
Arsen shifted from one foot to the other as he looked at his cell phone. Sangre looked at him fixedly, enjoying how nervous he was making him.
“So, that’s cool AF that you and Isla grew up together.”
Sangre nodded.
Arsen cleared his throat. “Do you know any good strip bars? We’ve seen a couple around here but they look sketchy.”
“Lust is good. Tell them you know me.”
“Oh yeah? Are the strippers there pretty hot?”
Sangre nodded.
“So … are you in a biker club? Your vest tells me you are.”
“You’re observant.”
Arsen raked his fingers through his hair. “I see the one percent patch. Damn, that’s savage as hell, dude. I bet that Harley on the street is yours.”
“Nothing gets past you, does it?”
“Are you guys getting to know each other?” Isla asked as she came into the foyer.
“No,” Sangre answered at the same time Arsen said, “Yes.”
Looking at both of them, she gave an anxious laugh. “I guess we better be off,” she said to Arsen. He walked out of the house and headed toward a white Impala parked in front. She closed the door to set the alarm, and Sanger pulled her back into him, bending down and nuzzling her neck.
“Call me when you’re done recording and let me know where you’ll be.”
She stepped out of his hold. “That’s okay. I’ll probably go out to eat with the band, and I know they’ll come over to go over some of the new music. A lot of times after recording, we listen to the scratch tracks and make changes and such. By the time we’re done, one of the guards will be coming on duty.”
Flames of anger licked up his every nerve. “I’ll make sure someone is here at six in the morning.”
“Will you pick up the shift tomorrow night?”
“No.” His jaw tightened and he opened the door. “Set your alarm.”
“Sangre. Don’t be that way. I really do have to jam with the band tonight.”
He put on his sunglasses, walked down the steps, and went over to his Harley. Arsen started to come up to him, but he started his bike and let his cams drown all the words coming out of his mouth as well as Isla’s as she came over to him.
Pulling away from the curb, he pulled in the clutch and released the throttle; he wanted to put as much distance between him and Isla as fast as possible. As he sped toward the clubhouse, he cursed himself for being such a fucking idiot. I never should’ve kissed her. I can’t believe I let her tits and ass get to me. He rode faster, harder, wanting nothing but to forget all about her. He didn’t believe her about jamming with the guys after recording. She wants to be with Benz. Go ahead, sweetheart, fuck your brains out. He shifted gears making the Harley go faster as the landscape blurred by him and the wind cocooned him. It was hot just like the anger inside him. All of a sudden he was seventeen again, kissing a sixteen-year-old Isla in Liberty Park. After that kiss, it’d been tense and awkward between them, and then she left without even a goodbye. Now she wants to do that same shit to me again.
“Fuck!” he screamed into the wind.
He wasn’t seventeen anymore, and Isla wasn’t going to break his heart again.
That he was sure of.