(Club Chrome MC 2) All Dogs Bite (17 page)

She felt miles away from the person she’d been days ago. Can you believe that? Days ago! Bronx had changed her. Irrevocably. And she had no interest in returning to the way she’d been. Not a chance. She liked being sexually insatiable and desired. Who wouldn’t?
You’re living in a dream world…he’s going to leave — and then what
? Delainey scowled at the inner voice nagging at her.
Spoil-sport, go away.
She was going to enjoy every last minute until the clock had run out. End of story.

***

Bronx parked his bike and scanned the parking lot, immediately spying Jax and Hunter waiting by the entrance. He narrowed his gaze and fought the scowl that jumped to his expression. He tensed and Delainey gave him a reassuring squeeze from behind him that inexplicably centered him, calming his urge to self-destruct and pick a fight. He had to remember they were here for a common cause, not because they were about to become besties for life. He climbed from his bike and helped Delainey off. He caught the look of unabashed pride in Delainey’s expression as she slipped her hand into his and he took strength from that sweet, totally undeserved gift.

“You got the tape?” Bronx asked, going straight to the point.

“Yeah,” Jax answered, his gaze going from Delainey and back to Bronx as if trying to ascertain their relationship, which set Bronx on edge. Who the fuck was he to pass judgment? And he better not be looking at Delainey’s tits or all bets were off. Bronx pulled Dee a little closer and she willingly snuggled up to him.
There, see that? She’s mine
. That wild, territorial streak that he’d never truly known existed when it came to a woman, was alive and kicking but apparently, it was something Jax understood because he gave a subtle nod before returning to the subject at hand. “Zoe tells us, you knew Gage?”

“I didn’t know him but…we were roommates for a short time in that house.”

“He was a sweet kid that got a raw deal in life. I wish we’d had the balls to do this sooner.”

Hunter nodded, his jaw set. There was something oddly fortifying to know that he wasn’t the only one struggling with the guilt of their silence for all those years. “Let’s get it over with.”

Bronx nodded in stiff agreement and they entered the police station. Immediately hackles rose on the back of his neck. There weren’t many good memories for him — or Jax and Hunter for that matter — in a police lair but if he could just get through this moment, it would be over and he could put a pin in it forever.

Maybe doing this for Gage — too many years later — would give him a much-needed bump in the karma department. One could hope, right?

Prejudices and biases were no stranger to the three men but Delainey wasn’t prepared for it when the officer who came to take the report, immediately wanted to see their ID so he could run their driver’s licenses.

“Why do you need their ID?” Delainey asked, confused. “We’re here to report a crime. Do you always ask for ID when someone comes in to make a report?”

“Ma’am, just following procedure,” the officer drawled but there was a hard glint of suspicion in his eyes as he waited for their rap sheets to pop up. And he wouldn’t be disappointed, Bronx thought with an irritated sigh. Of the three men, Bronx was no saint — and no stranger to law enforcement.

“Bronx Eugene Harris…seems you know your way around a jail cell,” the officer said with a mean chuckle and Bronx had to bite his tongue for Delainey’s sake but as luck would have it…Delainey wasn’t having this officer’s attitude and called him on it.

“I want to speak to your supervisor,” she demanded in a clear, but firm voice, shocking the three men with her no-nonsense approach to the officer’s bullshit. “Now.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. What you’re doing is unacceptable. My best friend is a reporter with The Courier and if I recall correctly, this police station has suffered a run of bad press lately with that whole video-taped smack-down of that poor autistic kid. Bad, bad press. And it’s a voting year so that means your police chief is probably getting a fair amount of pressure from the mayor to keep those kinds of stories at the minimum.”

The cop leveled his gaze at Delainey. “And your point?”

“My point is…we have explosive evidence that will bust wide open a case that was mistakenly closed as accidental when in fact…it was murder. Now…we could leave right now with our evidence and just go straight to the press — and we’ll make sure to let them know that we tried to go to the police but they were too busy being assholes to listen — or you could drop your bias and shove your prejudice and actually do your job. If you’re not capable of that…please go get your supervisor and we’ll conduct our business with him or her.” And then she tacked on a sweet smile and Bronx was overcome with the urge to shove his fucking tongue down her sexy, smart mouth because damn, if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

All three men swiveled their gaze at the officer and waited.

The officer cleared his throat, his face flushing, as he choked on his apology, saying, “What can I do for you today?”

Delainey smiled, saying, “We’re going to need a VCR. Do you have one?”

***

She didn’t know where her moxy sprang from but she liked it. The officer went to obtain a VCR and as she turned to say something to Bronx she caught his gaze and nearly fell to the floor from the heat glazing her skin. She bit her lip and smiled, wishing they were alone but they certainly were not for Hunter cleared his throat and she was forced to return to the moment. “Sorry, I just couldn’t take him being so condescending,” she told them.

“Don’t apologize on our account. It was pretty cool to have someone stand up for us,” Jax said.

“Yeah, doesn’t happen all that often.”

And then Bronx’s hand found hers and she warmed from the inside out at the mild possessiveness in his grip. Maybe it was caveman behavior — okay, sure, the feminist in her was nodding her head adamantly that it was decidedly caveman — but she’d never felt so desired, so cherished. She liked knowing that Bronx felt it necessary to assert his claim. A sudden shiver danced down her spine and she leaned into Bronx’s strength. “You okay?” he asked, concerned. “You don’t have to stay and watch this. It’s something that will stay with you for the rest of your life and not in a good way. I don’t want that for you.”

Hunter agreed. “Maybe you should wait outside.”

“I’m staying,” she said, determined to be brave. She wasn’t naive. The footage on that video would scar her for life but it was no less than what Jax, Hunter and Bronx had endured their entire lives. “If you don’t mind…I want to stay.”

Bronx nodded and the officer returned with a VCR and a new attitude. He set up the machine, dusted it off, and then accepted the old tape from Hunter.

Immediately, the old footage came into view and there was no mistaking what was happening. The camera angle perfectly — and nauseatingly — captured every perverted action, every muffled cry. The officer, his mouth tight and pressed into a thin line, shut off the video, having seen enough. He took a moment before he spoke again and when he did, he still looked as if he might want to throw up. “How did you come to have this tape?” he asked.

Jax spoke up. “Me and Hunter filmed it to save our skins. We were kids in that house. Me, Hunter and Bronx but not at the same time. It was the only way we could think of that might save us. We blackmailed them into leaving us alone.”

Bronx chimed in with difficulty, saying, “I witnessed the abuse. The kid’s name was Gage…I don’t remember his last name but he died in that house and there’s a record of it but it was deemed accidental. George and Millie killed him, I’m sure of it. I don’t know how but…this tape ought to be enough to break that case wide open again.”

“It sure as hell is,” the officer agreed. “Is this the only copy?”

Jax answered, “No. We made a copy for back-up sakes.”

“Could you bring that to the station as well? It’s a felony to be in possession of child pornography.”

“I will gladly hand it over as soon as I know those freaks have been prosecuted properly. I’d hate for the only copy to get lost,” Jax said.

“We aren’t in the habit of losing evidence,” the officer retorted, some of his previous attitude returning.

“Look, George and Millie…they knew people. I don’t know how deep the corruption goes. I’d feel safer knowing that I have a copy. Or, if you’d prefer, I can send my other copy to the press. Maybe I ought to do that anyway.”

“No, no…let’s keep the press out of this for now,” the officer said quickly. “Okay, let’s go over this from the start. Tell me what you remember about your time in their care…”

Each men gave their full statement, recalling to the best of their ability dates and incidents. It was difficult to hear but Delainey could only imagine how awful it was for the men to share. She thought of Zoe and how she’d brazenly and bravely loved her two men, in spite of any public censure she might endure as a polyamorous couple, and her admiration for her best friend grew. True love was a serious thing — one that endured hard times and flourished in the most unlikely of circumstances — and she knew she was hopelessly in love with Bronx.

The only problem…she didn’t know if he felt the same. He felt
something
but was it love? And even if it was love…would he have the courage to accept and return it?

Bronx was damaged. Listening to his statement only cemented that realization but she wasn’t afraid. She’d help him heal if would let her.

In that moment, she realized, she’d stand by him no matter what.

If that wasn’t love…she didn’t know what was.

-15-

Pyro rubbed at the grit in his eyes from too many nights without sleep and reached for the whiskey bottle at his bedside. The neon lights from The Rusty Chain cast a reddish glow around his small place, bathing everything in a hellish haze but he was used to it. The place was shit — a slum even — but he didn’t care. It was just a place to sleep (occasionally), shit and shower. He grabbed his lighter and flicked it open, allowing the flame to flicker to life and then snapped it shut with his thumb as he lifted the whiskey to his lips. The liquid burned his throat but he welcomed the numb that would follow if he drank enough. Leaning back against the wall, he finished the bottle and let it slip from his fingers to drop to the dirty floor and roll under the bed.

His eyelids drifted shut but he knew sleep wouldn’t find him, not yet. Sleep wouldn’t claim him until his body had absolutely nothing left to give and then he’d fall into a fitful, dream-laden coma that would hold onto him until he could fight himself out of the dreamscape and back into reality. And then it would start all over. Dreams…they fucking sucked the life out of him. Her face was ever present, the way she used to smile at him…the way she’d arched beneath him, giving as good as she got. God, he’d do anything to hear her breathy moans in his ear, or feel her fingertips graze his chest as she teased him without saying a word.

But he’d never get that. Ever.

She was gone.

Pyro squeezed his eyeballs with his thumb and forefinger, rubbing out the moisture that sprang forward, betraying his weakness to the silent dark.

Fuck this. No sense in laying in a bed that he wouldn’t find sleep in, right? He wasn’t about to lay there and get tortured by the past when he had shit to do. He climbed from the bed and padded into the kitchen where the steady drip of the faucet was the only sound. It was late, or early, depending on how you looked at it, and the streets were empty. He climbed out onto his fire escape and sat on the cold metal, staring up at the stars as clouds drifted on the pale moonlight. Storm was coming, he could smell the rain on the air. He allowed his eyes to close and he breathed deeply, allowing himself a moment to blank out. He craved oblivion. But even as he teetered dangerously on total exhaustion and mental delirium, his brain clung stubbornly to reality.

He thought of the situation facing Bronx and thus far had hit a brick wall as far as leads went. He didn’t trust Randy, his intuition was telling him that the man was a sneaky bastard but aside from personal feelings, he had no proof or sense of motive that Randy had anything to do with the attempted hit on Bronx. Pyro idly flipped his lighter cap on and off, his fuzzed brain not quite incoherent but not quite cooking on all four burners either. He drifted in and out of awareness, sinking into a black hole of exhaustion, tumbling into a void with faces from the past and the present crowding his mental theater. He didn’t fight the images — there was no point, he wasn’t in control any longer — and just let them whiz by. Of course, he saw her. She was always there.

Guilt had a way of making sure he was never given the opportunity to forget. But then Peaches flashed in his mind, surprising his sluggish mental faculties. The big, broad barmaid was a staple around the bar. Sort of the club mother. She didn’t take no shit and didn’t dish it out either. He chuckled when he thought of how she’d handled Randy. And then he saw Charlie — piece of shit loser — and a frown pulled at his brows as he struggled to find awareness again. Charlie, doing time for a drug deal that he’d been too stupid to walk away from, had been a drain on the club, always screwing things up and making a general mess of anything he touched. Pyro didn’t miss the guy.

But why did he think of Peaches? Was there a connection between Peaches and Charlie? One that they’d never known?

Pyro struggled to climb to his feet but stumbled back and landed on his ass as his eyelids dragged with the heaviest weight known to man. The phantom scent of oranges followed the realization that he was going down.

Shiiiiit…lights out, muthufucka…lights out.

***

Bronx held Delainey, his thoughts circling around the events of the past week. If he stopped to think about it, he was living an alternate life. As the leader of the Road Dogs, his daily life centered around keeping shit straight, the club out of the red, and keeping upstarts from trying to move in on his gig. He drank, he fucked, he did business and then he fucked some more. It was an endless cycle, doomed to repeat until he died or someone ousted him from his position, and he’d never questioned his role. Until now.