Hot Mess (An Iron Tornadoes MC Romance Book 5) (2 page)

I
don't
rough up girls.

Well, I do. I mean every so often I get my kicks out of roughing up girls, but only when they are game for that sort of thing. I'm all about safe and consensual, and I'm pretty sure the bird Earplugs brought back didn't ask to be trussed up to a chair like that.

Cracker and Ice look at me as if giving me a green light to take the lead. Strangely, neither of them is too keen on slapping her around as they would have if it had been a guy.

I roll my eyes at them and walk to the tiny bathroom attached to the room to take a roll of toilet paper. Pulling a chair, I make myself comfortable sitting in front of the girl. She's putting up a brave front. Now is the time to figure out if her defiance is proof of incredible courage or utter stupidity.

She doesn't move when I push a few strands of matted hair from her face and clean her up with a few pieces of paper. She's been crying ugly tears and her eye makeup has run down her cheeks.

Incredibly blue eyes dive into mine. I barely have time to frown before she lowers her gaze.

Her instant submission hits me like a ton of bricks.

She looks like a mess, but a very hot mess.

The hottest mess I've ever seen.

There's something about her that moves me.

"That's much better." My tone is caring, almost the one of a parent, and she seems to relax a little. "We haven't been properly introduced."

I pause to give her a chance to tell me her name. She doesn't take it. I tilt my head and frown, but her eyes are still lowered. She takes a deep breath as if gathering her courage to speak but doesn't say a word.

"Well, my name is Everest," I tell her and the corner of her lip twitches as she looks up at me. My nickname is appropriate for the mountain of a man that I am. "Yeah, it's not my actual name, but it's the one I go by when I'm around here."

"What's your real name?" she asks. Her voice is melodious, tinted with has a light accent. I would say she's from up north. New York, probably.

"I will tell you if you give me yours," I answer almost sweetly.

She shakes her head and snaps back, "I will not, and you have no right to keep me here. I will..."

She stops mid-sentence as I pull a knife out of my pocket. Her eyes go wide and her jaw trembles as the blade snaps in front of her. Her gaze on the blade, she almost shrinks as she whispers, "I'm Kristal. Kristal Russel."

"Very nice to meet you, Kristal Russel." My tone is still civilized. "My real name is Ernest Hatcher."

With surprising courage, she looks away from the knife to glare at me and says, "Thank you, Mr. Hatcher. You will be the first one on my list when I file my suit for false arrest."

"You could try," I tell her as I move my knife in her direction. She pushes herself back against her chair until she realizes I'm not about to cut her, but the cord holding her prisoner in the chair. "Yes, you could try, but you wouldn't have a chance because I'm not the one who tied you up. On the contrary, I'm the one releasing you."

She wiggles to free her arms and rubs her wrists. It's all for show. Earplugs tied her up and did it really well. The traces of the cord are barely visible on her skin.

Kristal bends over cautiously and proceeds to untie her legs. While she does, I get a good glimpse of two tempting globes trapped in a black lace cage. Sure wouldn't mind freeing those two birds as well to test their weight with my own hands.

Right, but no. Now is not the time.

I fold my knife and put it away. My gestures are slow. I don't want to scare her. Well, no more than she already is. I pull my cuffs out of my back pocket and wait.

When she's done freeing her legs, she sits up and notices the shiny metal bracelets in my hand. She blinks. Her pupils dilate as her mouth opens and closes silently.

She's really cute when at a loss for words.

"Officer Hatcher is here for your arrest," Cracker growls at her. She looks in his direction and shudders when he adds, "He will bring you to the Point Lookout police station where you will be booked and then brought to the Main Detention Center."

Cracker says the word
Main Detention Center
as a devoted priest would say the
ninth circle of hell
.

"Don't expect any clemency from the judges." Ice's deep voice is sinister. He shakes his head sadly. I bite the inside of my cheek to repress a laugh.

"Right, this is an election year and to make sure they keep their offices, they're throwing the books at all drug offenders," Cracker explains.

Kristal’s eyes dart between Cracker and Ice who are standing a few steps behind me. She turns so pale, her freckles are the only spots of color on her face.

"Unless..." I say and she looks at me.

She waits for me to continue but I don't.

I wait for her to ask.

The silence grows heavy while her imagination runs wild. Her eyes search my face for an answer. What does she think I will demand from her to let her go? She shivers and straightens her shoulders to find out.

"Unless?"

Dread and hope collide in those two syllables.

"Unless you tell me whose drugs you were carrying," I say. "I want names and everything you know."

Relief and despair appear on her face. I'm guessing she is relieved that we're not going to force ourselves upon her. Yet, she's desperate, as well. Probably because she fears those she was doing the delivery for. The trick is to make her fear us more than she fears them.

"I can't," she whispers. Her entire body is shaking and her nails dig in her own flesh. It's not rage or frustration. It's absolute terror.

Her fear is such that I immediately change plans. Fear is not the answer, trust is.

An overwhelming urge to take her in my arms and comfort her washes over me. I fight it, but still, I reach out for her hands. I need to touch her. I trap her fingers between mine before they draw more blood from her arms.

"I will protect you," I whisper back as I lean toward her. My eyes lock with hers. Does she understand I mean it? I'm a man of my word. I will protect her.

This is what the Hatcher men do.

We're protectors.

We may torment our women, but we keep them safe from harm. Except Kristal is not mine. I didn't even know she existed less than an hour ago.

An almost imperceptible nod and she closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she's fighting a fresh onslaught of tears.

"You don't understand," she says. "I had no idea what I was delivering." She shrugs and whispers. "I can't tell you. No, I can't. See, this isn't about me. Even if you could protect me, you couldn't possibly protect him."

* * *

I
turn
to look at Ice and Cracker. They are as clueless as I am about who she is talking about.

A father? A child? A lover?

That last possibility annoys me more than it should.

Fuck. This is unlike me. What is it about her?

"I think you need a bit more time to think this over," I tell her. "Like the night to sleep on it."

She gasps as she looks around the room. I haven't thought this through. This is not a good place for her to do the thinking she needs to do.

"We could keep her for one night in a privacy room at the Styx," Ice suggests. "We're closed on Mondays anyway."

My brother is a genius. His idea is perfect. The MC's club has many rooms and any one of them would be perfect for her. I'm already imagining her in one of our luxury suites under constant video monitoring.

"So you're not arresting me, sir?"

The
sir
does me in. My pants are way too tight. I promptly get up to hide the incredible effect she has on me.

"Not yet," I confirm. "But I'm still keeping you in custody."

"Don't you think..." I shake my head and stop Ice mid-sentence. I know where he's going. My brother is looking out for me. A police officer can't really do what I'm planning to do with that woman, but for some strange reason, I don't care. I'm not letting him or anyone else watch over her tonight.

With a movement of the head, I invite her to stand. She tries but falters. How long has she been sitting here? I bend over and help her to her feet. Her skin feels so soft under my fingers, I can't resist the urge to caress a bare shoulder before my hand lands on her arm. She winces. My grip on her arm isn't that tight. I look again but there's no bruise or scratch.

Shit, it's my touch she finds repulsive.

Oh well... Letting go of her arm, I place a hand on the small of her back to guide her toward the door and ask, "Don't you have a bag or something?"

Most women carry a load of crap with them wherever they go, and nothing in this room, aside from a pair of red pumps, looks to belong to her.

From the doorway, Earplugs answers my question. "I left her shit in her car." One frown from me and he adds, "And her car is in the barn at the back of the lot."

"What?" Cracker barks at him and surprisingly, the young prospect holds his ground. He stares right back at my father.

"I had my orders to bring her in and let me tell you, she's not the quiet type. There was no way I could have made her ride behind me," Earplugs protests.

Despite the fact he fends perfectly well for himself, Brains steps up to defend his protégé.

"You did good, son."

Brains’s sentence makes me cringe. I don't mind the cussing and the swearing, but I can't stand poor English from a native speaker. It's like nails on a blackboard. And that's all my mother's fault. She made me a fucking snob!

"Right, Daniel did well."

Brains smiles at me and shrugs. "What's done is done. We can move it later after everyone's left."

"Now the question is what do we do with her for the rest of the day." Ice's thinking out loud.

"I guess she'll need to stay here," I admit with regrets. No matter how much I would like, there's no way I can parade with her at the party. She's not mine to show off anyway. "Burger or hot dog?" I ask her.

She blinks and stares at me.

"It's not a trick question," I tell her. My voice doesn't betray my exasperation. "I'm pretty sure you eat."

She reacts as if I had slapped her. What's with her?

"Yeah, I do," she snaps back. "And you didn't need to be mean about it."

Ice laughs and I get it when I catch him staring at her luscious ass. Oh, fuck me sideways, she’s another one of those who hates her curves. What's wrong with these women? I shrug as I walk out of the room. I turn to Earplug and say, "Get her a burger and a frank and have her ready to leave at six sharp."

Ice catches up with me and wraps his arm around my shoulder in a brotherly fashion.

"So what's the plan?" he asks. "What devious method are you gonna come up with to make her talk?"

"Damned if I know," I answer honestly.

"She's getting to you, right?"

I look into my brother's eyes and all I see is compassion. Not a feeling I usually inspire.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. She's got me all twisted," I admit. "But I'll find a way to make her talk."

"Oh, I have no doubt you will." Suddenly I'm transported back in time, way back in our teenager years when his mother used to let him spend the summer with us. His eyes are full of mischief as he says, "Just remember, bro, it's not your name she's supposed to scream. It's the name of the guy who's supplying that junk."

I mock punch him and laugh. He's right, I badly want the woman, but I want the people killing our local kids and racers even more. His reminder helps. Next time my dick tries to override my brains, I'll think of the seventeen-year-old corpse in a drawer at the local morgue.

Stupid dick.

* * *

A
s we leave the building
, my mother waves from her table, beckoning us to sit with her. I send my father to her while I get us food from the grill.

Two minutes later, I return with three plates and find my parents arguing about what post graduate degree Juliya should pursue next year. I want to laugh. No way is Juliya staying away from Point Lookout for another day after she's done with her degree.

"Oh honey, I've eaten already," my mother says when I give her the plate. "But I'm sure we'll find someone to share this with." She smiles and looks over my shoulder as she says this.

I barely have time to turn around when a vanilla smelling tidal wave wraps her arms around my neck. It takes me a second to identify my attacker. When I do, I take her into a huge bear hug, lifting her from the floor.

"Bunny, when did you get back?" my mother asks.

Her question is almost drowned by Bunny's gales of laughter.

"I can't believe you can still lift me!" she says as I gently put her on her feet. I push her to arm's length to figure out why she's saying that. She looks the same as she always had. Maybe there's a little more of her, but even so, she's still the mouthwatering girl I've known all my life.

Some days I wonder what it will take to boost her self-confidence. God knows I've done everything in my power to show her how luscious and desirable she is.

Bunny settles on the bench next to my mother and finally answers her question.

"I got back a couple of days ago," my best friend says. "And I'm here to stay. I got a job at the hotel."

My mother slides her plate over to her while I take a place just across the table from them, next to my father who's taken two bites of his burger and set it aside.

"Come on, Cracker," I tell him pointing at his plate. "You can do better than that." He growls at me, but when my mother moves his food back in front of him, he doesn't push it away.

I leave my two parents to their staring match. A long time ago, I gave up trying to understand their weird relationship. No matter how long I study psychology, I'm pretty sure I won't get it.

Ignoring them, I turn my attention to Bunny and just looking at her brings a smile to my face. Happy flashbacks come to my memory, and I'm pretty sure she can read it in my eyes, ‘cause she blushes as she raises her eyes from her plate to look at me.

She shakes her head slowly and winks. Yeah, she knows what I'm thinking about. We were each other's testing grounds when we were young. Experimenting all kinds of stuff with her was mind-blowing. We would talk to each other and share our thoughts without any inhibition. Anything one of us wanted to try, the other was game for. Some days, when I remember what I let her do to me, I shudder, but then it was nothing more than what I was doing to her, so how could I have possibly refused?

"Any news from the bitch?" Bunny asks.

My mother sighs and mumbles, "Language, dear."

Years of habit kick in and Bunny answers, "Sorry, Deb." It's fascinating how my mother's kept her authority over all those who grew up while she was the ruling queen of the Iron Tornadoes’ compound.

"Funny you should ask," I answer. "I actually ran into her while in Miami last week. She was driving some slick new car with her two and half brats in the back."

"Two and half?" Bunny raises a questioning eyebrow.

"Yeah, two boys and a poodle," I explain.

"She did you a favor when she dumped you," Cracker declares before taking another bite.

"You're probably right," I admit. It took me a long time, but I got over it. In hindsight, I realize that her dumping me hurt my ego more than it actually hurt my feelings, but at the time, I was devastated. I drank myself into a stupor for an entire week until Bunny came back from college for spring break and forcibly pulled my head out of my ass.

Bunny nods and suddenly stops chewing. She turns pale and stands abruptly.

I think I hear her say, "Oh shit, not again!" as she rushes away from the table.

My mother looks at my father and says, "I guess it's true, what they're saying." My father grunts back, which basically means he has no clue what she's talking about, but he'll be damned if he'll admit that he's no longer on top of all the club's gossip.

Turning to me, my mother asks, "What are you still doing here? Someone's got to hold her head so she doesn't knock herself out heaving over the bathroom seat!"

Fuck, she's pregnant! I reach out for my mother's water bottle, grab a handful of napkins and dart out of my chair in pursuit of Bunny. She hasn't gone far. I find her by the front door of the main building, both hands on the wall of the building, retching miserably.

"Go away," she grumbles. "I don't want you to see me like this. I look horrible."

I pour water on a napkin and answer, "No, you don't, honey bunch. You should know by now that to me you'll always look sexy."

"Oh, Everest, if only you knew."

She turns and looks at me. Her eyes are full of tears, not just those that come spontaneously to the eyes when one gets sick, real tears. I wipe them away and give her the bottle of water.

"Come on, drink a little, wipe your face, and then we'll talk," I tell her, pushing her curls away.

"You don't need to babysit me. I'm gonna be fine."

If I was a good son, I would take this opportunity to bail out. Without being morbid, I know it's one of the last opportunities Ice and I have of spending some sort of quality time with our father. But then, what's quality time with Cracker? The very concept of it is a joke. As far as he's concerned, Ice and I are pawns he's been playing one against the other all our lives. In vain.

We joke that he's the wedge that glued us together. If he did it on purpose, using some sort of twisted reverse psychology, he's a fucking genius.

Or maybe not, he got Ice to rebel from his vision of law and order by enlisting while I decided to use my education to become a cop. Surely not an MC President's dream career for his sons.

I smile at Bunny. "Yeah, sweetheart, I'm sure you're gonna be fine." I kiss her forehead and add, "But I would feel like a jerk if I weren't here for you."

* * *