Double Trouble: A Bedlam Butchers MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 8) (6 page)

I fluff the pillows and roll over in Beast’s big bed. As I do, I hear an unhappy moan come from another room.

I sit up in bed, alarmed. Beast is still in the shower, so that can mean only one thing. I slide off the edge of the bed and wrap the sheet around my naked body, then tiptoe into the hallway. As I do, I hear a muffled sob. Muscle’s having another one of his nightmares.

My heart squeezes for him. This big, cocky, confident man obviously has something in his past that he keeps buried and only surfaces at night.

I creep into his room and see him thrashing on the bed. The blankets are knotted and trailing onto the floor, and his naked form is gleaming with sweat. There’s an intense frown on his face, but his breathing indicates he’s still asleep.

“Muscle?” I whisper.

No response. A moment later, his head thrashes and he jerks in his sleep. “
No,
” he breathes, then another choked sound of horror escapes him. He rolls violently on the bed.

I can’t sit back and do nothing. I move forward, avoiding his flailing arms, and press a cool hand to his cheek. “Jason?” I try instead, keeping my voice soft.

His eyes flick open, and he looks right at me.

“Hi,” I say, trying to smile. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I—”

“Mmmfh,” he says, and his head tosses again. One arm nearly decks me across the face and I narrowly avoid it.

He’s not awake, then. It’s just more night terrors. But my touch got a response from him. On a hunch, I lose my sheet and crawl under the covers with him, pressing my naked body against his.

Muscle flails again, his entire body starting, and I squeeze my eyes shut, anticipating a wallop from the dreaming man. It’d be my own fault, since he doesn’t have control of his dreams. But he doesn’t smack me. Instead, he twitches, and then he clutches me to him as if he’s drowning. His arms lock around me tight, my head pushed against his chest.

He mutters something in his sleep again.

“Go back to sleep, Jason,” I tell him, and wrap my arms around his waist.

He stills.

I remain utterly motionless, waiting for him to wake up or have bad dreams again. But his breathing evens out, and the mumbles die down, and a few minutes later, I’m pleased to hear a gentle snore. Okay, so I’ll have to sleep with him clinging to me like Scotch Tape, but I don’t mind it. I like that he needs me. I do worry Beast is going to think I abandoned him, though.

I listen for footsteps in the hall, and when I hear them a short time later, I call out, “In here” over Muscle’s snores.

Beast appears in the doorway, and I look over at him helplessly as Muscle just clings to me tighter and keeps right on snoring. “Bad dreams again?” he asks.

I nod. “They seem to have stopped for now.”

“Good thing.”

Muscle hasn’t even stirred. It’s almost funny, except that his dreams are clearly the stuff of nightmares. I’m torn between leaving him behind and rejoining Beast. Luckily, the problem is solved for me a moment later, when I feel the blankets lift on my opposite side. “Scoot over,” Beast says.

I do, and he squeezes his big body into bed next to me. He’s wearing boxers, and he presses his longer form against mine, then wraps an arm around my waist. Now I’m sandwiched between the two men again, cocooned between their bigger forms. If I have to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, I am shit out of luck, because there is no way I’m going to be able to escape this nest.

I feel Beast press his mouth against my shoulder from behind. “If he asks,” he murmurs, “tell him I still don’t like him in that way. I just wanted to get my time in with you.”

I grin and lean my head back against him, even as Muscle’s face ends up on my breasts. I’m surrounded by hard limbs and unyielding bodies. It’s not the most comfortable of places to sleep...but I’m not moving for the world. Somehow, I manage to fall asleep. And I sleep great.

Over the next week or so, I work on making myself invaluable to the men. I clean the house from top to bottom, because they’re two slobs and I can’t stand to live in a dirty house. Underneath all the empty cans and chip bags, there’s a gorgeous carpet, nice furniture, and it’s a pleasure to make the house a home again. The men protest that they don’t care how clean or dirty the place is, but I catch them picking up after themselves now, and I feel as if I’ve accomplished something.

I do the laundry, too, since the men bought me some clothes. Granted, they were from Wal-Mart, but that’s fine. Jeans are jeans, and I’m just happy to have cotton panties and a decent bra.

I’ve also taken over the kitchen. Ever since I made the men breakfast, they’ve asked for me to keep cooking. Muscle makes these adorable puppy faces when he pleads for one of my meat-and-veggie stuffed omelets, and having such an appreciative audience makes me happy to comply. He jokes that I’m nesting, but I’m just trying to make them see I have value. That I can be fun to have around the house in more ways than just in bed.

Not that bed is a bad thing. Every night, we have sex. Never all three of us together—Muscle says I’m not ready for that, even though I’m willing. I love having sex with both of them, and one isn’t better than the other in my eyes. They’re both totally different. Muscle’s hot and dirty and likes to push my buttons to make sure I come hard, fast, and rough. Beast, for all his size, is more of a tender lover, who enjoys languid marathon sex. Neither one is exactly a chore. Actually, since we’ve started having sex, I’ve been just as eager for them as they have for me, and they’re not always the ones initiating things. I’m a lot shyer in my asking, but I’ve learned how to be effective with a few subtle touches and a teasing flick of the eyes.

The men are also good at not leaving me alone for long periods of time. They both work full time doing HVAC contractor work, and so I either ride along or they round up a prospect to come and watch over the house while they’re gone. Every time they leave, though, I turn the lights off in the house and try to keep things quiet. Sometimes I’ll hear a noise and end up hiding in a closet, terrified that Stuart’s found me.

But nothing happens and the days are mostly quiet.

Mostly.

There’s one night that’s bad. Both men are out late one night, and I’m not allowed to come. When it creeps into two, then three in the morning, I start to worry. What if something’s happened? I peek through the peephole in the door but the prospect is still out front, lounging in his car. Club business, I tell myself. I can’t worry about them. They’re adults and they can handle themselves.

Of course, I still worry.

At 4 AM, I hear the motorcycles roar into the garage, and I don’t even care that they’ve probably woken the neighbors. I fly to the garage door and yank it open, eyes wide with fear. “Is everything all right?”

Both men are there, and they’re both whole. Fine, really. They look tired and their eyes are hollow from lack of sleep, but otherwise...fine. Muscle presses a kiss to the top of my head as he moves past and I catch the smell of gas and something else as he walks past. “Long day, Shy-girl. I’m heading up to the shower and then off to bed.”

“Okay,” I breathe, and look to Beast.

He comes in and gives me a long hug, wrapping his big arms around me. As he does, my face presses to the leather of his cut and I feel grit against my cheek. Sand. He has the same weird stink to him, too, kind of like...hot metal. I wrinkle my nose and pull away, and as I do, I see dark splatters on his skin. “Is that blood?”

“Might be,” he says. “Bad night tonight, Shy.” He drags me close again, then kisses my mouth so sweetly that I wonder how this big man could hurt anyone. “Muscle’s probably going to need you later, but I need you now.”

After he strips down, he makes love to me again, and it’s more urgent and needy than Cal has ever been with me. Then he showers, and sure enough, not long after we’ve curled into bed together, I hear the sounds of Muscle crying out in his sleep. I get up from Beast’s bed and move for Muscle’s. Like the other nights, Jason curls around me and holds me close without ever breaking from his sleep. He calms, and as he does, Cal slides into bed on the other side, just like before.

“Not the best of nights,” says Cal quietly.

“What happened?”

He pauses. “Best you don’t know. Just in case someone ever gets arrested.”

That sends a chill through me, and I hold Muscle’s sweaty shoulders tighter. What went down tonight wasn’t good. “Bad enough to give him nightmares,” I muse aloud.

“Probably reminds him of war,” Cal tells me.

“War?” I ask.

“He served several years over in A-stan. Army. Lost nearly his entire outfit during an ambush. Him and one other guy survived, and that one died a few days later. My boy Muscle here has a lot of guilt.”

Oh. I’m filled with wordless pity for Jason, who puts on a carefree smile and a devil-may-care attitude by day and is tortured with memories by night. I hold him closer. “What about you, Cal? Any nightmares you keep tucked away?”

“All my nightmares got left in prison,” he tells me. “Out here, I have my patch-family. That’s all I need.”

And I wonder where I fit into that scenario.

• • •

Things are quiet over breakfast the next morning, and even the normally ebullient Muscle is utterly silent. I’m concerned, but I’m not sure what to do or say to get the men to open up...or even if I want them to.

We eat, and then I clear the table. I start to do the dishes, but Muscle shakes his head. “Got club business this morning, Shy-girl. That can wait until later.”

“O-okay.” I grimace at my stutter. For some reason I’m unnerved. I guess it’s because we’re deviating from our normal routine, and no one’s talking.

“Get your purse,” Beast says to me. “We’re heading out.”

“Me too?” I ask, wiping my hands on a towel. I normally don’t go along to club stuff, not since the day we went to the Roadhouse and Muscle fucked me in front of everyone and my brother found out where I was hiding.

“You too,” Beast agrees.

I nod slowly. The urge to run clenches through my legs, and I look in Muscle’s direction. His face is impassive, cold, shuttered. Beast, too. No one’s comforting me and telling me things are okay. No one’s telling me there’s nothing to worry about, that club business doesn’t pertain to me.

And I know it has to do with Stuart. My entire body freezes up. “I’ll g-g-g-get m-m-m-my s-sh-shoes.”

The ride is utterly silent. I ride double with Beast and we don’t talk, though he’s not being cruel to me. Something just feels...really off. Wrong. The feeling of wrongness continues when we pull up to the Roadhouse and there’s six other bikes parked up front. My throat aches from the knot there, and I know things are about to come crashing down.

My only comfort? Stuart’s bike isn’t out there with the others.

We walk inside and the restaurant is nearly empty. The only people inside are a cluster of men and one woman at the back of the place, all wearing club colors. All have grim looks on their faces and turn to stare at me. I freeze, my feet dragging to a stop.

Muscle’s hand clasps on the back of my neck, a possessive gesture. “Come on, Shy-girl. All they want to do is ask questions. Ain’t nobody going to hurt you while you belong to me and Beast.”

He nudges me forward and I walk with him, my thoughts swirling as we approach the unyielding group ahead of us. I’m safe while Beast and Muscle claim me, but part of me wonders if that’s about to come to an end.

Someone pulls out a chair from one of the round tables and sets it in the center of the room, then taps the back of it, indicating someone should sit there. When Muscle gives me another gentle nudge, I realize that I’m the one in the hot seat, and a small whimper escapes my throat.

“S’all right, Shy-girl,” Muscle says.

I stare at the unfriendly faces watching me, and search their jackets for names and positions.

Gemini—prez. Domino—prez. Handlebar—VP. Crash—VP. Jesus, I’ve warranted all of the club officers. I swallow hard and keep scanning faces and patches. Solo—Treasurer. Lucky—Treasurer. She’s the girl, and I get cold as I realize this is
the
Lucky that the Eighty-Eight were coming after. The one that Stuart was snitching about.

I feel faint.

To my surprise, Beast loops an arm around my waist and pulls me forward. He sits in the chair designated for me and tugs me into his lap. Muscle just chuckles and moves to stand by us. I cling to Beast as I stare out at the others.

“You siding with her over the club, boys?” A dark blond man asks. He steps forward and peers at me, and I see the name badge again. Gemini. President. Ugh.

“Nope,” Beast says. “Just promised to keep her safe is all. Going to keep doing that until guilt is proven one way or another.”

I start to shake at that, tremors of fear ripping through me.

“Looks kinda scared for someone that’s innocent,” Domino, the other president, drawls.

It’s true—I don’t have a poker face, not even remotely. Tears well up in my eyes. I wanted Muscle and Beast because I knew they could keep me safe from Stuart. I never thought about the club turning on them. All they’ve ever been is nice to me, and I want to make sure they don’t get hurt. “M-m-m-Muscle and B-b-b-b-b-b-Beast,” I begin, hating that my stammer is out full-force. “They d-d-d-don’t know anything.”

“Well, they know a little,” Gemini says. “Else they wouldn’t have called this meeting.”

They...what? I try to bolt up from Beast’s lap, but his hands trap me down. “Calm down, Shy-girl,” Muscle says even as Beast holds me. “Ain’t nobody in trouble yet.”

“Yet,” Gemini says ominously. “See, we found out a little over a week ago that we had a snitch in our midst.”

“And about that time,” Beast says, “You show up and it’s clear you’re afraid of something and running.”

I bite my lip, silent.

“So we kinda put two and two together,” Muscle tells me. “And we figure you know the identity of the snitch. And that it just might be our boy Taco, and that might also explain how come he’s so damn interested in if we’re still fuckin’ ya or if we cut you loose.”

I just shake harder, even though I’m doing my best not to. Oh god. “H-h-he’s asking about m-m-me?”

“Every goddamn day,” Muscle says. “Fucker’s up to something. And me and Beast think, surely not. Can’t be a brother in arms, can it?” He shakes his head. “I keep thinking, well, my personal dislike’s just overriding things, because I like Lock, but Taco’s a bit of a dick, and that’s coming from me.”

“And we all know you’re a huge dick,” someone else says.

“Takes one to know one,” Muscle replies easily. “But anyhow, me and Beast keep wondering why he’s so damn interested in who his sister’s fuckin’ and we can’t figure it out. And then, the more we hear about the snitch business, the more we think maybe our sweet Shy-girl knows more than she’s letting on. Because one thing’s for sure...she’s scared for her life. Scared enough to take on Beast’s monster cock.”

Beast flips him the bird and a few others chuckle.

Gemini’s face is still grim, though. He leans in toward me, steely gaze pinning me in place. “Now’s the time you tell us what you know, girl. If we find out that you’re holding back info on us later, it won’t be pretty.”

Beast gives me an encouraging squeeze, and I know that if I don’t speak up now, I’ll just make things worse. It’s bad enough that they had to flush me out. My mouth works, but nothing comes out. It’s all trapped in my throat, under the knot of fear.

“The only reason you ain’t six feet under at the moment, girl,” Gemini says in a deadly voice, staring me down, “is because of two things. One, we want to know how involved our boy Lock is, and two, these two goons are swearing you’re innocent. So speak the fuck up already.”

This man hates me, I realize. I swallow hard as a number of things hit me. They’re going to kill me, aren’t they? Not even Beast and Muscle can save me from the club’s vengeance. They don’t tolerate disloyalty, and I’ve been more or less disloyal because I haven’t spoken up.

Fear is what gets me to clear my throat—fear that I’m going to somehow drag Beast and Muscle down with me, when they’ve done nothing but take me under their protection and care for me. I lick my dry lips. “I-I-I don’t know that Lock is involved. I-I-I didn’t hear anyt-t-t-thing about him. Just Stuart. T-T-Taco.”

Gemini’s face is impassive. “Keep talking.”

So I do. Despite my stutter, the words come pouring out, my story halting. I tell them about Stuart and his secretive meetings. Hearing him talking to one of the Eighty-Eight Henchmen—a club that no one allies with because they’re well-known white supremacist assholes. The plot to attack Lucky. As I keep talking, I see faces harden against me. I’m damning myself with everything I know, but I’m screwed at this point anyhow.

And when it’s over, Gemini and Domino just look at each other. Gemini’s fists clench and he stalks away, followed by the woman in the leather cut and a man. They begin to whisper heatedly, and I’m left staring at the unfriendly faces of Domino, Handlebar, and Crash.

Muscle and Beast haven’t moved from my side, but I’m guessing it’s just a short time before they abandon me, too.

“So,” Domino says, and crosses his arms over his chest. “You knew the Eighty-Eight were targeting one of us. How come you didn’t come to us and talk?”

I blink at him. “I’m n-n-not club,” I tell him. “T-t-t-t-taco is. Why would you b-b-b-believe me over him?”

“Your brother’s a patch,” Handlebar says. “You must know how things go. You know we protect our own.”

I’m silent, because what can I say?

“Shy ain’t like that,” Muscle says, speaking up. “She’s told us a little about her home life, and you know Taco’s always talking about his dad in the slammer? And the sister he’s got under his thumb because she’s scared shitless of him? It ain’t hot air.” He thumbs a gesture at me. “If that’s her only experience with the club, is it a wonder that she didn’t come to us? She went for me and Beast because she figured we were the only ones that could keep her safe if he tried anything. Beast scares the shit out of half the club as it is. So yeah, I ain’t surprised she didn’t come runnin’ as soon as she heard that shit was going down. Not if he’s threatening her life.”