Chaos Bound (11 page)

“Hold up, brother.” Shaggy’s hazel eyes shifted from green to brown, unnerving Tank who always looked to a man’s eyes to take his measure. “Much as I hate to defend Shooter, he was trying his best. The ramp isn’t even.”

“Then he shouldn’t have pushed the bike on it,” Tank spat out, grateful to have a focus for his grief and anger.

Shaggy shook his head. “This won’t bring him back.”

Tank clenched his fist so tight his nails dug into his palm. “I’m not doing it to bring him back,” he bit out. “I’m doing it because he’s coming back, and when he does he’ll need his bike. If it’s clean, he’ll know I never gave up on him, that I had faith, that I knew he’d be back.”

Shaggy held up his hands palms forward. “Hey, man. Whatever makes you happy.”

“T-Rex’s bike. Clean. Waiting for him to ride. That makes me fucking happy.” He turned away quickly so they didn’t see his damn eyes water.

EIGHT

What the fuck?

Holt stumbled along the wood-paneled corridor, his brain still hazy from sleep. Last thing he remembered was Naiya shoving a damned needle in his arm. Anger. Swearing. Frustration. And a curious fear that he wouldn’t be able to protect her. Then fucking nothing.

A wall of windows greeted him as he emerged into a spacious living room overlooking a thick forest with the glimpse of a lake beyond. Even without the log furniture, antler lighting, and rustic decor he would have guessed they were in a cabin. The mixed scents of cedar and pine filled the air, and something else … something delicious.

His stomach rumbled as he followed the smell to a cozy kitchen. The donuts Ally had brought to the motel room had barely made a dent in the hunger pangs that had been his constant companion for the last three months.

He jerked to a stop in the doorway, trying to get a grip on his anger. After what he’d been through in the dungeon, he wasn’t emotionally equipped to deal with the loss of agency her little trick had engendered, or the vulnerability. He never wanted to be helpless again, and back at the motel … when he felt the drug pulling him down … only anger had saved him from the grip of fear.

Hand tight on the doorframe, he shouted her name. At least that’s what he thought he did. Instead, his mouth dropped open and he just stared at Naiya stirring a pot on the stove, her back to him, her body bathed in the warm orange light of the setting sun as she sang Led Zeppelin’s “Ramble On.”

Jesus fucking Christ. He loved that song. The greatest fucking geektastic song by the best band of all time. He remembered the first time Tank played it for him. They’d been trunking with Cade one night and the drug dealer they’d stuffed in the trunk was making a helluva lot of noise. While Cade called the dealer’s buds and arranged a payout for his freedom, Tank turned up the radio just in time for the first few beats of “Ramble On.” Holt had always thought it was about a girl and wandering around, but Tank made him pay attention to the lyrics. Mordor. Gollum. The whole song took place in Middle Earth. Holt never forgot the grin that split Tank’s face. After that, every fucking time they drove around together, Tank pulled the song up on his phone and blasted it through the speakers. And he always had the same grin. Ear to fucking geektastic ear.

Holt had never made the connection, but as he listened to Naiya’s soft voice, watched the sway of her hips, and the sun play over her hair, he realized she had a lot in common with Tank—from her love of comic books, to the music she enjoyed, to the way she stayed calm under pressure and did what she thought was right despite Holt’s views on the matter.

His gaze drifted down to her perfect, heart-shaped ass outlined in dark denim, the flare of her hips, and then back up to the curve of her waist, hugged by a tight red T-shirt. Maybe not exactly like Tank.

He liked that her feet were bare, and that she sang as she cooked when she thought no one could hear her. After the hell he’d been through, the entire scene was surreal, peaceful. Domestic. Sweet. Not something that had ever been on his radar. He almost didn’t want to have words with her about what she had done.

“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to sit down and eat?” She looked back over her shoulder, cheeks flushed, the light dancing in her eyes. “I’ve made lasagna, garlic bread, and salad. I like red wine with dinner, but Doug thought you were more of a beer or whiskey man, so I bought both. I’ve also made soup in case real food is too much for you.”

Holt’s mouth watered, not just at the prospect of eating a meal, but also at the fact it was home cooked. Before his capture, he lived at the Sinner clubhouse with a few of the other unattached brothers who hadn’t saved up enough money to buy their own place. Food was grabbed on the go unless one of the brothers with an old lady invited him home for dinner, or one of the sweet butts did some cooking instead of doing what they were supposed to do—what they often did for him, what he was thinking about doing now that Naiya had bent down to pull something from the oven.

Christ. She had a sweet ass. And it had been a long time since he’d had a woman.

A woman who had knocked him out when he was about to take down a few Jacks.

“What the fuck did you do?” His gaze dropped to the dish of pasta in her hands, and he reeled from the delicious aroma of melted cheese and tomato sauce. If he didn’t hurry up this conversation, his stomach would rule his head, and he would miss the opportunity to lay down the line.

“Saved you.” She placed the dish on the table. “There were six Jacks, fully armed, none of whom appeared to have been chained in a dungeon for months. I get that you want revenge. But that wasn’t the time or the place. A shoot-out would have landed you in jail, or worse, dead, and you have a Viper to kill. He’s who you want. Not them.”

She was right. Every fantasy of retribution he nurtured in that dungeon had Viper in the starring role. But damned if he would admit it to her. “You had no fucking right. What you did … if we were in the club, a kick out would be the least of your punishments.”

“But you’re not in the club,” she said quietly. “And neither am I. Although I’m not sorry I got you out of there, I am sorry about how I did it. But I didn’t think you would listen and we didn’t have time to talk.”

“How long was I out?”

“Eight hours. Ally said the shot should only have lasted one or two, but your body needed to heal. She stayed until a few hours ago to make sure you were okay, but she and Doug had to get to work. She left stuff for me to treat your wounds.”

Holt grabbed the nearest chair and yanked it out from the table then sat heavily on the wooden seat, his harsh movements rattling the cutlery and plates. He wanted to be angry with her, should be angry, but she’d saved him from his own stubbornness, and now she was standing barefoot in the kitchen after cooking for him, singing his favorite song, looking so fucking lost and beautiful he thought his heart would break.

“Don’t do it again,” he mumbled.

Her shoulders dropped, releasing a tension he hadn’t realized she’d been holding “Only if you promise not to try and get yourself killed too soon. I have a vested interest in seeing Viper dead, too.” Naiya placed a basket of garlic bread beside him and a bowl of tossed salad, the vegetables so brightly colored he almost wondered if they were real.

“Ally said to go slow and easy with the food. Drink lots of water. She didn’t think alcohol was a good idea but…”

“Whiskey. Neat.” He looked up when she startled, mentally kicking himself for his abrupt tone. “Please.”

“I didn’t know bikers said please.” She headed over to the counter, covered with bottles, cans, and shopping bags.

“It’s been known to happen when beautiful women drug them, take them to cabins in the mountains, save them from their own pig-headed stupidity, and then cook for them.”

Naiya laughed, a light bubbly sound that made him smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She returned with the drinks and joined him at the table. “Cheers to revenge.” She held up her glass and Holt did the same. Then he shot back the whiskey in one gulp.

“Son of a bitch.” He wheezed out a breath as the bitter liquid burned its way down his throat and into his shriveled stomach. His head spun and he wondered if it was possible to get instantly drunk.

“Eat something.” Naiya handed him the bread basket, and he shoved a piece of warm garlic bread in his mouth.
Oh fuck
. The taste, the tang of garlic, salted melted butter. Texture. Warmth. He’d never tasted anything so good in his life.

“More.” He reached for the basket, and Naiya pulled it away.

“Slow.”

Holt grunted his annoyance. “Pushy little thing, aren’t you?”

“Actually, no.” She picked up the spatula and served him a steaming slice of lasagna before filling her own plate. “I’ve never had anyone to boss around. When I was little, I lived with my grandmother and after she passed away I lived with my mom, which basically was like living with half the Jacks since they were in and out of the apartment all day, doing drugs, selling drugs, shooting up, and…” Her face tightened, and she toyed with her ring. “While my mom did what drug-addicted sweet butts do.”

“In front of her kid?”

“Unless she had a boyfriend. Some of them didn’t like to share. The sharing types wanted to share me, too, so I spent a lot of time at the library or staying late after school to help the teachers so I didn’t have to go home. I read a lot of books, found places to hide…”

Holt’s stomach clenched at the image. She talked about it so casually, yet he saw her tremble when she put down the spatula. And when she sat down, she put her hands on her lap instead of picking up her fork.

He recognized her pain. Understood it. Hell, she’d been abandoned just like him. And yet there was more she wasn’t telling him. The real reason she needed to plan and control every aspect of her life.

Naiya was full of secrets. Painful secrets. Beautiful secrets. If they’d met her in a bar, Tank would have been all over her, and Holt wouldn’t have stood in his way. Holt went for assertive women who would speak their minds—women who laughed loud and enjoyed being the center of attention. He liked a woman who knew where she wanted to be touched and how. Tank, on the other hand, liked the quiet women, deep, the ones with hidden passion. Tank liked to explore, seduce, unlock, and uncover. The more secrets a woman had, the better. Except, right now, the thought of Tank anywhere near Naiya made Holt’s stomach clench. If anyone was going to tease out Naiya’s secrets, it should be him.

“Looks like I’m hiding again,” she said, “Except this time I’m not alone.”

Guilt speared through his gut. How could he go through with his plan to use her to lure Viper from his den when she had dragged him out here to save him instead of escaping with her friends?

“Not while Viper is still walking this fucking earth.” He lifted a fork full of lasagna, and his taste buds exploded. Christ. Had food ever tasted this good? The combination of tangy sauce, rich ground beef, and sharp cheddar stole his breath away, and for the next five minutes he couldn’t speak. Instead, he savored—simple pleasures that had long been denied.

“Fucking delicious.” He reached for the spatula, and Naiya shook her head. “I think you should stop. It’s not going anywhere. If you feel okay you can have more later.”

“Bossy.” He put down the spatula, reached for the bread.

“Only around you, it seems.” She tilted her head to the side and laughed.

Damn cute. If they’d been anywhere else, any other time, he would have flirted with her, started the slow dance that would eventually lead to the bedroom where he would strip her down and make her moan. He suspected she hid her true emotions, and once he cracked those inhibitions he would find deep passion beneath the orderly facade.

“Ally, Doug and I were talking about where I should go.” She sipped her wine, the red staining her lips. He wanted to lick it off, kiss her lips until they were plump and pink, just like he’d imagined when she kissed him before the needle hit home.

“You don’t need to go anywhere.” He stood, poured another whiskey, leaned against the counter. “Once I kill Viper, you’ll be safe. You can get back to your normal life.” He sipped the whiskey, slowly this time, letting the liquid burn and warm his tongue.

“Yeah.” Naiya toyed with the salad on her plate
.
“I’ll find a good job, save up some money to buy a little house, maybe I’ll meet a nice guy with a good job—”

“What about Maurice? You gonna dump him because he didn’t show?”

With a sigh, she stood and carried her plate to the sink. “He dumped me. Doug caught him with another woman, and he asked Doug to tell me it was over.”

Holt thudded his glass on the counter. “He’s a fucking piece of shit, and he’ll come crawling back ’cause you’re a real class act, and he’s gonna realize what a mistake he made.”

Her eyes warmed, and a smile spread across her face. “That’s the nicest thing anyone ever said to me.”

“It’s the truth, although I gotta admit I hope he doesn’t come back ’cause you deserve better than a man who isn’t there when you need him.”

She put her plate in the sink and turned on the water. “There weren’t a lot of good men around when I was growing up, which is why I was so desperate to get out of the club. I wasn’t safe.”

“So you’re not with the Jacks?”

She gave him a horrified look. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t want to wind up like my mom. Most of the women at the club are drug addicts or sweet butts or both. That’s not a life. I might have had it rough as a teenager, but when I lived with my grandmother, she encouraged me to work hard so I could have a future outside the MC. She never minded that I never really fit in.”

He pointed to the tattoo on her shoulder, bared by the short-sleeved tee. He’d missed it before, but in the evening light it stood out, a black stain on her otherwise perfect skin. “You got the Black Jacks mark.”

Naiya yanked on her sleeve, and her face crumpled. “Not by choice.”

He barely caught the words she whispered, but when he did the food stuck in his throat. Jesus H Christ. She’d been inked against her will?