HER WORDS SHOULDN’T have bothered me, but they did. They cut deep. I never had something that belonged to me. Although Catch and I had shared several months together, he was never in fact mine. No matter how much he thought he was in love with me, he wasn’t. I knew it even though he didn’t. But Zillah saying that she was mine bothered me in a way I didn’t understand.
“Tray?” She frowned. “Something wrong?”
I grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles before pulling her against me and crushed my mouth to hers. I needed a distraction. To take us both out of our heads. With her, I lost control. I wasn’t used to it. I would never be used to it, but I found that I wanted to try and give up some of that anger that had threatened to consume me since the day my mother died. I just didn’t know how.
“What’s wrong?” Zillah asked against my mouth.
“Nothing.” I kissed her nose and pulled away. “I’ll see you tonight.” I left the small room as much as I didn’t want to. Everything inside of me screamed to go back to her. To just take her away and let it be us and no one else. She was young. Vibrant. Carefree. She needed more out of life than a grumpy old fucker who was still single at thirty-eight.
My thoughts argued with themselves, contradicting the other as I fought to figure out what was right and what was wrong.
Quickly making my way out of the shop, I was thankful no one important saw me. With my head bowed, I popped the collar of my leather jacket and headed to my SUV that hadn’t been worked on. Fuck. If I wanted it to seem like I was only at the shop for mechanical issues, I needed to actually have my SUV in the shop. I bit back a curse at my stupidity. Zillah had me all over the place. I couldn’t focus on anything other than being with her. Touching her. Kissing her. Just being a part of her world.
Once I slipped into the vehicle, I turned the beast on and checked my phone. Five messages and ten texts. Great. That was all I needed. I turned on the engine, sped out of the parking lot, and drove the hour to the clubhouse.
The phone rang through the speakers. I hated this new technology.
Pressing the button on the steering wheel, I waited.
“Something you care to tell me, brother?”
My heart jumped at the calm tone of Greyson’s voice. He was a hothead like myself and went in with his temper and fists flying first. But when he was calm, it meant he was pissed. And that was when you should be concerned.
“Not really.” Not yet anyway. I wanted to keep him and the club to myself before revealing that I was actually a biker to Zillah.
“Are you sure? Because it seems to me that you’ve been hanging out with another crew.”
Fuck. Should I lie, or I should tell the truth and admit defeat? I chose the former. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You see …” Greyson paused. “I’ve known you for years. We may keep our shit to ourselves but there’s only so much that can remain private when you live together in the same house year after year.”
“What are you getting at, Grey?”
“Who is she?”
My grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Tray, if I find out that you’re sniffing around another club because of some pussy—”
“She is not some pussy,” I snapped, my voice rising.
“I didn’t think so, fucker. Get your ass here. We have business to deal with.”
The line went dead. I loved him but, fuck me, he was an asshole sometimes.
An hour later, I was pulling up to the club. The house never ceased to amaze me. It was more than a mansion. It was old, Victorian style. It had vines covering the one side that led into the wooded backyard. It had been my home for years, but I still didn’t feel like I belonged.
“Baby boy, you get yourself a good girl. Don’t be like me.” My mom cupped my cheek. “You hear me?”
“Dad loved you.” It was me he hated.
“He loved you too.”
I looked away.
“He did,” she insisted. “Look at me, Trayce.”
I did.
“He loved you. No matter what you thought then or even now, he did love you. He wanted so much for you. I do too.”
“If he loved me so much, he should have listened to me when I begged him not to leave. When I fell at his feet, pleading for him to fucking stay home. Maybe then he would still be alive.”
Her chin wavered. “I wish he could see the kind of man you’ve grown into.”
Over ten motherfucking years later and I still had nothing. No woman. No kids. Not even a plant.
A soft knock sounded from the window. Catch stood on the other side.
Might as well get this shit done and over with. I opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Greyson is about ready to shit bricks.”
I closed the door and leaned against the side. “Do you know who’s been following me?”
Catch’s eyes widened. “What? Someone’s following you?”
“Yup.” I pushed off the vehicle and headed up the gravel path with Catch rushing to catch up. “I brought my SUV in for servicing. Been there a couple of times and Greyson accused—”
“I accused you of what?”
I stopped short, finding Greyson coming toward us. “I’m not exactly sure what you’re accusing me of but if you have something to say, say it.” The only way he would have known where I had been, was if someone had followed me. Either he set it up or someone else did. But it didn’t matter who because this shit needed to end.
“What the fuck were you doing at Nero’s?” he demanded, stopping directly in front of me.
“You were at Shadow’s shop?” Catch asked.
I ignored him. “What the fuck is it to you?” I took a step toward Greyson, going toe-to-toe with him. We were so close, I could see the green in his eyes and the gray in his beard.
“What the fuck is it to me?” he repeated. “Tray, you have got some nerve. You know who Shadow is, right? You know what club he’s the president of. Right?”
“Yes. I know all of that.” I moved to walk around him when he sidestepped in front of me. My brows narrowed. “Move.”
“Not until you tell me what the fuck you were doing there. Was it pussy? Is that what you’re willing to betray your club for?” His eyes moved back and forth over my face. “Tell me.”
“I would be very careful what you say next.” I had never threatened him before but when it came to Zillah, no one bad-talked her. No one. I didn’t give a shit if I was standing in front of her father himself. I would take anyone on to make sure she got the respect she deserved.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Greyson laughed. “I get it. It is pussy.”
Before I knew what was happening, my fist landed against his jaw.
“Fucking hell.” Greyson grabbed the collar of my jacket and shoved me up against the nearest wall. “Hit me again, fucker. I dare you. Do it.”
“Fuck you,” I spat, struggling against him. I tried pushing him off but he was big. Probably twenty-five pounds bigger. At least.
“Is all of this worth some pussy?” he asked, his voice low enough for only me to hear.
Movement out of the corner of my eye made me glance to my left. Catch stood at our sides, watching, waiting. Seeing if either of us would snap again.
Our gazes locked.
“Yes,” I finally said.
Catch flinched like I had slapped him myself.
That look. That moment of pain that flashed behind his eyes. It proved to me that we were done, and I just broke my best friend’s fucking heart.
(Zillah)
When the last customer left, I went to change into my workout clothes to hit the gym, but my thoughts kept going back to Tray. Once he left the shop, I wasn’t sure what exactly had happened but I wasn’t stupid. Something switched between us. It was fast and hard, much like the two previous times he was inside me. I often wondered what he would be like slow and sweet. Or if that was even possible when it came to him.
I leaned against the old beater I was working on and second-guessed whether I should text Tray or not. He was probably busy.
Me: You good?
My thumb hovered over the send button. Did that sound desperate or would he think I was being nice by checking in? I didn’t want to be labeled as a nag, but I also didn’t want him to think that I didn’t care.
I inhaled. Pressed send. Exhaled.
Whatever. If he thought I was needy, he didn’t know me at all.
My phone dinged seconds later.
Tray: Got shit to do here. We still on for later?
He didn’t answer my question. I frowned.
Me: That’s up to you.
My phone rang, startling me. “What?”
“Is that anyway to greet the man you’re fucking?”
His deep voice slid over me. Even though he left the shop a few hours ago, my body still reacted to him. But it didn’t mean I was going to let him treat me any less than I deserved. “Listen, if this shit is too much for you and you have better things to do, then let me know and don’t treat me like … like ...”
“Like what, Zillah? If I didn’t want more, I would have fucked and kicked you out of my bed the first time. But I didn’t. I slept beside you. Holding you. Keeping you safe. I made you fucking coffee in the morning when I don’t even drink it myself. I’m losing my fucking mind over not seeing you every damn second of every damn day. Does that answer your fucking question?”
My mouth opened and closed.
“Zillah?”
“I don’t think you’ve ever said that much to me before.”
“Woman, you drive me crazy but don’t you dare ever stop. You hear me?”
My heart raced. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means that no matter what, I don’t want you to fucking change. You be you. And don’t change that shit for me or for anyone.”
“I think I like you, old man.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “I think I like you too, little girl.”
My heart beat hard for the man on the other end of the phone.
“What are you doing?” Tray asked me.
“I’m playing with my new friend. He’s old. Rusty.” I walked along the old Chevy. “He’s forty-eight. Ten years older than you, Tray.”
“Zillah,” he said, his voice filled with warning.
“He’s a little rough around the edges but after some gentle touches, he purrs like a kitten.” When this car came in a few months ago, I almost passed out from the sheer beauty of it. Although it needed a paint job, new engine, and new leather interior, I begged my father to let me buy it. He complied instantly because then it would keep me off a ‘damn bike’.”
“What’s his name?” Tray asked, his voice lowering.
I grinned. “We haven’t made it to that point yet. He just stares at me and tells me to do whatever I want without talking.” But he would talk to me. As soon as I got the car fixed up, I would take him for a ride and I couldn’t wait.
“Zillah, you better be talking about a damn car.”
I giggled. “A 1970 Chevelle. By the time I’m done fixing it up, it’s going to come with a fuel-injected 496ci big block hooked to a T56 6-speed manual.” I sighed. “God, this car turns me on.”
“Fuck me,” Tray growled. “I don’t think I’ve ever been turned on by anything having to do with a car or bike or any of that shit but hearing you talk like that? Zillah, you are something else.”
I grinned. “My daddy taught me everything I know. He’s the best.”
“He did well. I don’t know a lot about cars but give me a motorcycle and I can take it apart and put it back together better than it was before.”
“I was taught about them too but this car is my favorite. I’ve always been a fan of the deep rumble when the engine is on. It’s like it brings the car to life. I can feel it vibrate through me.” I patted the hood. “But right now, he looks rough. Almost like the man I’m sleeping with.”
“So, are you saying that once you’re done with me, I’ll be pretty too?”
“No, old man.” I paused. “You’ll be even hotter.”
“Zillah, Zillah.” He tsked. “You shouldn’t tease an old man like that. It’s not nice.”
“What are you going to do about it, Tray?” I licked my lips. “Punish me?”
“Fuck,” he breathed. “I’ll just have to let you feel the rumble of my bike between your legs.”
My skin came alive at that thought. “You ride?”
“I just told you I know my way around a bike.”
“Right. I just thought …” I shook my head. “I don’t know what I thought.”
Tray chuckled. “Yes, I ride. I ride hard and dirty, but you already know that, don’t you?”
I laughed. “Well I—” An incoming call interrupted me. “Hold on.” I switched lines. “Hello?”
“Meet me at the clubhouse,” my father demanded. “Now.” He hung up, the click sounding loud in my ear.
I switched the line back to Tray. “I have to go.”
“Everything okay?”
“I—I’m not sure.” I ended the call, grabbed my bag off the table and left the shop. Making sure to lock up, I nodded to two of my dad’s crew members who sat on their bikes by the far fence. Even though he gave me free reign of the shop after hours and let me close up, I was never actually alone.
“Drive safe, Zillah,” one of them called out.
I waved, jogging to my blood-red Mini Cooper. Every time I sat in this car, I still couldn’t believe that it was mine. Although the Chevy was my dream car, this little thing was good for me while I wasn’t driving the big beast. And I had saved for them both all on my own.
Tearing out of the parking lot, I drove the ten minutes across town to the old strip club that my dad turned into the clubhouse for Mayhem’s Revenge.
Shadow’s had been part of my dad’s life for years. Although he had the nickname Shadow, he named the strip club after himself so people would know about him even after he was gone.
The tone in his voice had proved something was wrong. Something was very wrong. I suddenly felt like a little girl about to be scolded by her father for getting caught having a cookie before supper. But this was worse. So much worse. He knew about Tray. I wasn’t sure how, but I had a feeling that he had known all along.
When I pulled into the parking lot of the club, I cut the engine, took a deep breath, and left the vehicle. Locking it up, I kept my keys in my hand, knowing I would probably end up leaving abruptly and need to get out of there rather quickly.
A small crowd was gathered to the left of the old building, smoke billowing out into the air every now and again. The sweet scent of weed wafted into my nose. I sighed, wishing I could have a puff or two to calm my nerves.
Ignoring the lingering stares of the customers and people who worked there, I slipped around to the side of the club and made my way to the entrance for employees only.
Before I could even knock, it opened.
“Zillah.” One of the club’s security, nodded once. “Your dad’s waiting for you in his office.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, heading inside and making my way down the long hallway lined with black and white photos of the women who had worked at the club over the years. This place was known for its dancers and even more so for its class. Although it was owned by a biker club, celebrities and politicians alike came and went from this place. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, of course.
“Hey, Z.”
I waved at the use of my nickname. I didn’t make an appearance here often. My daddy tried to keep me from the biker life. He was afraid that it would taint me. But when it came to my brother, he welcomed him into the world with open arms. Double standards and shit.
Once I left the long hallway, I walked out into the open area that included three large stages, two bars, and over twenty-five tables. Five private booths sat at the far side of the club. You had to pay to sit in them and once you sat, you were never alone.
When I reached the back of the club, I entered another hallway and finally stood in front of my dad’s office. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself for the onslaught of his wrath.
Giving the door a light knock, I waited.
“Come in,” he barked, his deep voice laced with an annoyance I had never heard directed at me before. Maybe he thought I was someone else.
I swallowed hard and pushed open the door. “Hey, Daddy. You wanted to see me?”
My dad stopped what he was doing at his computer and sat back. “Sit.” He pointed to the chair across from his big oak desk.
I closed the door behind me and did as he said. Sitting in the chair, I rubbed my sweaty palms up and down my thighs. “What’s wrong?” I asked, noting the deep frown set between his dark eyebrows.
“Something’s been brought to my attention.” My dad tented his fingers beneath his chin, his black eyes meeting mine. “Are you sleeping with Tray?”
My heart jumped to my throat. Holy hell, he just went right there, didn’t he? “No disrespect, Daddy, but I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“It is my damn business when he’s fourteen years older than you. You also have no idea who the fuck he is, do you?”
“I … I don’t know what you mean.” I tried to be strong, to not back down, and actually stand up to my father for once, but the judgment in his eyes and the tone in his voice left me feeling like a little girl. He could yell and scream at me and I would get over it but hearing how disappointed he was hurt even more.
My dad sat back, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “Tray Lister is a biker. He’s not with any club. He’s a damn nomad. Been a loner for most of his life. But he’s stuck by Hell’s Harlem’s side. Even though he’s not an actual member of that club, they treat him like he is anyway.” Dad placed a photo on the desk, pushing it toward me. “This is who you’re sleeping with.”
I swallowed hard. Tray was a biker. Not that I was overly surprised. I just didn’t know why he never told me. Was he ashamed of that part of himself?
Sitting forward, my eyes widened when they landed on the picture in front of me. Tray was locked in an embrace with another man. I wasn’t sure what that meant. Had he been gay until he met me? Was he bi-sexual? Did I scratch the itch he had? All of these thoughts raced through my head. No, I couldn’t judge. I needed to talk to him first before I made assumptions.
I grabbed the photo and folded it up before placing it in my bag. “Are there others?”
My dad’s lips twitched. “That depends.”
“Wow.” I laughed. “I’ve been told that you could be an asshole, but I always defended you.”
“Careful, Zillah,” he warned. “I’m still your father.”
“No. Right now you sound like the president of a biker club. Are you embarrassed that I’m fucking a man who clearly likes men too? Is that not good for your reputation? Which is funny because I’ve seen some of the women you’ve been with. Clearly—”
“Watch your fucking tone with me, Zillah,” my dad bellowed, slamming his fist on the desk in front of him.
I jumped but I refused to back down. “I don’t know what you’re wanting or what you’re even implying. I like Tray. I’m sorry I never told you, but would you have approved of us in the first place? No. He took me on a date. He’s sweet and caring and doesn’t treat me like a little girl.”
“You are my little girl,” my dad yelled, shoving to his feet. “I don’t want you seeing him.”
I glared at him. “You can’t stop me.”
“Watch me.”
“What are you going to do? Lock me away? Daddy, I love you, but you’re being a jerk right now.” I turned to leave his office when his next words stopped me.
“Do you think he’s with you because he likes you? Or because he’s trying to get an in with my club. Tray’s been a loner his whole life, Zillah. Think about it.”
I inhaled a sharp breath and left the office. I didn’t give a shit what my father said. Tray was with me for me. I knew it. Even though I felt that way and had never doubted his reason for being with me, why all of a sudden was I?
(Tray)
“I miss her.”
I glanced up as Chase King sat across from me in the booth. “Yeah.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Me too.”
“It’s weird here without Butcher too,” he said, pulling back a swig of beer. “But it’s even weirder without Trixie.” He wiped his mouth and let out a heavy sigh. “She was the one who kept us all in line.”
“We have Eve now.” I took a swig of my own beer that I had been nursing for the last half hour. I grimaced when I swallowed the piss-warm liquid.
“I like her. She’s good for Greyson. He’s not so moody now.”
I chuckled. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”
Chase grunted, his light-blue eyes flashing with amusement. He only winked.
He was a good kid. Young enough that he hadn’t been tainted by the previous club he had been in but still impressionable that we could teach him right.
I glanced out at the vast space around us. Club members came and went as they pleased. Their women doing the same.
Greyson and Eve played a round of pool while Catch bounced their son on his knee. Psycho stood off to the side, talking to a woman who would laugh every so often at what he said. Other members talked, drank, and did their own thing. But what we all had in common tonight was that we were relaxed. It was odd in a way. So much death had come and gone through this place. Hitting our lives at different times but Trixie Butcher affected us the most. Being married to a club member granted her immunity. She went untouched by any other member and became family automatically. And when they had their twins? She was even more protected. But she was gone. And it hurt like a bitch.
“Have you talked to Butcher?” Chase asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“No.” It had been the same question that I was repeatedly asked over the past few months. When Butcher wanted to speak to us, he would, but until then, all we could do was wait. “He’ll come around. Eventually.” But I missed him. It wasn’t the same without the big fucker here.
“I don’t like this.” Chase frowned. “I don’t like this one bit.”
I looked at him then. He was only twenty-three. A year younger than Zillah. He had so much to live for but Greyson felt the need to protect him after finding him getting jumped by four guys who were out for blood when his own club had thrown him into the lion’s den.
“I don’t like it either,” I told Chase. I was bored, and when I was bored, it didn’t go over well for others. I should call Zillah and check in with her. My dick stirred, pushing against the fly of my pants.
“I’m bored,” Chase added, taking the thought right out of my head.
“We got this, King,” I told him.
“Maybe.” He sighed, running a hand through his shaggy black hair, his robin’s-egg-blue eyes scanning his surroundings. He may have been young but he was a keen bastard. He was always watching. Waiting. I didn’t know his whole story besides Greyson saving him from getting his ass kicked, but something told me that there was more to him than he let on.
Grey stood over the pool table, laughing at something Eve had said. His gaze met mine, his smile instantly falling from his face. We hadn’t talked since I found out I was being watched. That fact alone didn’t sit well with me. I was a loner. I got that. But I didn’t appreciate people sticking their noses into my business.
Grey raised an eyebrow, challenging me.
I crossed my arms under my chest, jutting my chin. Come at me, fucker. You’re not my president. Yet.
Fuck.