Maxwell

 

This business with Nicole was distracting me, which was both a good thing and a bad thing. On the one hand, the way she slipped into my thoughts, a reminder of the things I desperately wanted from her, was the best kind of distraction.

 

After that whole business with her asshole of an ex, I’d gone to see her at her work. Which was maybe a really stupid move on my part. I knew she wanted me, could sense the way her body responded to me—just as desperate as my own lusting body. Her desire wasn’t a question, but her will was intriguing me.

 

She worked so hard to resist me. Like she knew I was trouble the moment she laid eyes on me—which wasn’t wrong—and was running the other way because of it.

 

But she must not have realized yet that running from me was the best way to get me to chase her. I hadn’t been turned down by a girl in a long time. Not since I was a kid lingering in foster homes and didn’t give a damn about sex, too worried about my own survival. Having someone flat out deny me like that…well, it was having the opposite effect on me.

 

I wanted her. Bad. In the worst possible way, and it left me thinking of her more than I should have been.

 

Things were going down with the Lions. Spin was a man I had considered family for a long time and his trust meant a lot to me. It also went a long way with the other Lions, but it would only go so far. They’d reason amongst themselves that he couldn’t know what had really happened since he’d been locked up. He couldn’t know I was a traitor.

 

Even the word made my blood boil. I wanted to pound the living daylights out of all of them, draw some blood and break some bones, until I’d beaten them into submission.

 

Unfortunately, that was unlikely to make me look innocent. I was in a tough spot. If I didn’t convince the rest of the boys that I was on the right side soon, it wouldn’t matter how much faith Spin had in me, I’d be a dead man.

 

And with the threat of becoming a dead man looming just over my shoulders, I really shouldn’t have been so goddamned focus on some hot piece of ass I found at the bar.

 

But I was and some small sliver of me acknowledged just how dangerous that was.

 

Of course, I did live for danger, didn’t I?

 

My phone buzzed in my pocket, notifying me of a text message, and for a brief, wild second I imagined it was her. Nicole. I thought of all the things she could be sending me—a simple yes, implying we were on for dinner, or something much more…racy. I thought of the way she would look in skimpy lingerie. Was she the kind who indulged in lace? Or maybe leather? Did she wear thigh highs when she fucked, or was she more of a completely bare kind of girl? Was she into pictures? Dirty texts? Into making me hard before I even got to slide my hand between her legs and touch that sweet little pussy?

 

God, I hoped so.

 

Feeling myself lengthen once more in my jeans at the thoughts of her, I dug into my pocket and pulled out my phone. Instantly, I was disappointed. It wasn’t from Nicole at all.

 

Shaking my head, I almost laughed at myself. Of course it wasn’t from her. She was still trying to resist me, to convince herself she didn’t want me just as badly as I wanted her. She probably wasn’t going to be sending me any naked, spread legs pictures any time soon.

 

Instead, I frowned at who the text was actually from: Martin Showers.

 

Once upon a time, Martin and I had managed to be civil with each other. We’d never been particularly good friends, but we’d made peace when we accepted we’d both be part of the Lions. Not backing down went a long way with Martin, and it meant he didn’t have a problem with me.

 

Until recently.

 

The thing about Martin was that he could be a little judgmental. When he made a decision about you, he didn’t go back on it. And since I’d recently gotten myself on his shit list, he was unlikely to ever take me off of it. Not even if I managed to convince him and the rest of the Lions I was innocent. From here on out, he’d have his eye on me, waiting for me to slip up.

 

Which was what made his text so strange. Time to clear the air. I’m calling a truce. Meet me.

 

Martin wasn’t one for forgiving, clearing the air, or calling truces. I had a feeling he secretly enjoyed the tension and the energy that went with being at odds with someone. It was his own personal Cold War. Everyone constantly on edge, a fight waiting to break out at any damn moment. It was terrifying in some ways, and invigorating in others.

 

I hated it about him, because I’d spent my whole life under duress. Now, I wouldn’t mind a few moments between the tension where everyone just fucking got along.

 

That being said, I wasn’t sure I really bought this whole “truce” thing. It was out of character enough that I couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t Spin who had tried to set it up. Maybe he was trying to get the guys to let the whole thing go?

 

I hoped, and that was the only reason that I texted Martin back, letting him know I’d be there.

 

***

 

Club headquarters was an auto garage that specialized in repairing foreign cars. At least, on the surface that was what the shop was known for. It was actually a chop shop. We boosted cars, then dropped them off at the garage to be stripped down, torn apart, and reassembled as new, untraceable cars. Sometimes, we just sold the parts. Either way, it was as illegal as fuck, and if Spin had been traced back to the shop and the feds found out what actually went down here, we’d have all been hauled in.

 

But Spin wouldn’t talk, not even to save his own skin. It was what made him a good leader and what kept the rest of us loyal. Hard not to trust a man who was willing to take a hit for everyone else.

 

It was late when I drove up on my bike to the warehouse. The lights were dim, but definitely on, the fluorescents shining out through the dirt covered, grimy windows that lined the front garage doors. I spotted Martin’s bike nearby, so I parked beside him. I cut the engine and slid off my bike, heading inside.

 

I’d spent a lot of time in the garage, working as a mechanic in the back during the day while the place was doing legitimate business, then working late into the night while we took care of our illegal activities. I was good at both, though I hadn’t boosted cars in a long time. After hitting thirty, it wasn’t nearly as much fun as it used to be. Now, I preferred working with the cars, getting under the hood and fiddling with the guts. Fast cars were still entertaining, but it wasn’t like what it was when I was eighteen, nineteen, twenty years old.

 

I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The lights were dim even inside, only the overhanging ones on as opposed to the long bar florescent lights that we usually used when we were working. It gave the place an eerie, dead feel. Like I wasn’t supposed to be there.

 

Frowning, I glanced behind me and wondered if the unease tripping up my spine wasn’t an indication for me to leave.

 

Before I could decide, I heard Martin’s voice call out, “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

 

I turned back to face him. He was standing beneath one of the lights, the hanging light casting shadows across his features, making him look like a hollow man, He grinned and it wasn’t a flattering thing in that moment.

 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

 

“Figured you were smarter than that,” he told me, and I had half a second to figure out what he was talking about before the first swing came.

 

I moved fast enough that I didn’t catch it in the head, but just barely. I lifted my left arm high and managed to block the hit, but since it was a metal pipe coming down on me hard, the throbbing pain in my arm was instantaneous. I gritted my teeth against it, forcing myself to ignore it, because if there was one hit, then another was coming.

 

Sure enough, the next one came from my right side and caught me in the shoulder. That was when I started to count my assailants. Martin hadn’t come alone, clearly. There was a guy on either side of me, and a quick glance over my shoulder told me there were two behind me, as well. Martin still stood in front of me and now I saw he had brass knuckles tucked into his fist. Beside him another man walked up.

 

The next hit came from behind, coupled with a second try from the guy on the left. I managed to get a hold of the metal pipe swinging towards my left, but I couldn’t dodge the fist to my side at the same time. Pain surged along the bottom of my ribs, but I ignored it.

 

I jerked at the metal pipe, trying to wring it from the guy’s grasp, but then I took a solid punch to the face, causing me to step back. I threw my fist wildly towards one of the guys—any of them at this point—and felt it connect with flesh. One of the guys cursed, though I couldn’t tell which one, but it didn’t stop the onslaught.

 

A bar swung against my ribs and I felt something crack. I took another hit to the face and tasted blood—either leaking from my nose or from the inside of my mouth, I couldn’t tell which. I grabbed ahold of one of them and started pounding, my fist connecting over and over again with this guy’s face as he squirmed and cried out, all the while I was kicked, punched, and beaten.

 

I was a tough guy, but even I didn’t stand a chance with six against one. By the time someone kicked at the side of my knee, sending me spiraling to the floor, I was already half done with the fight, and not because I was winning.

 

Coughing up blood, I knew I didn’t have a lot of time. These guys thought I was a rat, the reason Spin was put in prison, and that meant they had absolutely no qualms with putting me in my place. Permanently.

 

Maybe this beating was only meant to rough me up, but given Martin’s need for violence and his utter lack of self-control, there was a good chance he was good with killing me, too.

 

I reached out as the kicks came and grabbed one of their legs. With all my strength, I jerked, causing the man to set off balance and tumble to the concrete. I pulled him on top of me, using him as a human shield to block the blows, several of them hitting him before they realized he was there instead of me. Using that slight pause, I socked him hard in the face, catching him just right in the chin to bring him to unconsciousness. From there, I used him like a bowling ball, shoving him and rolling him into the legs of the other guys. One of them grabbed me by the collar, aiming a hard fist at my face, but I used his stance to kick him over the top of me. He landed hard on his back and I twisted out of his grasp.

 

It was enough to let me get up. I was bloody, bruised, and had more than a couple broken ribs, I thought, but I was up and running before they could grab me and pull me back down. They shouted, called out to me, cursed my name, but I was too far ahead of them. I slammed into the door and burst out into the night air.

 

I made it to my bike and had it revved before they could reach me. I took off into the night, trying not to swallow too much of my own blood.