Haunt (Bayonet Scars #6) (21 page)

“Who did you tell this was a bad idea to?” The hairs on my arms stand straight up as I ask the question. Somehow, I already know the answer. The other day, Zander came home from school and said Wyatt had asked Holly for some kind of favor. At the time, I brushed it off. My boy has had a difficult time adjusting to his new school, and with Holly being a guidance counselor, I figured it had something to do with his grades or sometimes rather rough social skills.

But I was wrong. I can see that now.

“Nevermind,” I say when Holly’s eyes won’t meet mine. She sighs heavily, pushes back from the table, and leaves the room. The anger I expect to flood my vision never comes. Instead, an ice cold determination settles in my gut and spreads throughout my body. I stand and walk Piper over to Ruby. Handing her over wordlessly, I leave the house, trusting that my kid’s in good hands with Ruby.

It doesn’t take long for me to get back to the house, hop in my SUV, and head to the clubhouse. That wasn’t a bonding session with the girls, it was a distraction to keep me out of club business. That’s the last fucking time I let Wyatt pull the wool over my eyes.

When I get to the clubhouse, Jeremy doesn’t want to let me past the gate. It isn’t until I remind him that he can’t touch me, and slither past his muscular frame, that I make it through the gates.

“You’re kind of an asshole,” he says, with his hands in the air and keeping as much space between us as he can. A smile finds its way to my face.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, baby boy.” Jeremy smirks, all knowing and taunting, like the fucking kid has something on me. I shake my head and turn toward the clubhouse. Stopping dead in my tracks and surveying the parking lot, realization dawns on me.
This
is why Jeremy’s being so smug. The lot is full of sleek, black luxury cars and SUVs.
Mafia black
. These fuckers are so predictable. I turn back to Jeremy and decide that being nice might have its perks.

“Friend or foe?” The kid stares at me blankly before blinking. Shaking my head and abandoning any pretense of being in a decent enough mood to socialize and study the clubhouse. I know the way Forsaken men think well enough to know that the front door is locked. The boys won’t risk any interruptions when they have visitors— especially not potentially unfriendly visitors.

“You have keys,” I say to Jeremy. He stares at me blankly before a cocky grin appears on his face. He’s smart and determined. I can see the look on his face. He wants his top rocker more than he wants his next breath. I respect the kid even if he has suddenly come down with the inability to speak. “Cough ‘‘em up, prospect.”

With narrowed eyes and a casually defiant expression that tells me he’s been fighting authority figures his entire life, he closes the distance between us. He’s just barely taller than Zander, but that won’t last for long. With the rate my boy’s growing, Zander will be dwarfing Jeremy within the year. Still, Jeremy Whelan has a muscular weight to him that Zander is lacking, so when he gets almost close enough to touching me, I jump back. I’m used to Zander getting in my face and me having to put him ass where it belongs, but this is different. There’s a danger that radiates off Jeremy that I don’t expect at his young age.

“Got orders to keep you in the parking lot should you show up. Also got orders to tackle your ass and haul you back out should you find a way into the clubhouse. That shit comes from your old man, so if you don’t like it, talk to him.” He flashes his brilliant dark blue eyes and his large white smile. “Thanks for keeping me company, babe. It was getting boring out here.”

I suck in a haughty breath and turn away from him. He’s going to make a damn good brother. I have no doubt they’ll patch his ass in when the time comes. Wyatt says he talks to Butch, Jeremy’s dad, regularly and the man couldn’t be prouder of his boy. From where I stand, he’s got a lot to be proud of.

We wait like that, in silence, for a damn long time. I don’t even know how much time passes. Only that the sun begins to set and the temperature drops enough to chill me to the bone. I want to ask Jeremy what’s going on and who’s inside. It seems that if the boys welcomed their visitors into the clubhouse, then they have to trust them on some level, so it can’t be Segreti. At least, I’d be damn surprised if it was, but I know better than to bet against these men. Forsaken men pride themselves on being crazy ass fucks who push limits at every turn. There’s no telling what kind of deal they’re cooking up in there. One thing I know for certain though, it’s about New York.

The front door of the clubhouse swings open, the hinges squeaking under protest, and out walks Wyatt with a man— a mafia man— I’ve never seen before. The man at Wyatt’s side is wearing a slick black suit with a white shirt underneath. All perfectly normal and tailored with a dash of personality in the blood red tie at his neck. His ice blue eyes catch mine and a feral smile creeps to his lips. I narrow my eyes in response to the way his eyes rake up and down my body. This man doesn’t look Italian, but there is something uniquely European about the way he carries himself. With sandy brown hair, and defined cheekbones, and a long straight nose above a square jaw and thick neck, he’s attractive alright. Not my type, but attractive. I don’t like my men better groomed than me and save for the beard covering the lower half of his face, he’s as clean cut as a whistle. He’s all business, while still somehow all about pleasure. It unnerves me to my core to have him staring at me the way he is.

“Mr. Strand, introduce me to your club’s woman,” he says with a thick Russian accent. One step forward has Wyatt standing between us. My man’s large hand is splayed out on the man’s chest. He looks down at Wyatt’s hand and waits until he removes his hand. The man reaches up very slowly and smooths out his clothes as if Wyatt had sullied them somehow. He didn’t, but it’s a show of dominance. Intricate tattoos peek out from beneath the arms of his suit. Wyatt doesn’t take the bait, he just clears his throat, getting the man’s attention.

“Come here, baby,” Wyatt says, ushering me over. I move to stand beside him and he tucks me into his side and holds me tight against him. “This is
my
woman.”

“Dominik Petrov.” The man’s eyes fall back on me appraisingly. His words slide off his tongue in a way that can’t be anything but natural for him. His eyes don’t leave mine when he says, “You’re a lucky man.”

“Amber Strand,” I say with a nod and a steady chin. Wyatt’s fingers dig into my side. He likes the way I sound with his last name.

He’s not the only one.

Pushing my luck, I smile at Dominik and extend a hand to shake his. He takes my hand in his large one. For such a put-together man, his hands are rough and dry, obviously not cared for in the way the rest of him is.

“Tell me what business you have with my man and my club.”

Dominik’s eyes flash excitedly, but he remains silent. I know men like him. They don’t take kindly to women poking into their affairs. My daddy and granddaddy could tell him stories about trying to keep me out of club business. My granddad, Clutch, got his name for always coming in clutch in difficult situations. At least that’s the current party line. My mom used to tell me it was for something entirely different that I didn’t want to know about. Clutch used to tell me he was going to beat the shit out of me for speaking my mind. He never did though. My lax childhood can certainly be to blame for this situation. Women don’t talk like this— at least they don’t do it and get away with it— not in Forsaken and definitely not in the Russian mafia.

Dominik’s eyes leave mine in favor of Wyatt, and it’s only now as he’s dismissed me that I realize how attractive he really is. Enemy or not, if I didn’t have Wyatt, I’d consider Dominik Petrov for a little fun. Wyatt’s arm that’s wrapped around me tightens uncomfortably in warning. Looking up at my man, I give him a soft smile that he snarls at. It’s my fake smile and he knows it.

“Bike. Now,” Wyatt barks out, releasing me. For once in my life, I follow the order and go to stand beside Wyatt’s Harley. In the distance, I can hear Wyatt and Dominik exchanging chauvinistic bullshit retorts. I choose to let them have their fun. My comment did exactly as it was supposed to— it put my man on notice that hiding things from me is going to stop.

CHAPTER 19

Wyatt lumbers toward me, his now short hair stock still despite the wind that swirls around us. It was just last night that he brought me a pair of scissors and told me to cut it off. I didn’t know what to do with that, but I did my best to cut his hair down to just a few inches. “Fresh start, babe,” he had said. I can’t say I miss the longer hair. It was always a mess and reminded me too much of the old Wyatt.

Wyatt’s bulking muscles practically explode from his black shirt as he stomps toward me. His chest rises and falls quickly, like he’s willing himself to calm down. I bite at my lower lip, eyes affixed on his, and practically squirm while I wait to wrap my body around him. His eyes hood as he catches sight of my lower lip between my teeth, then he swings a leg over his bike and starts her up. I climb on and wrap my arms around his waist. The deep, loud growl of the bike vibrates beneath me, electrifying my entire body. I lean in, running a hand over the crotch of his jeans as we pull out of the parking lot and head through town.

The first time I did this, I was maybe sixteen years old. Wyatt must have been eighteen or so and he nearly crashed his bike. Now though, as adults with a teenage son, he keeps the bike steady as we leave town and turn off the main road. The area is desolate, on the outskirts of town along Highway 101. By the time Wyatt stops the bike, the bulge in his pants is larger and firmer. I smile to myself, eyeing our surroundings and deciding that if I’m going to be punished for stepping out of line, I damn sure better earn it. Climbing off the bike, I backup toward the tree line to give myself at least a little covering. Turning off the engine, and moving to stand beside the bike, Wyatt fixes his eyes on me.

“When were you going to tell me about New York?”

“Fuckin’ Holly,” he mutters and takes a step closer, but I put my hand up to stop him. Shocking me, he freezes in place. I’m not used to having my man listen to me. The sudden power energizes me. Holly Mercer and I are going to have some words later. A lot of words and we’re going to be having them without either of our men around. I won’t hit her— she is pregnant after all— but Grady still won’t let me around her if he senses how pissed I am. No reason for our men to fight out an issue that’ strictly between us women.

“Who do I belong to?” It’s a demand, not a question.

“Me. You belong to me.” His voice is rough. Good. The more he wants me, the easier this will be.

“Then fucking act like it.” My words are punctuated with my anger. His eyes narrow to slits as he glares down at me. I lift my shirt above my head and place my hands on my hips. His hooded eyes travel down to my breasts. “I am as much Forsaken as you are, if not more. Do
not
hide things from me.”

“I’m protecting you,” he says on a roar. “You, Zander, and Piper are my entire fucking world. I just barely got the three of you. I won’t let this shit touch you.”

He takes another step closer. My fingers tingle to touch him, but I keep the feeling at bay long enough to sort this out.

“You and your brothers are fucking idiots if you think keeping your women in the dark is the way to win this war. I haven’t been here very long but even I can see where things went wrong, why people have been hurt, and even killed.”

“Shut your fucking mouth.” He’s snapping now, charging toward me, and scooping me up in his arms. My head is shoved against his chest, and just like that, I feel at home. It doesn’t matter that we’re in the middle of an argument. Wyatt’s hard body wrapped around my softer one settles me in a way nothing else ever has. Not even holding our newborn children, seeing them open their eyes, and take one of their first breaths, can ever do. Those memories are laced, after all, with an everlasting sorrow that creeps into the edges of even my happiest memories when Wyatt wasn’t there. My beautiful babies both came out so healthy and strong and so very, very precious, but I couldn’t fully enjoy the moment as I wanted to. Neither time. My man should have been there. He should have seen their first breath, and first smile. He should have known them from the moment they entered this world. And he wasn’t there because life is unfair and cruel and addiction is a vicious beast I wouldn’t wish on anybody. Only here, with Wyatt holding me do I ever feel all that pain and anger wash away.

“You have to talk to me,” I say quietly. I turn my head and place a kiss to his neck. His chest rumbles in approval.

“You don’t know the shit we’ve been through,” he says, lowering us into the grass at our feet. He sits with his legs spread, me between them, close to his chest, but at a good angle to meet his eyes. “Everything has fallen apart in the last two years. We lost Chief, and then Tall— a kid we were going to patch-in. Everything that went down with Nic and her fucking ex? Then the hell that came after we thought we took care of that.”

He sucks in a slow, unsteady breath. I don’t take my eyes off his face as he chews at his lip. My man’s gorgeous blue-green eyes deepen as he works through what he wants to say.

“We had to remove Chief from the grass in front of Jim’s place. Buried him and almost lost Grady in the process. He’d basically lost his father. We found Alex in a warehouse, watching her own fucking brother beat the shit out of her. That girl was such a bad fucking idea. We shot up her dad’s house and took her away like removing her from New York was going to fix shit, but it didn’t. And I hated the sight of her for a damn long time. Every time I looked at her face, all I could see was Chief, dead in the grass. Everything we’ve done after that has been to protect our family and we’ve fucking failed at every turn. So no, I don’t want you involved in the club.”