The kid is good with his hands. He pays attention when he needs to and gets shit done. In the last three days he’s learned how to repair a radiator. He’s also changed the motor mounts and rotated the tires. Now he’s priming the new bumper I picked up at the salvage yard while I wait to drive Layla to work.
“You missed a spot,” I tell him as I lurk over his shoulder, inspecting his work.
A few days ago, the kid probably would have rolled his eyes and given me lip, but we’ve bonded some and now he isn’t so quick to mouth off to me. In fact, he listens to me. He doesn’t always agree but he doesn’t take what I say with a grain of salt either. It’s like there is an unspoken understanding between us.
“There you are,” Layla calls from behind us. Turning around, we both drink her in. She’s ditched those god awful rain boots she always seems to wear and replaced them with a pair of knee high boots. Staring at them, the first thought that crosses my mind is that they’re perfect for riding. It makes me realize it’s been too long since I’ve straddled two wheels and I fucking miss it.
Since I offered to help Layla and the kids out, I feel like I’ve been Driving Miss Daisy, making this the longest stretch behind a wheel my life’s ever seen. It’s time to change that; the funny thing is I don’t want to ride alone.
My eyes travel further up Layla’s body, taking in the rest of her outfit, making sure she’s fit to ride. Dressed in jeans and a tight-fitting tee, it’s almost as if she dressed for the occasion. With my mind made up, I watch her interact with her son and force myself not to stare at her ass too much.
“Mom, you don’t have to worry,” he assures her. “I’m not going to fuck up.”
“Tommy,” she groans. “The language.”
Waving a hand, he brushes it off before he points his thumb toward me.
“I swear you don’t have to worry. I’m not looking to mess up because I know if I do this guy will have my ass on top of the roof cleaning the gutters.”
The kid gets me.
He really gets me.
Layla pins me with those honey eyes of hers and I throw her wink.
“We had a talk,” I explain.
“You had a talk with my son?”
“Several,” I tell her, shoving my hands into my pockets.
“Yeah, he basically told me not to be an asshole and made me promise to let you go to work with a clear head,” Tommy chimes in.
“Did he now?” she questions as she stares at me. It’s not like the first time we met and she gave me the death glare for hollering at her boy. This time when she looks at me it’s with unspoken gratitude.
“Yeah, so go to work and don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got it all under control,” Tommy asserts.
Stepping toward her son, she peels her attention away from me and cups his face with both hands.
“Thank you,” she whispers, pressing her lips to his forehead. “I promise it’s only for another week. Then I’m going to see if Uncle Joey’s mom will help out with your sisters.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” he assures.
Seeing the tears fill in Layla’s eyes, I step forward as she releases her hold on the kid. Reaching for her hand, I tousle the top of Tommy’s unruly hair.
“You need a haircut,” I tell him.
“You’re just jealous,” he taunts.
My lips quirk and I turn to Layla.
“You ready to roll out of here?”
“Yes,” she whispers before saying goodbye to her son. With her hand in mine, I lead her across the lawn.
“Where are you going? The truck is this way,” she says, tugging my hand as she tries to guide me in the opposite direction.
“It’s the first time we don’t have the kids with us,” I point out, pulling her closer. “We’re giving the truck a rest,” I add as we reach the garage and stand in front of my chopper.
Her eyes widen as she glances between me and the bike.
“You expect me to ride to work on this thing?”
Ignoring her, I walk into the garage and grab the spare helmet. Dusting it off, I turn around and watch her eye the bike like it’s a death trap.
“Let me see if I understand,” I start, throwing my leg over the chopper. “Me you’re not scared of but these two wheels have you shaking in your boots.”
“Yep you got it,” she says, crossing her arms.
“Get on, killer,” I tell her, offering her the helmet.
“Now would probably be a good time to tell you that I broke my arm the first time my father took the training wheels off my bike,” she mutters as she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and drops her gaze to the helmet in my hands.
“I’ve been riding for over twenty years, killer.”
“Does that mean you’re an excerpt?” she questions as she reluctantly takes the helmet from me.
“It means you’re safe with me,” I tell her, my voice holding all the conviction of a promise.
Layla doesn’t realize how much it takes for me to say those words. She doesn’t know I’ve broken the very same promise to Oksana or that I swore I’d never make the vow again. Yet, as I say the words, I’m certain I will do everything in my power to stay true to them. Should the time come that I can’t keep my word then I will set her free, but for now I’m going to hold on with all I’ve got.
“You swear?”
“With all I am,” I hoarsely reply.
“Good,” she says, fitting the helmet to her head. Her fingers fumble with the chinstrap but after a moment she secures it. Placing one hand on my shoulder she hoists her leg over the bike and positions herself behind me. Resting her chin on my shoulder, she wraps her arms around my middle and continues to speak.
“Then let’s ride.”
They’re the sweetest words I’ve ever heard.
The headlights beam brightly as I throttle the engine and throw the kickstand up. Rolling back down the driveway, Layla tightens her arms around me as Tommy stares at us from the porch. I stop before I turn onto the road and jut my chin toward him.
It’s another promise.
His mom is okay with me.
And to my surprise, it’s another one I want to keep.
Accelerating, the tires kick up the dirt as we pull away from the house. Layla’s body constricts with fear, forcing me to keep with the speed limits, something I’ve always struggled with. The longer we ride, the more she loosens up and it isn’t long before the death grip she has on me falters some.
Keeping one hand on the handlebars, I lay the other over hers and speak over my shoulder.
“You want more?” I question. “Say yes and I promise you’ll love every second.”
There’s a pause before I feel her squeeze my hand.
“Yes,” she shouts over the engine.
“Hang on,” I order, releasing her hand.
Something makes me look up to the heavens and in that moment Blackie’s voice sounds loudly in my ear. With one angel on my back and the other guiding me, I pray both of them are ready to ride the wind and chase the sunset.
It’s a ride I never want to end and when I spot the bar, I instantly feel the loss of mine and Layla’s time together. It makes me realize most of the time we’ve spent together has been with her children and I haven’t truly had her to myself yet.
I like it.
I like how I feel in her presence.
The way she feels around me.
I fucking like it a lot and I’m not ready to let go just yet.
Pulling into the parking lot, I find a spot and kill the engine before dropping the kickstand. Planting both boots on the ground, I stay perfectly still and wait for her to let go of me.
She doesn’t.
With her exhilarated breaths against my ear, I close my eyes and relish in the peace I suddenly feel.
“I’m going to be late,” she whispers after a few moments.
Still, she doesn’t make an attempt to move. Opening my eyes, I lean back. Her breasts press against my back and all the blood rushes south. My cock strains, and trying to tame it I press the heel of my hand against the zipper. If it was any other woman doing this to me, I’d likely drag her inside into the bathroom and fuck her against the door.
This is Layla.
“I better go inside,” she murmurs, dropping her hands from my body.
Swallowing, I nod and wait for her to dismount. She unsnaps the chinstrap and removes the helmet. Shaking out her hair, she hands it back to me.
Beautiful.
So fucking beautiful.
“Thank you for making me do that,” she says with a smile. “I loved it.”
The genuine smile that drives me fucking insane.
“Anytime you want to ride all you gotta do is ask.”
“Yeah? It’s like that, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” Taking the helmet from her hands, I tip my chin toward the bar. “Go on, killer, I’ll be right in.”
“You’re sticking around?” she asks genuinely surprised which makes me wonder how she perceives herself. Does she know a little bit of her is not enough?
“Haven’t had my fill of you yet,” I answer honestly.
The scary thing is, I’m not sure I ever will.
I don’t know if I’m addicted to the high I feel when I’m with her or if I’m getting attached to her. I pray like hell it’s not the latter because I lose everything I latch onto and I won’t forgive myself, not with her, not with Layla.
I reach for my cigarettes and watch her smile widen.
“Okay, well, I’ll see you inside. I’ll make you a drink.”
“Just a beer,” I tell her.
Lifting an eyebrow, she cocks her head to the side and peers at me.
“Giving the hard stuff a rest?”
“That and my liver,” I reply as I blow out a ring of smoke.
“A beer it is,” she says, walking backward. Her steps are hesitant like she doesn’t want to leave. I don’t want her to leave either. She lifts her hand, places her fingers to her lips and blows me a kiss.
It’s in that moment that I know for certain, I’m fucked.
I lower the cigarette from my lips and give her a wink before she finally turns around and saunters into the bar. I finish my cigarette, light another and when I’m certain I won’t throw her over my shoulder and run away with her, I walk my ass into the bar.
It’s not as crowded as the night I took those two slobs home with me and I take a seat at the end of the bar. The guy that the kids call Uncle Joey is there and so is the woman I assume is his wife and Layla’s best friend. I watch the three of them joke around for a minute before Layla spots me. She pulls a cold brew from the bucket of ice and lifts it in the air for me to see. Joey gives me a nod and the woman whispers something in Layla’s ear.
I’m too enthralled by them to notice as someone slides into the seat next to mine.
“You’re a hard man to track down, Pipe,” the familiar voice taunts.
Reluctantly, I peel my eyes off Layla and turn my attention to the man beside me.
Fucking Brantley.
Looking ahead, he doesn’t meet my gaze. Nothing good can come from him being here and before I can think about why he’s traveled all this way, Layla sets my beer down in front of me.
“Hi,” she greets him.
“Well, hello, sweetheart,” he croons, leaning over the bar slightly. He smiles at her and the blood in my veins turns to ice. My jaw clenches as he casually flirts with Layla. She does her job, takes his order but I can feel her eyes burning a hole in the side of my head.
Not ready to meet her questioning eyes, I wait until she mixes Brantley’s drink before I reach for the beer.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I growl as I bring the bottle to my lips.
Knowing beer isn’t going to cut it, I realize I picked the wrong night to nix the hard stuff.
“It’s good to see you too, Pipe,” he taunts.
“Cut the shit,” I demand, setting the beer down. “You got something to say get to it or get gone.”
“Everything okay?” Layla asks as she brings Brantley his drink. “Lee?”
“Lee?” Brantley repeats with a laugh.
“Everything is good,” I grind out, lifting my eyes to hers. The concern in her face is evident, curiously her eyes dart between me and Brantley before finally deciding to keep them firmly planted on Brantley.
“I’m Layla,” she introduces, extending her hand to the man I assume she thinks is a friend.
“Pleasure,” he replies with that saccharine bullshit smile.
I want to knock his teeth out. Nah, forget that, I want them to fly back inside his throat. Let the motherfucker choke and die.
“Are you a friend of Lee’s?”
“That’s a good question,” he says, taking a swig of his scotch. “What would you call us, Pipe?”
Expecting it, I wait for Layla’s reaction to Brantley’s use of my road name—something she knows nothing about. It takes a moment before she looks at me. Holding her gaze, I ignore the questions in her eyes and answer Brantley.
“I’d call you a cocksucking animal, and me, well, I’m the motherfucker that don’t have to put up with you anymore.”
Wincing, Brantley turns to Layla.
“Can you give us a moment, dear?”
Hesitantly, she nods, but I know she wants more. She wants answers, answers she’ll never get.
In a perfect world, Pipe and Layla never get the chance to know one another. The life of an outlaw never bleeds into the life of a woman like her. In a perfect world, Layla and Lee ride the wave without mayhem riding their tail.
Once she’s out of sight, I turn back to Brantley. He raises the glass to his lips but I grab it out of his hand before he can take a sip.
“Start talking, motherfucker,” I sneer.
“Fine,” he says, straightening his tie. “It’s about the club.”
“Didn’t you get the memo? I don’t ride anymore. Whatever goes on with the club isn’t my concern.”
“I heard you handed in your patch,” he asserts. “I have to tell you, I’m shocked.”
Yeah, so is everyone from here to the west coast. I’m just not sure what surprises them more; that I gave my club a pardon and walked or that Jack Parrish let me live to walk away after I handed him my patch.
“Don’t be too surprised,” I reply. “That fucking club killed my wife.”
“And yet you let them get away with that. You let the men responsible for your wife’s death get off,” he says.
If I was drunk right now I wouldn’t be able to pinpoint what he’s doing, but I’m stone cold sober and this motherfucker is baiting me. Either he wants me to lay him the fuck out or he wants something else from me.
Something I’ll never give no matter how bitter I am.
It all goes back to being a man of my word.
It’s those values that were instilled in me the moment I stepped foot into that clubhouse.
It’s death before dishonor.
It’s being loyal to a fault.
It’s honor and respect.
It’s the lifestyle of a biker.
Once you live it, you take your final breath paying homage to it.
“Together, you and I can take them down. We can make them pay for all the innocent lives the Satan’s Knights stole,” he goes on. “However, I should warn you that with or without your help, the club’s days are numbered. I’m working with the ATF and by this time tomorrow we will raid the garage,” he pauses. “Did you know they are using your place to conduct club business?”
Still stuck on the fact that this tool is working with the ATF to bring down the club, I don’t answer him. Instead, I try to figure if the motherfucker is blowing smoke up my ass. That’s when he throws a curveball and reaches into his pocket. Pulling out a folded piece of paper, he slaps it down on the bar.
“It’s going down,” he declares as I turn my head to the search warrant staring back at me.
Shoving it back to him, I grab his scotch and down it in a single gulp.
“I don’t give a fuck,” I grunt, slamming the empty glass on the bar.
“Is that so?” he questions, leaning closer. “Let me make myself clear, Jameson, if you don’t cooperate then you’re going down with the rest of them.”
“Give it your best shot, Brantley,” I seethe.
Our eyes lock and neither of us blink.
It’s a showdown.
The right side of the law versus the wrong side.
A douchebag cop who isn’t worth the city’s tax dollars and a washed-up criminal who doesn’t give a fuck.
Who will win?
Who will lose?
“Have it your way,” he says, finally.
Placing a few bills on top of the bar, he folds the warrant and shoves it back in his pocket. He gives me one final look and then he disappears out the door, leaving me alone with a raging mind and a piece of truth I almost forgot.
Brantley’s warrant flashes in my head and I remember the stash of pipe bombs in the garage. After the clubs shooting range got shot up, I took to making bombs again. With the club at war with so many different enemies, it was a precautionary measure I took. A lot of good it did us. Instead of blowing shit up, we took the hit. How’s that for karma?
I never got the chance to take the bombs out of the garage. Up until now, I didn’t even remember storing them there. If Brantley searches the garage he’s going to find enough explosives to blow up the whole city. Forget the ATF, that shit will become a national security issue. Every man with a fucking reaper will be done.
I may have washed my hands of the club but I’m no rat. I’m also not willing to implicate my brothers. If Brantley is going to lock them up and throw away the key, it’s going to be for something they had a hand in. The bombs—that was all me. No one is going down for that but me.
And I’m not planning on taking any heat either.
No, fuck that.
When Brantley raids that fucking garage tomorrow he won’t find the bombs because I’m dragging my ass to Brooklyn tonight.
I’ll be quick.
In and out.
No one will even know I was there.
Well, except Layla. I have to tell her I’m hitting the road.
Lifting my head, my eyes find hers across the bar.
Her mouth curves into a smile and she lifts a finger, signaling she’ll be with me in a minute.
Great.
Here come the questions.
Fucking shit.