Jamison brought his fist down on the table. “You couldn’t have mentioned that you stormed into the Raiders club and
took
Delta?”
Drake stared at his vice prez. He liked Jamison—trusted him. Only Jamison knew how deep Drake had sunk after his tours of duty or how much alcohol he’d consumed. The few who knew about Drake’s leg thought he’d lost it in war, but the truth was, he’d lost it to idiocy.
Jamison was a fool if he believed they hadn’t used force to get Delta. “Did you think we’d just parley with the enemy and they’d gladly hand over their woman?”
Jamison raked his fingers through his hair, leaving tracks. His face was tense. “The MC rules are full disclosure. You fucking tell me everything that happens out there.” He pointed at the door and the world beyond. “I don’t care if it’s a drug run or you shoot up a club to get back Ever’s sister.”
“No one fired a shot,” Pax said.
“Then how the fuck did you take Delta by force?” Jamison looked at each of them, probably looking for split lips or knuckles, evidence of a fistfight.
“Drake had a bomb.”
Jamison met Drake’s gaze. He knew what Drake had done in the Marines. What he’d done for his country. He blew shit up, but he’d lost his leg from driving drunk.
“Okay.” Jamison’s eyelid twitched. “From now on, the club needs to know this shit. Got it?”
“Yeah.” Drake wasn’t concerned with the club at this moment. When the asshole Raiders’ prez had moved, Delta had folded up. An abused woman if Drake had ever seen one.
He clenched his teeth. “If this is club business, what the fuck are we going to do to get her back?”
Jamison rested his hands on the table. Strother might be president, but they’d all followed Jamison while Strother took care of his own shit. First he’d lost his son to drugs then his wife had gone crazy with grief.
“She wasn’t trying to escape the Raiders in the first place,” Jamison said.
Drake didn’t agree, but he remained silent.
“She has a right to return with them.”
Silent—until now. “Do you think for a minute they’ll let her come visit her sister?” He had opinions about how free Delta was to come and go anyway. Now they’d lock the fortress around her.
Jamison shook his head. “No, they won’t. But do we start another war?”
The Hell’s Sons had just battled the local charter of the Raiders in order to get Ever back. Just days ago some of their men had fallen. They’d barely gotten them buried, and now they were talking about another war.
“I’ll go alone.”
Everyone stilled. In the other room, Ever’s sobs sounded, followed by Ace’s comforting tone. Jamison clenched his fists. They were all protective of Ever, and that had extended to Delta for the time she was here. Both women had something that reached into a man’s chest and tugged at his heart.
Dammit, Delta was as jumpy as a rabbit on the yellow line of Heller’s Gap Highway. Drake couldn’t leave her there. If it meant giving his life to get her out, he would.
“I’ll see if there’s a way to get Delta back without more lives lost,” Drake said.
Jamison waved at the brothers. “Give us a minute, guys.”
“Sure, boss.” They shuffled out quickly, leaving only Drake with his VP.
Drake looked down at his hands. They bore the name of the MC he thought of as family. He’d fight to the death for his brothers, but he couldn’t agree with leaving a helpless woman in the hands of people she obviously feared.
“What are you thinking, Drake?”
“I’ll hang around the compound, see if I can get close to her. She can’t be locked inside all day and night. She must go out sometimes.” He hoped this was the case, but more and more he was beginning to wonder what sort of life she lived.
Her reactions didn’t measure up.
Jamison eyed him. “Then what?”
Blow the Raiders fucking sky-high if Drake so much as saw a bruise on the woman.
“I’ll know when the time comes.”
Huffing out a heavy sigh, Jamison nodded. “I hate to say it, but I can’t put more Sons in danger. Right now it looks as if she’ll be safe back at home. But if you give the call for action, we’ll stand up and protect Delta.”
Drake itched to get on the road. Anything could have happened to her in the half an hour she’d been gone. “I need some stash in case I need to trade.”
“Yeah, take what you need from behind the bar. And take this.” He got up, went to a table along the wall, and grabbed a cell phone. He tossed it to Drake, who snatched it out of the air. “Burn phone. Untraceable number.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Be careful. You’ve used seven of your nine lives.”
Drake’s mouth quirked up. “Two is more than enough to complete this mission.”
Every cell in Delta’s body screamed in protest as she moved through her morning ritual. The last thing she felt like doing was primping for the enjoyment of the sick men in this club. The Raiders ordered her to be a jewel among them—they took pride in their women.
Too bad most females here bore bruises.
At least they spare my face.
Delta picked up the makeup to cover the blue-black fingerprints on her upper arms where Lucky had gripped her and shaken her until her head snapped.
For half an hour he’d screamed in her face, demanding she tell him who had fucked her and threatening to kick her belly to eliminate any child she might be carrying.
Good thing she hadn’t given in to her desire to spend the night in Drake’s arms, but even if she had, she couldn’t be pregnant. She’d been on the pill since her teens.
She stared at her reflection. Her eyes weren’t even red-rimmed because she’d never shed a tear, though it had been close. She issued a deep, shuddering sigh and painted over her bruises.
Then she applied cherry red lipstick and enhanced her already dark lashes with a little mascara. Ever didn’t wear much makeup, and she looked so fresh and pretty compared to the amount a lot of club women used.
When Delta was with Ever, she felt something brand new—a tiny glimmer of hope that life could change. It had for her sister.
Stop wishing on stars.
She ran a brush through her long hair, getting out the tangles and using a little balm to keep the ends from splitting. Padding naked across her room to her dresser, she selected a pair of cutoff shorts and a black tank top that would get her through chores in a hundred-degree Alabama summer.
After dressing, she stuffed a hair tie in her pocket and shoved her feet into a pair of ballet flats. Not exactly biker chick footwear, but she didn’t need full leather to protect her from road rash.
She was a club bitch they called Girl.
Today the Raiders probably wouldn’t even let her out to do the food shopping, which was her usual job at the beginning of the week.
Fighting panic at the thought of being held prisoner, she moved through the silent club. She gathered beer bottles and tossed them in a huge trash can. Then she got a bucket of soapy hot water and began scrubbing surfaces. She wrinkled her nose. They were covered in everything from come to tobacco spit, and she’d even cleaned her share of blood.
As she worked, her mind cleared and she no longer saw the grime. No, she was back with the Hell’s Sons.
Their clubhouse was clean but shabby, proving they didn’t have the capital coming in that the Raiders did.
From what she’d gleaned from conversation over the years, the Sons didn’t deal in blood like the Raiders. They sold illegal liquor and they’d recently started a gambling ring.
These enterprises must not bring in the money that cocaine and prostitutes did, but what the Hell’s Sons lacked in material goods they made up in heart. Their family had been hand-selected and patched together, and they’d brought Delta into their fold without second thoughts.
But they did let me go.
She shook herself and wrung out the cloth in the warm, bubbly water. What was she thinking? Did she want them to take bullets for her? Absolutely not.
She bowed her head and slowly sank to her knees. Cleaning the floor the old-fashioned way would keep her invisible—just as she liked. Hopefully she would scrub under the radar for most of the day.
As she worked a few guys came into the main room, hung over, vacant-eyed from their morning heroin fixes. When she was around, they talked freely. They knew if put on a witness stand, she’d commit perjury.
The familiar sound of Lucky’s boots reached her. How many times had he been shot now? Five, six? The last time had been in the back. He’d been laid up for weeks and now walked with a bit of a limp.
Delta cowered into the shadows behind a table. She held her breath as he spoke with a brother about the upcoming gun exchange on the coast. Then Micky entered.
Delta didn’t look up at her “mother.” Too many years of hurt and betrayal created a mountain of hate between Delta and Micky. While slender and blonde, Micky was as tough as barbed wire. She called the shots among the women, and she used Delta as she saw fit.
“Is Delta in here?”
The hollow spot in her stomach filled with hot lava of fear. She clamped her teeth on her lower lip but stood without hesitation.
“Ah, there you are.” Micky came forward as if to embrace her. Delta cringed. The night before her mother hadn’t stepped in while Lucky shook her or called her a whore.
Delta ran her tongue over the roof of her mouth. Her tongue was sore where she’d bitten it during the shaking, but somehow she’d managed to keep the stinging pain from turning into tears.
She’d long ago stopped hoping Micky would act like a mother and protect her.
“What are you doing scrubbing the floor when you’re supposed to be shopping for food?”
“She isn’t allowed to leave the club.” Lucky’s dark expression matched his gruff tone.
Delta dropped her gaze and let her long hair swing in front of her face.
“What do you mean she’s not allowed? We’ll send escort. No Hell’s Son will consider taking her at a grocery store. We need her to go—we’re out of liquor and beer.”
“And potato chips,” someone added.
“Send someone else.” Lucky’s tone brooked no argument.
Micky might have once been soft and feminine. No doubt it was what had drawn Lucky to her in the first place. But years of rough living had hardened her features. Her gray-blue eyes were flint, her spine like steel.
She didn’t back down from her husband.
“No one is coming after Delta. She’s nothing to the Hell’s Sons.”
“She has a sister among them.”
Oh fuck. They knew about Ever.
Micky jerked. “Among the Sons? I thought her sister was in the Dark Raiders Black Oath.”
Lucky turned away as if finished with the conversation. “Delta stays inside.”
“Who will—?”
Delta stood there letting them talk about her as if she were no more than a dog or a bag of pot. Hell, they probably cared more for their pot.
Very slowly Lucky pivoted to glare at his wife. “Send someone else after the food. And stay the fuck outta club business, woman.”
Micky did not cower, but she slinked wordlessly out of the room. Delta’s heart was an engine, idling too fast. Releasing the breath she’d been holding, she pressed a palm over the thumping organ and willed it to calm. When her adoptive parents fought over her, it often got ugly and ended with Delta being hurt.
“Girl, get me some aspirin, will ya? I’ve got a jackhammer in my skull,” Roughie said.
She barely glanced at the big, burly man who drank everyone to his knees nightly. To meet his gaze was to invite interest.
She nodded and gathered her bucket. As soon as she hit the kitchen, she glanced around. Finding herself alone, she threw herself against the sink and twisted on the faucet full blast.
Cold water rushed out, and she thrust her wrists under, hoping the icy liquid would slow her tripping pulse. Hair fell around her face, and she didn’t bother to push it back to splash water on her hot cheeks.
Again and again, she drenched her face, grateful she hadn’t put on a lot of makeup because she’d have to go reapply it so she didn’t get in trouble for not being presentable.
Her fear subsided, and she grabbed a towel. It smelled fresh and clean—probably the only thing in the whole damn place that wasn’t tainted. She’d laundered it herself, and now she took comfort in the terrycloth.
She dried her face and hands. Feeling a little more composed, she went after the aspirin for Roughie. For good measure, she added a Valium to the pills in her palm. Carrying a glass of water, she returned to the main room. The big guy hooked an arm around her waist and tugged her close.
Panic tripped an alarm, which sent her heart racing all over again.
But she didn’t pull away. She dumped the pills into his huge hand and passed him the glass. He drained all but an inch of water. With a leer, he trickled the remainder down Delta’s cleavage.
She tightened her lips, which they all took as her smile. “Girl’s being playful, I see. Maybe we can have a romp when this headache goes away.”
Oh fuck, no.
She patted his scraggly jaw and took the glass from his grip. “You go find a bed, Roughie.” As far as everyone in the club was concerned, she belonged to Houlihan. She might hate his fucking guts, but he kept her from being gang-raped daily. In fact, no one did more than grope her.
Roughie nodded. “I’ll do that. Come ride me in a few hours.”
She moved away, ignoring the massive hand on her ass and the way her skin crawled.
A group of men huddled at one of the back tables, already tense for this early in the morning. More alarms in her skull, louder this time. She had to get out of here before shit went down. She wove through the tables, heart pounding.
Voices rose. Rose again.
Trayson launched to his feet, sending his chair halfway across the room. “Alesander, you son of a bitch, I’ll skin you alive!”
Before she could get away, Trayson and Alesander came together in a clash of hard bodies, leather, and blades. They blocked her path, and Trayson had the man in a choke hold.
She threw herself out of the way as they came crashing down on a table she’d just cleaned earlier. The leg splintered under their weight. They hit the floor and rolled close to Delta.