Honor Unraveled (8 page)

Ivy held herself perfectly still. She’d long wondered if he’d tried to find her, if he’d even cared to try. She flashed a look at him. She couldn’t breathe—her chest locked up on her. “And you believed him?”

“No. I went out to see you, but he wouldn’t let me. He called the cops. It got ugly.”

Ivy sat on the bed, her back to Kit. She fought the words that wanted to spill out. Those days, Casey’s first weeks, were terrible, frightening days she didn’t like to think about, much less talk about. But out the words came, like vomit that couldn’t be held back.
 

“They ordered me to surrender Casey when she was born. They said we could get back to normal and be a family again if I did. They brought couples in to see me in the hospital so I could know what nice people they’d found to take her.” She folded her arms about her and bent over, burying her face in her knees. First she’d lost him. And then her parents wanted her to surrender their daughter. She was so tiny. So helpless. She was all Ivy had of Kit.

Kit cursed and rolled off her side of the bed. He knelt in front of her, holding her arms. She didn’t look at him.

“I refused to give her up for adoption,” she told him, watching his hands when they shifted from her arms to her knees. They were big hands. Heavily veined. They showed his strength. His hands would have dwarfed little Casey, had he ever held her as a baby.
 

“They wouldn’t let it go. A month after she was born, they gave me an ultimatum. Give her up or find another place to live.”

His hands tightened on her knees. She knew he watched her with an unrelenting focus. She felt strangely separate from the words she was speaking, as if what she’d gone through had happened to someone else or had been in another lifetime.

“We lived in their old Civic for most of the next three years. I worked nights cleaning restaurants and offices, places I could bring Casey in with me while she slept. When I turned twenty, they wanted the car back. I think they thought they could make me change my mind, come back home.”

She looked at Kit. “When I took the car back to them, they had social services there. That little plan backfired. The woman gave me a lot of helpful info. She got me into some programs that assisted single moms like me. I found a day job. Got Casey into daycare. She really helped me get on my feet. She connected me with a program for single mothers in Denver when I decided I wanted to move back this way. Fast-forward a few years, and I decided to see if I could find Mandy.” And find him, too, though she’d never admit it.

He nodded. “And she put us in contact.” He crossed his legs and sat on the floor in front of her. “I don’t know how you survived that. Without a friend, without your family. Without me. I’m sorry I didn’t find you. I’m sorry I stopped looking. I thought you’d moved on without me.”

“The funny thing is, I believed you when you said you would take care of us.” A tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it off and laughed, but it was a humorless sound. “Even after we left my parents, I thought you’d find us. Somehow. I don’t know how. It doesn’t make sense, looking back at it. And when you didn’t come for us, I guess I began to believe my dad.” She looked at Kit. “You made me believe him, that you’d just used me. So when I took the car back to my parents, and they had the social worker there, I was done with you. I was ready to begin again. On my own terms. Not relying on anyone.”

She glanced at Kit. “What’s done is done.” She shrugged. “When I moved here, I decided to put those days behind me. I’ve started dating again.”
 

His face tightened. “Have you?” His only show of emotion was a slight flaring of his nostrils. And that knot in the corner of his jaw.

“Yes. I’m glad you’re here, glad you’re taking an active part in Casey’s life. You’ve been a tremendous help to us. I’m grateful to you for that. But I can’t go back to those days, Kit. I’ve moved on. I want a normal life. I want all the regular things. A marriage. A life partner. Joint goals and someone to share all the milestones with.” She looked at him, watched his eyes. “I want a family.”

“I see.”

She lowered her gaze. “I know I might not get everything I’d like in a relationship.” How could she when none of them would be with him? “Sometimes the sacrifices weigh less than the benefits.”

“Sounds as if you’ve given this a lot of thought.” He rose to his feet.

“I have.”

He nodded. “So tell me, does that mean you’d be settling for less than you want if you hooked up with me? Or you’re willing to settle for less to be with any man who’s not me?”

“This isn’t about you, Kit.”

“It sure fucking is.” He shoved a hand over his flattop hair. “Whatever. Email me the names of the guys you’re dating. I want to check them out.”

“You don’t get to pick my dates for me.”

“I’m not evaluating any of their qualifications for being your love interest. I’ll confirm that they aren’t in any way associated with my enemies. I owe my men that level of security.” He walked toward her bedroom door. “Beyond that, you’re welcome to them.”

Max wore his cuts inside out as he thundered down the highway heading north out of Denver. The WKB, being a one-percenter outlaw gang, had been forbidden to display their colors off private property. Personally, Max thought that was a stupid rule. How the hell were law-enforcement personnel supposed to know what they were dealing with if one-percenters blended in with the general population? And as a one-percenter, even temporarily, he didn’t care for having his right to express himself curtailed.
 

Whatever. It all just fed the anger that was part of his undercover persona.
 

The late June afternoon had left a hundred degrees Fahrenheit in the dust at least ten degrees ago. Too fucking hot for the leathers he was wearing but a whole lot better than risking road rash. The highway air blew like a furnace on his arms—the only skin uncovered. It sucked his sweat dry, leaving a fine coating of salt everywhere it touched.

Earlier in the day, he’d hitched a ride down to the rural outskirts of Denver with the truck that had delivered his bike. At his request, the driver had let him out on a remote dirt road, miles from the city, in the middle of cornfields. He zigged and zagged on country roads down to the south side of the city, then got on the main northbound interstate.
 

The WKB had prospects set up at various intervals in strategic points along the road north, spotters for the motorcycle club, watching and reporting back to their sponsors who they saw coming in. He flashed the WKB hand signal as he passed them. He wondered if the cops even knew why so many cars were broken down or out of gas along the highway.

The club had had peaceful transfers of power in the past when various leaders retired, died, were jailed, or were otherwise put out of commission. If this were an ordinary transition of power, it might have been a peaceful change, too. Unfortunately, the eastern region had challenged the western region for the right to move Amir Hadad’s heroin. Jefferson Holbrook, the pedophile—and deceased—former leader of the western branch thought he had the drug lord’s business all sewn up. He hadn’t lived to see how tenuous his hold on the terrorist had been. Pete, Holbrook’s second-in-command, didn’t have the gonads to man the helm.

Nope. This transition of power was going to be bloody.
 

Max crossed state lines into Wyoming. Almost three hours later, he turned off the narrow, winding mountain pass into the WKB compound. Two prospects guarded the main entrance. Neither challenged him. Clearly, Pete had done his homework. No one else in the club had a Panhead like his.

Several bikes were parked outside the clubhouse with license plates from various states in the western region. He recognized some of the bikes from his undercover op last summer. He parked in the line of bikes, then flipped his cuts to the right-side-out, leaving his rockers to identify him as a member of the Denver chapter.
 

The clubhouse was a large steel-frame building. Awnings shaded the windows. It wasn’t air conditioned. And though all the windows were open, the stench of sweat, beer, and urine was heavy in the crowded space.

No one announced him, but the bar grew silent and still when he entered. He sent an assessing glare around the room through the cover of his sunglasses, broadcasting what he saw back to Greer. The men were generally taller than average. Several of them sported thick paunches. All of them had dead eyes. They had seen and done things that put them well below the line of humanity. They’d gravitated toward the WKB because there was nowhere else a pack of jackals could live. East and west, it was all the same.

In every clubhouse, there was one prime sitting area. In the back, with line of sight to the whole space and an exit nearby. This one was occupied. Max made his way toward the back booth. One of the hang-arounds came over to greet him. Or block him. When he opened his mouth to speak, Max put his fist in it, dropping him to his knees.

He continued on to the back booth, only to be challenged by a prospect. Pete had his guard around him. Interesting. Max stared at the gangbanger, giving him all of three seconds to fold or throw.
 

“Stand-down, Pike. Mad Dog’s our guest,” Pete ordered. He pushed the others out of the booth and invited Max to join him, sending one of the hang-arounds to fetch a couple of beers for them.
 

“Didn’t know you were back,” Pete told him.

Max nodded. “Got a month’s reprieve before I have to pull more duty up North. Not an easy thing to do in prime fishing season. What the fuck’s goin’ on here?”

“Holbrook got himself killed, shot in the chest.”

“Yeah? Where were you? You’re his second; you shoulda taken that bullet for him.”

The kid came back with the beers, then took his place standing a few feet away, pulling bouncer duty. “Holbrook was taking care of personal business that night. It had nothing to do with the WKB.”

“That’s not what I heard. They’re saying he took a crew from here to do it. That makes it club business.”

Pete nodded at him. “Let’s take a walk.” They left the booth and went toward the back door. One of the hang-arounds opened it for them. Max did a slow sweep of the grounds, giving the guys back in Wolf Creek Bend some good visuals. Dozens of tents were pitched in a distant field, in every size, shape, and color. He knew the ground layout from the satellite images they’d collected of the compound. To the left was the long barracks for the boy soldiers Blade had seen. To the right, an adult barracks. In the far distance, were a few large warehouses.

They’d loaded Rodeo’s horse trailer with heroin from one of those warehouses.
 

“Start talkin’, Pete.”

“King wanted Holbrook to clean up some old problems.”

King
again. Who the hell was he? “So he sent him to take down a bunch of Feds? Is he fucking crazy?”

“The Feds are new to the area and don’t know how things work yet. They needed schoolin’.”

“Yeah. Or King sent Holbrook to his execution.” Max sipped his beer as they walked. “What’s King’s plan?”

“He’s been quiet.” Pete shrugged. “I guess he’s letting this play out.”

Max looked at Pete. “You ever meet King? He one of us? Or is he on the outside?”

“No one’s met him. He knows things, though. About all of us, what we’re doing.”

“And that’s okay with you? Doing whatever some ghost wants you to do? Being his puppet?”

Pete stopped walking and gave Max a narrow-eyed stare. “What are you saying?”

“If you want me to vote for you, I need to know what you’re gonna to do about King. From the way I see it, he’s the real leader of the western region, maybe of the whole club. Don’t see why we need you since we have him.” Max finished his beer, then tossed it in a barrel trashcan over by the back of the clubhouse. “And I ain’t the only one who’s gonna ask that question.”

* * *

Kit was standing with the guys, watching the video feed from Max. Good on Max for getting right to the heart of the situation—King, whoever the hell he was. Sounded as though Pete was a connection to the bastard.

Greer looked up at him. “Hey, Kit, your girls are in the living room. I think they’re about to come to blows. You might want to tell them to take it outside if they don’t want us to overhear them.”
 

Kit pivoted, then headed through the weapons vault to the elevator. The door slid open right away, and Blade stepped into the cab with him before the doors closed again.

“How’re things going with the girls?” Blade asked.

Kit sighed, then shook his head. “Good with Casey.” He looked at Blade. “I really like my daughter. Ivy’s done a good job with her. She’s a lot like me. Or like I was.”

“Angry and ballsy?”

“Yeah. And something of an outcast.”

“And Ivy?”

“I don’t know. I can’t seem to reach her.” The elevator opened in the closet of the master bedroom. “How about you and Eden?”

“We’re getting married.”
 

Blade was all grins and joy. Kit had to look away, busying himself with opening the hidden closet panel and closing it again. “That’s great, man. I’m happy for you.” He faced Blade. “Been a long time coming, true?”