Along Came Merrie (12 page)

“Braden, please don’t do this,” she whispered.

He straightened. “I won’t stand in your way with Leo. You both have my blessing, for as long as it lasts.”

“May I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” he said warily.

“When you were twenty-three, did you ever want to leave this ranch?”

He shook his head. “No, never.”

“Then how can you doubt me when I feel as emphatically as you did then?”

He pursed his lips. “Well played, Merrie. But you’re a woman. It’s different.”

“You’re a coward,” she spat. She didn’t even wait for him to comment. Instead, she spun and stormed away. A few seconds later, the front door slammed. Part of him wanted to go after her and beg her to forgive him for his stupidity and another part of him wanted to punch something until he bled.

But he didn’t do either of those things. He picked up his plate and dumped the rest of his dinner in the trash before washing everything. Then he headed up stairs and locked himself in his bedroom.

* * * *

Merrie sat on the porch swing and stared out at the night, unable to stop the tears flowing down her cheeks. Her emotions fluctuated from despair to anger. In fact, she was so mad she didn’t know what to do except sit there and cry.

She understood about being scared and wary when it came to trusting someone. Hell, her own mother often forgot she had a daughter that she needed to feed. When her mom had ended up overdosing on heroine, Merrie had been sent to live with her Uncle Clarence but he’d died the following year, leaving her alone again. She’d dated a lot of guys, hoping one clicked with her so she wouldn’t have to be alone anymore, only to realize they’d only wanted to screw her without any deeper feelings involved, thus earning her a bad reputation. Like mother, like daughter.

But she didn’t understand how Braden could turn his back so easily when she knew they had a deep connection. She’d seen the pain on his face, the longing in his eyes when he’d looked at her. And to hear him dismiss what they shared had really cut her to the quick.

Leo’s truck pulled into its spot and the lights flicked off. Leo stepped from the truck and sighed as he approached her.

“I take it he’s still being an ass?”

Merrie wiped her cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was hoping he’d stop being an ass. He doesn’t mean it, you know. He’s just scared.”

“Yeah? Well, newsflash—so am I. Having this type of relationship wasn’t in my plans. I’m sure they weren’t in yours either.”

He sat next to her on the swing and rocked it gently. “What happened?”

“Basically he gave me to you, which by the way, thanks for asking. I’m not a door prize, you know.”

“Give him a few days,” Leo said.

“And then what? We live happily ever after? I can’t do that if he’s always going to think I’m going to leave. The only reason
to
leave would be because of him! Doesn’t he get that?”

“I’m sorry, Merrie.”

She stood. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. In the beginning, I wanted to leave because I was petrified of Axe finding me. Then I stayed because I felt safe with you two. Now I have feelings for both of you and if one of you shuns me then I can’t stay.”

“Merrie—”

“If you don’t mind,” she snapped. “I’d rather be alone right now.”

She left him there in the dark and headed up to her room. She didn’t want one man over the other and she refused to put Leo in that kind of position. Damn Braden. It was just like a man to twist everything out of proportion.

Chapter Fourteen

Givon grabbed the phone and punched the line on hold. “Hello, this is Sheriff Halloran.”

“Hello, Sheriff, I’m Captain Bruce Buckner with the Cheyenne PD.”

“Thank you for returning my call. I’ve recently discovered the burned-out shell of a car and the VIN was traced back to a woman named Merrie Walden. I was informed through a third party that you have a detective in Destiny investigating and I’m slightly disturbed that I’ve yet to meet this detective.”

“Clark hasn’t checked in with you?”

“No, sir, he hasn’t. I’ve called the number on his cell but I’ve not been able to touch base.”

“My detective is working on the case,” Captain Buckner assured him. “He’s investigating you, so it’s possible he’s gathering evidence.”

“Evidence? Need I remind you I am a sheriff of another county? Some common courtesy is demanded. Why don’t you inform me what’s going on, Captain?”

“We had a call come through about a woman allegedly assaulted by a biker. The woman was informed the Destiny police force was…ah…on the take and she shouldn’t expect help. So I sent one of my detectives down to assess the situation. He should have come by to inform you of this.”

“Yes, he should have,” Givon stated. “Bikers?”

“Yes. Clark works organized crimes.”

“Do you happen to know the name of the biker?”

“Sorry, Sheriff. I don’t. Clark hasn’t reported in.”

“Isn’t that unusual?” Givon asked.

“Not if he’s in the midst of investigating a known outlaw biker gang.”

Givon didn’t agree with that at all and this was turning out to be a whole lot more complicated than just a burned-out car. Except now, he knew the first person he was going to question.

“If and when you get in touch with your detective, Captain, would you have him give me a call?”

“Will do, Sheriff.”

* * * *

Givon waited by his truck, standing on one of the Laramide uplifts overlooking the Wind River Basin. It was one of the most beautiful places on Earth and he considered himself fortunate that this was where he’d grown up. The sound of another vehicle coming up the narrow single road had all his senses on high alert.

The truck came to a stop and the engine turned off. A door slammed and Givon turned his head as North Tabion walked up to him. North intimidated people. The air around him practically vibrated with authority and his blue eyes were cold enough to freeze fire. A bandana hid most of his blond hair. Givon saw his reflection in the man’s mirrored sunglasses.

“You rang?” North drawled in a deep gravelly voice. It matched his outward persona. A Red Wolf strip encircled the bottom of his leather cut while dark jeans and a white T-shirt hinted at the muscles under his big frame. A chain for his wallet attached to his belt and tattoos peeked out from under one sleeve.

“I’ve got a Cheyenne detective somewhere in my jurisdiction inquiring about a woman who was allegedly beaten up by a biker,” Givon said without preamble.

“The hell you say?” North grumbled.

“What the fuck is going on, North?”

“Who’s this detective?”

“I don’t know,” Givon said with a frustrated sigh. “I called his captain and he hasn’t heard from his guy either. So let me tell you what I have—a report on a woman being beaten, bikers are involved, my department’s on the take and a burned-out car belonging to a woman named Merrie Walden. Does any of this ring a bell?”

“Fuck,” North muttered. “It’s not us, man. I swear it.”

“Well if it’s not you then it’s the Demon Devils.”

“The double Ds are scum,” North told him. “There’s no love lost between us and them.”

“I know that. Can you keep your ears open? Let me know if you hear anything?”

“Sure,” North said. “You know I’m trying to turn the gang around. Most of us don’t want to stay on this outlaw path. That’s why they voted me into the presidency when Old Patch died.”

“I know,” Givon said quietly. “And I’m glad. I’ve always hated us being polar opposites. You’re still my best friend.”

North gave him a playful shove on the shoulder. “Don’t get all mushy on me. My dick doesn’t do men.”

“Asshole,” Givon swore as he turned to stomp back to his truck. “Doing me would rock your world. Make you immune to the charms of women. But hell if I want that kind of commitment from you, you pervy bastard.”

“Love you too,” North called out and then laughed.

Givon flipped him off as he started his own truck. He maneuvered around North’s, leaving his friend behind. They’d grown up together, both victims of abusive dads, leaning on each other to survive the horrors. Once they’d hit high school, they began going in different directions. Givon had been determined to become a cop so he could put men like their fathers’ behind bars while North had started hanging out with the local biker gang, the Red Wolves.

Even with all the bullshit between an outlaw gang and the police, they’d managed to maintain their friendship, although very few people knew they were still talking to each another. And when North had come to him earlier in the year—after he’d become the gang’s new president—to tell him that the Red Wolves were going legit, Givon had given him all his support.

He felt better talking to North, knowing his friend didn’t have a thing to do with the trouble involving Merrie Walden. Now it was time for him to talk to the other biker gang.

North waited for Givon to drive away before pulling out his phone. He hit a number and listened until the call went through.

“Yeah, Boss?” Draven, his VP, asked.

“Meet me at the Demon Devils’ bar on Route 18.”

“Trouble?”

“Always with those bastards.”

He hung up and headed toward his truck. His truck was old and he wanted to preserve it for as long as possible. As he made his way out of the mountain pass and back onto the road, he thought about whom he could contact to find out what the Devils had been up to lately.

Sometime later, he saw Draven’s bike parked on the side of the road hidden within the tree line. It was the typical place they used when they wanted to spy on the other club.

Draven dismounted his bike and walked over to North’s passenger door, hopping into the truck with ease.

“What’s going on, Boss?”

“I think we have a big fucking problem on our hands,” North said grimly.

“If it involves the Demon Devils, I’m not surprised. They’ve been a big fucking problem for the past twenty years.”

“They beat up a woman and implicated Givon’s office, stating it’s on the take.”

“Givon’s office is
not
on the take.”

“I know that and you know that, but if the Internal Affairs Bureau gets wind, Giv’s job could be on the line and the Wolves have come too far to let some investigation bullshit fuck everything up. Now, who do we have who can get us some Intel on what they’re doing?”

“Reaper’s at Rawlins,” Draven said. “I think the Devils have a few guys on the inside. Could stage an interrogation.”

“I don’t want Gray Dog getting wind that I know anything.”

“You know how prison is, Boss—lots of alone time.”

North nodded. “I want you to handle this personally, Draven. Givon’s my best friend, although only you know that.”

“I hear you, Boss. I’ll head out to Rawlins now. I should just make visiting hours.”

“Good.”

Draven exited North’s truck and headed to his bike. The man roared out on his run. North would be damned if he let anyone fuck up what his club had worked so hard to achieve. If the Demon Devils wanted another turf war, then he was going to be prepared.

Chapter Fifteen

The next two days were miserable for Merrie. During the night, she stared up at the dark ceiling, replaying over in her head the night they’d all been together. What had she done wrong? What could she say to fix this? Her nerves stretched thinner and thinner each hour. Leo tried to keep her mind off Braden but it was like walking on a tightrope.

During the day, she continued working with Leo at the office. Whenever he was called away on emergencies, she stayed behind and took calls, made appointments and cleaned and stocked the exam rooms. She managed to stay busy and on the occasion Braden crept into her thoughts, she’d log on to the Internet.

On a hunch, she typed the Demon Devils in the browser. It surprised her when she found a website for them. At the top, it proclaimed their club name and their logo entwined double Ds. She clicked on the chapter link and realized that the Destiny branch was only one part of the whole Demon Devil world. There was also a photo section and she brought that up, scrolling through until she saw the gray-bearded man from that night.

Her heart began to pound fearfully and she broke out into a cold sweat. Merrie grabbed a pen and paper and wrote down his name—Gray Dog. She right clicked on the picture and sent it to the printer. It may only be black and white but at least she’d have something tangible. She scrolled through all the pictures, unable to find Axe.

Merrie dug Detective Christianson’s card out of her back pocket. She’d been carrying it around all the time, just in case. She dialed the cell number from the landline but all she got was his voicemail so she left a message for him to call her. Just finding Gray Dog’s picture brought it home that what had happened was
real
and she couldn’t sweep it under the rug. She couldn’t forget about it. Now that she was mostly recovered and had had time and distance from the event, the memories weren’t so painful to think about.

She clicked back to the home page and studied the website for a moment before going back to the browser and bringing up the FAQs. The questions started out standard, ones she would’ve asked.
What does MC stand for? What do the colors stand for? Is this a gang?

The fourth question was about the logo and its significance upon the leather vest, also known as a cut. The colors and the two Ds were the club’s insignia, a way to identify them to other clubs or bikers in the area. Every cut was the same because the placement of the name, the logo and charter chapter were all important. The one percent stitched into the leather designated that they were outlaw, made famous by a 1948 statement by the American Motorcycle Association that ninety-nine percent of motorcyclists are good people enjoying a clean sport and only one percent are antisocial barbarians. Something nagged at the back of her mind, but it was so elusive she couldn’t focus on it.

Feeling drained, she clicked off the Internet and shut the computer down and folded the printed picture up to slip it in her back pocket, along with the detective’s card. When she looked at the clock, it startled Merrie to see it was close to six p.m. Leo still hadn’t returned, so she closed up, putting the phones on service call and setting the alarm. The office was half a mile from the farmhouse so she took off walking, enjoying the crisp evening air.