Love Ties (16 page)

Keeping his grin in place, he shook his head. “Nice try, gorgeous.” With that, he grabbed her hand and towed her back into the main room.

The music had resumed, though lower. And this time it was old Johnny Cash. Rocket sat near the jukebox with a beer, looking pretty unhappy about someone changing his Zeppelin.

Several women sat in the corner, talking low. They threw looks at Ever that said they were talking about her.

She had to get out of here. Tomorrow she’d infiltrate the Raiders’ club again and use every ploy she knew in order to get that info on her mom. Once she knew who the killer was—or who had put out a hit, if any—she would seek revenge. Within days she could be hundreds of miles away, safe in a brand new life.

She stared at Blake. “Can I at least make a private call? I’m not leaving.”

“Damn straight you aren’t, doll. Sure, make your call. But if you set foot outside this room, I will haul your cute little ass back.”

With a grunt, she took her cell out of her pocket and hurried toward the darkest, most isolated corner. When she glanced at her screen, shock ripped through her.

Someone had been fiddling with her phone. Who had taken it and when? It had been in her pocket the whole time.

Ace.

At the moment he’d smacked her ass, he’d really been replacing it. Well, he wouldn’t find anything incriminating in her phone. She wasn’t stupid. It was registered to Emma Palen, and she paid by the minute, not with a plan.

As she punched in the number she knew by heart, she raked her gaze over the room. The Hell’s Sons were all in the back room, deciding her fate. Jamison would fight anything the prez was proposing with her in mind, but if the Hell’s Sons using her would benefit the club, it was a sure vote-in.

“Pauly,” she whispered, cupping her hand around the cell and her mouth, “I need something.”

“Again?”

“Yeah. I need it soon.”

“I need a few days at least. What names should I use?”

“Use your imagination.”

“Same initials?”

“Yeah. I’ll call in two days and see if we can set up a place for me to pick it up.”

The ID cards were expensive, but Pauly was the best, and fast. If she was fleeing, she’d need an identity that Ace couldn’t track.

She ended the call and deleted the history. Then she leaned against the wall and glared at the closed door of the backroom. Running from Jamison would cut her bad, but she had no choice.

She couldn’t get roped into more MC shit. When she’d returned to Alabama, it was for one purpose: To get information on her mother’s killer. She’d do that first thing tomorrow and then run like hell before the Hell’s Sons dragged her into whatever darkness they were plotting.

“Think of it as an initiation,” Strother said, eyes narrowed at Jamison. “She gets in, finds the shit we’re looking for, and gets back out. We run interference.”

“No.” Jamison’s forceful denial echoed around the room. The guys who had been on his side a short twelve hours ago had damn well better be on his side again. Strother had lost his fucking mind. After his son’s tragic death, he wasn’t firing on all cylinders. If so, he’d never propose Ever should infiltrate the Raiders and find out if Middleton was in their pocket.

Jamison ground his molars, angrier than he’d been in a long-ass time.

Strother leaned across the table. “It shows if she’s loyal, man. You know all of our old ladies had to go through it.”

“But not in this way.” Carol Ann had once been asked to steal the patch off an opposing club’s cut. She’d come home waving it. As far as Jamison knew, the patch was still tacked on the wall behind the bar.

“Jesus Christ, Jamison. When did you get so fucking lovesick?” Several people laughed at Strother’s question.

Jamison slammed a fist into the table. Pain scudded through his joints and up to his shoulder, but he ignored it. “This isn’t about being fucking lovesick. This is a vulnerable woman’s life we’re discussing. We send her in there, she’s in danger. I wouldn’t send a prospect in there armed. Ever is not equipped to handle this shit. Only a trained Son could do it and not get killed.”

Strother shook his head. “They won’t kill her. They might capture her and want to use her, but they won’t take her life.”

Hell, that was almost worse. Jamison pinched the bridge of his nose hard. This was out of control, and he had no idea how to stop it.

“Vote it,” Ace said.

They had no choice. All Jamison could hope for was that his guys backed him.

Strother went first. “Yea.”

“Nay,” Jamison said almost immediately.

“Nay,” Ace added.

“Yea.” From Robbie, O’Dovey, Rocket, and Franklin.

“Fuck you,” Jamison spat.

“Nay,” Tommy said, and Harris echoed in his gritty baritone.

“Nay,” Bunky added.

“Five-five. Blake will be our tie-breaker.” Jamison stomped to the door. He whipped it open and hollered Blake’s name.

The man was halfway across the room from Ever. But she hadn’t fled, and that was something. Carefully Jamison avoided her gaze. “What’s your vote, man?”

Blake stared into Jamison’s eyes. Before he even spat the word, Jamison knew. Blake might be his friend, but they needed this done, and Ever was a perfect shoo-in for it.

“Yea.”

“Goddamn it.” Jamison slammed the door. It rattled, shaking the walls too.

Strother was grinning, goddamn him to hell.

Jamison pointed a finger at him. “If something happens to her—”

“Calm down. It won’t.”

Shards of anger broke loose in Jamison. He whirled and punched the door. His knuckles popped and split, but he ignored the pain.

Strother brought his hand down on Jamison’s shoulder. “It’s not personal, man. But you and I both know this girl could have come from anywhere. You’ve admitted she knows the Life. This is an easy way to find out if she is worth keeping around.”

“I don’t agree,” Jamison panted.

Strother patted Jamison’s shoulder. He felt the thumps in the marrow of his bones—blows to his soul. If something happened to her…

“She goes at dawn. Set it up.” Strother pushed Jamison aside and opened the door. His homecoming party was in full swing. “Oh, and guys. Thanks for the party.”

“You can shove your party up your motherfucking ass.” Jamison nudged past his prez and went to tell the woman he was obsessed with that the club was going to endanger her life.

•●•

He could hug his fucking candle for a week and not gain an ounce of calm. Dammit, this thing with Ever couldn’t happen.

Ever was sprawled on his bed, naked and facedown. Her long hair fanned around her, and her lips were parted. She’d cried herself to sleep, and it fucking tore him up.

Still, when he’d told her, she’d taken it like the strongest of women. Deep down he was proud of her—but he still wanted to knock out Strother’s teeth.

He followed the long, golden lines of Ever’s legs up to her rounded ass. The area between her legs was shadowed, but he knew what was there and wanted it bad.

“Is that a magic pussy?” Strother had asked him.

No, this had little to do with having mind-numbing orgasms with Ever. He could get sex anywhere. But his connection with her wasn’t something a guy like him found every day.

Strother was losing it, and only a few of the guys recognized the signs by siding with Jamison. If Strother wasn’t going to live up to the creed of the MC, Jamison would have to demand he go on another vacation until he got his head straight.

He dipped his finger into the pool of candle wax, coating his digit. It dried almost immediately.

How to keep her safe? The plan was the Sons would drop her off outside the Raiders’ club. She’d use whatever means possible to find out the information about Middleton while Jamison went fucking nuts in a van outside, waiting for her. In the meantime, O’Dovey would be on Sarah like flies on honey.

He dipped his finger again and withdrew it quickly. Before the wax dried, he let it drip on the back of Ever’s calf.

The bead of wax hardened, and she didn’t stir. He did it again. And again.

When she started to wiggle, he rolled her onto her back. She reached for him, eyes slitted, and he trailed a line of hot wax down her belly.

She sucked in a gasp. “Jamie, you need me.”

“I fucking do.” He kissed the hardened wax down to her wet slit. For a long minute he tasted her juices. Then he continued to her inner thighs and finally the spots on her calf he’d just poured the wax on.

She writhed, fingers twisting in his hair, her gasps coming faster. She hooked her ankle around his nape and dragged him close. He buried his mouth in her pussy, mouth to lips, tongue to folds. He couldn’t get enough of her. If something happened to her, he’d be gutted.

Her pussy pulsated under his mouth. She was so close already.

He drove two fingers deep into her channel. Her walls convulsed around him, and he covered her button and sucked.

She arched off the bed, coming all over his tongue and fingers. Before she came down from her high, he slapped on a condom and sank between her legs.

Throwing his head back, he rutted into his woman, driving her up the bed. She gripped the iron bars of the headboard and held his gaze.

“C’mon, baby. Deeper,” she urged, wrapping her legs high on his waist.

The angle provided more sensation. He shuddered, biting back a roar. If he was screaming, he wouldn’t hear her, and her sweet sounds made him crazy.

“You’re so big, so deep.”

He kissed her, plunging his tongue in time to his thrusts. His balls ached, and that familiar rush settled at the base of his spine. In a blinding burst, he was there, shooting into her body, wishing there was no barrier.

She dragged him down for a kiss, tangling her tongue with his for several minutes while they both rode the aftershocks.

When he pulled back a fraction, he dropped his forehead to hers. Up close her eyes glittered.

“I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m not afraid.”

“No?”

She shook her head. For some goddamn reason, he believed her. He rolled off but hauled her against his side. “There’s something I have to do.”

“What’s that?”

When he didn’t answer, she leaned over him. Her skin glowed with her recent excitement, and her hair fell over his chest, teasing with softness.

“Just club business. Stay in bed. Get some more rest. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He set her aside and got out of bed. She watched him dress.

When he put his hand on the doorknob, she said, “Jamie.”

He sent her a sidelong look.

“We’ll be okay.”

His heart rate spiked as he realized what she was saying. She wasn’t running anymore. What had changed?

Tossing her a smile, he nodded. “Get some sleep.”

The party was still going strong after six hours. The Hell’s Sons were drunk off their asses, but Blake appeared as soon as Jamison entered the main room. “I’ll keep an eye on her, boss.”

“Do that. Where’s Sarah?”

“Uhhh.” Blake searched the room and pointed at a girl who was legs up. “Under Romano.”

“Jesus. Okay, thanks.”

Jamison crossed the room and pulled Romano off Sarah by his cut. When he did, Romano’s dick popped from her body. No condom.

Sarah’s features spelled her surprise, and she snapped her legs together.

“I need to talk to you. Romano, go finish with another girl.”

“Yeah, boss,” he slurred, stumbling away, pumping his erection with a fist.

Jamison reached down for Sarah. She put her hand in his, and he launched her to her feet. “Where are your clothes?”

She shook her head, looking a little foggy with alcohol too.

“All right, forget it.” He caught her arm and dragged her through the room and into the first empty space he found—O’Dovey’s bedroom.

Sarah wrapped her arms around her middle and stared at Jamison. “What’s going on? I thought I was free to be with anyone. Or do I belong to Ever now?”

He recoiled. “Hell, no. You’re free. I recommend you wrap up the dicks that people stick in you if you plan to sleep with my woman, though. Understand?”

“Yeah, of course.” Her eyes cleared a little.