Soul Ties (Club Ties #4) (20 page)

“It’s bad, Sweetheart. Do as I say.” Without a goodbye, he ended the call. Then he smashed the phone off the dash, breaking it into a dozen pieces. He tossed it out the window and locked his boot to the gas pedal.

“Where’s Jamison?” he asked, glancing in the rearview at Ace.

The man looked grimmer than any statue he’d ever seen. He didn’t speak, just shook his head.

Wrench twisted around, searching the van for their prez. But he wasn’t back there. “He’s on his bike, right? He rode, right?”

Nobody spoke. A funereal silence fell over the group.

“Wait. Drake’s not with us either. They’ve gotta be together.” The second-in-command of the Hell’s Sons was an ex-Marine. If anyone was bad-ass enough to get out of the Raiders’ lair alive, and bring his brother with him, it was Drake.

Connall released the breath he’d been holding.

“I’ll call him.”

Connall knocked the burn phone from Wrench’s fingers. It clattered to the floor. “You’ll get them killed if they’re hiding. We sit tight until we know something.”

“I know something,” Ace said several minutes later as Connall floored the van through the club gates.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I don’t want to be the one to tell their old ladies their men didn’t come home.”

After Connall haphazardly parked the van, guys piled out. The club door swung open, and females crowded there.

“Get the hell out of here, girls. What are you doing?”

“Jamison. Where’s Jamie?” Ever’s voice escalated as she scanned the faces and didn’t find the one she loved.

The long-haired vixen named Delta plastered her hand to her mouth and paled. “Drake…”

“They’re together. Now get back. We’re locking down.” Connall had to believe the prez and vice-prez were in fact making their way back to the club right now. There was no way he’d entertain another outcome.

Some wails sounded from the old ladies, and Sarah was on Connall. “What happened?”

“Take care of them,” he barked at her. She fell back, her lips cherry red and her skin flushed from her hot bath. It took everything inside him not to go after her and pull her softness into his cock. He never should have laid hands on her in the first place. Tearing himself away would be like cutting out his motherfucking beating heart.

With the heel of his hand, he shoved open the doors to Church. The guys filed in behind him, grim and battered. Wrench was bleeding like a pig. Bunky looked like a scene from a horror flick. Nobody raised a hand to wipe away their blood, though.

“They’ve gotta be all right,” Ace said.

“They are.” Connall had to hold them together. Ace was a club officer, and technically should be in charge, but he appeared to be stunned.

“We should go back,” someone suggested.

“No. We keep everyone safe. The Raiders will be here any fucking minute.” His mind went to the windows in the front of the club. Bulletproof glass, but if someone decided to throw a homemade bomb through it?

“What do we do, Doc?” Wrench asked.

“Stay away from the windows. Keep the club families calm.”

“I didn’t see O’Dovey anywhere in that clubhouse, did you?” Wrench was folding and unfolding his hands.

“No, he wasn’t there,” Connall said.

“What about the prez and VP?” Ace asked.

“If they aren’t here in an hour, we send a reconnaissance team.” He’d head it himself. Anything to make up for the hell he’d rained down on the club. People he loved were in jeopardy. A high keening cry came from the other room. He opened the door and listened to Sarah’s softer voice calming Ever.

“It’s war,” one of the Sons said.

“No.” Connall’s voice was steely. “I didn’t see O’Dovey there. The Raiders had no goddamn clue what we were talking about when we walked in there like gunslingers.”

“He’s right,” a Son agreed.

“He wouldn’t be invited to sit among their men, having a beer and enjoying some pussy. For fuck’s sake, Doc, have you been smoking medical marijuana? Of course they have him.”

“The Raiders don’t have him. Maybe he and Sarah had a fight and he left for a while until things calmed down?”

They stared at him in silence.

“We know you’re a peace-keeper, Doc. But this… I don’t buy it.” Ace pulled back the cuff of his Hell’s Sons hoodie to look at his watch. “Fifty minutes and we go after them.”

“I’m in.”

“Me too.”

Connall didn’t say he was going, but he was. Anything to stop that crying in the other room. If everything went to hell because he hadn’t stepped up and confessed to O’Dovey’s murder, he couldn’t forgive himself. The black shadows on his soul were already crowding out the sun.

Even Sarah’s inner glow was growing fainter and fainter. When he’d pushed her away from him, he’d seen the light dim a little more. He really was no fucking good for her.

»»•««

Sarah nestled Ever’s bright red head against her and spoke in soothing tones. Santana held Delta in a similar fashion, and it occurred to Sarah she’d never seen a group of such broken women in all her years in the club.

The Hell’s Sons took risks, broke the law, and reaped havoc wherever they went, but they’d never lost two officers at the same time.

She let her fear trickle out in a long, sobbing breath.
It’s all my fault. I’m a coward.

If she didn’t right things soon, Connall would take the blame. She’d seen the determination on his rugged face. He was pushing her away because he didn’t expect to be around long.

No way would she let that happen.

A few minutes later, the doors to the sacred room opened, and the main room filled with big, tense male bodies.

“Wrench, you’re in charge. You won’t bleed out before I get back.” Connall went behind the bar and started pulling out guns and ammunition.

With a cry, Sarah jumped up. She rushed across the room, Ever’s noisy sobs following her. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

He wouldn’t even look at her. “We’re going after them.” He kept his voice pitched low as he slammed a clip into a weapon. “Hold them together, Sarah. Prospect!”

One of two prospects came forward.

“Don’t let anyone in or out of those doors, you got it? And guard her with your life.” He jerked his chin toward Sarah.

She gaped at him. “Why are you setting a guard on me?”

“Because I don’t trust you not to try to follow us. Just let us handle this.” He stared at her hair, her chin, her throat. Anywhere but her eyes.

She reached for him, but he stuffed a weapon into his waist along his spine and shoved by her.

“What the fuck are you doing, West?” Ace asked. “You love her. Fucking kiss her goodbye, because you might be coming back in a body bag.”

Her heart juddered over his words. Love…body bag.

Connall’s face was a mask. “I don’t love anyone, Ace. I just fuck them up and destroy all their good.”

Before she could release the heart-rending pain in her chest, he was gone. Going back out into the perilous night after the Sons.

When she looked at Ever’s ravaged face, Sarah finally understood. The man she loved was gone, and he might never come back either. Stumbling back to the sofa, she fell into Ever’s waiting arms and added to their sounds of misery.

Connall was in the dark. Thick, foggy air enveloped him as he took the inky black road through Heller’s Gap. He had no business being on a bike in these conditions. It was madness, but that’s what he needed right now. Keeping his mind off recent events was more important than surviving this ride.

Returning to the Raider’s clubhouse to find their missing brothers hadn’t been a picnic, but they’d managed. Apparently during the brawl, Drake and Jamison had gone deeper into the bowels of the club searching for O’Dovey. What they’d discovered had been women and children hiding. They’d managed to crawl out a window and were half a block from the clubhouse when one of the Hell’s Sons had pulled up on them.

After safely seeing Jamison and Drake home, Connall had gotten on his bike and fled. Far from the club he loved and the only world that understood him. His absolute need to self-destruct had driven him to run from Sarah. If he didn’t leave her, he’d drag her down too.

All that blood on his hands.

Lorraine had taken her own life, but Connall had ignored the warning signs. He’d kept hoping—praying—that his presence and love would be enough to save her. In the end, her life had been snuffed out by a bottle of pills.

Pills she’d gotten from his bag.

Not only had he ignored her depression and mental illness, he’d supplied the goddamn means to do the job.

He’d been summoned to the club, though. Church was in session and they expected him to be there to discuss the next attack against the Raiders. Staying away from Sarah was going to take a huge amount of self-control. How the hell would he walk in and ignore the one candle lighting his way?

Fog clung to his clothes and turned into water to stream down his face. He wasn’t ready to face the fires yet. He needed a few minutes to collect his thoughts.

Never had he been so fucked up. If he left the Sons now and turned to the Falcons, he looked like a traitor. He’d abandon Sarah. And the Sons would continue to search the world for O’Dovey until Sarah broke and confessed.

Each time he weighed the consequences of his choices, he realized he just couldn’t leave Sarah in the lurch, even for the good of his club. The Falcons and Sons fighting over turf didn’t seem as bad as losing Sarah. He had to help her because he’d failed to help Lorraine.

When he pulled into his driveway and looked at the front door, he saw it—a knife projecting from the wood. Something small was pegged there beneath the lethal point.

Terror slid down his spine, but he steeled himself and got off his bike. As he approached the door, the shadows and fog swirled around him.

As he locked his gaze on the item, relief made his head swim. He’d expected something horrific—an ear or a piece of scalp. But it was a Falcons patch.

With a wrench, he ripped the knife from the door and enfolded the patch in his fist. Then he stabbed his security code and went inside. The house was untouched. At least he could still call it his sanctuary. So many good memories of Sarah were here, he couldn’t bear for the Falcons to desecrate it.

He stomped into his bedroom and sank to his bed, staring at the patch. Everything was such a fucking mess. And he’d been stupid enough to fall in love with Sarah. She stopped him from making any choices. In fact, he was frozen until she was safe and whole in mind and spirit.

Sarah, first. Then the Sons.

He tossed the patch into the wastebasket, stood up, and left his house. Decision made.

After he rolled through the gates and parked his bike on the end for a quick getaway, he took a few seconds to wipe his face with a handkerchief. Steeling himself, he went in.

The jukebox played, though it wasn’t Led Zeppelin. The scents of booze and pussy hung in the air, but he didn’t look at any faces as he made his way to the bar.

Ace put a whiskey in his hand, and he raised the glass without meeting his gaze.

“Doc. You’re supposed to get a new burn phone off the prez.”

“Where is he?” He shot the whiskey, and it burned all the way down.

“His room.”

Connall cocked a brow and set the glass down with a
clack
. Then he swung away, striding around the party that was always happening.

Being called to the prez’s room was a little out of the ordinary, but who knew? Maybe Jamison kept his burn phones close and doled them out as needed. He raised his knuckles and rapped the door.

When he heard the “come in,” he entered—and was blindsided.

Sarah was in Jamison’s bed.

My goddamn Sarah.

He clamped his jaw shut so hard his teeth clacked. Black fury barreled through him, making his chest tight and his head throb. Through a red haze, he stared at the big bed where his sweetheart sat propped against pillows like a fucking queen.

At his entrance, she bolted upright, and her eyes widened. She wasn’t dressed beneath the thin sheet—and neither was fucking Jamison.

A click of a door, and Connall whirled, prepared to see Harris, Bunky, Wrench, and half a dozen more guys ready to take their turns with her.

He clenched his fists and bit off a growl.

But the person who came out of the en-suite bathroom was Ever. Buck naked, she sashayed to the bed. Her red hair was like fire swirling around her hips. The tips of her breasts were dark and distended.

Connall stared, but she seemed unconcerned about him seeing her nude. Jamison didn’t seem to give a fuck either. What the hell was going on?

Connall spun back to ask him. At that moment, Jamison lowered his head and licked Sarah’s lower lip. Then her top lip, lapping at the cupid’s bow. Connall must have made some noise, because Jamison stopped and looked at him.

“You’d better get used to it, bro. If you’re with Sarah, you have to be open to seeing this.”

Ever gave a soft smile and crawled up the big bed into his arms, half-draped on Sarah.

My goddamn Sarah.

He pushed out a breath that vibrated his chest and moved throughout the rest of his body. His blood throbbed in his veins, and he choked, “She can do as she likes.”

She dropped her gaze, a flush coating her high cheekbones.

All at once he understood why Jamison wanted to taste his woman on Sarah—because Ever belonged to him. It took everything in Connall not to grab the other woman and kiss her, to see if she tasted of Sarah’s pleasure.

Dizzy and panting with a dark fervor he’d never known before, he opened his mouth. The voice that sounded wasn’t his—it belonged to a man who’d been set on fire.

“Sarah, I need you.”

Her head snapped up. As their gazes met, he realized he’d been dry kindling since walking away from her. And she was his match. The spark in her eyes ignited him, and she flew across the room into his arms. He picked her up and grabbed the nearest blanket to wrap her in.

“Grab a burn phone out of that box by the door.” Jamison’s voice was too fucking cheerful.