Love Ties (9 page)

She moved, and some wax dribbled over onto the plate. “This is what a big, rough biker does in his free time?”

Again, he laughed. He couldn’t help it around her. “Stresses can be unbearable at times.”

She dipped her chin to her chest. “I understand.”

She did, but he needed to find out just how much stress had touched her life. There was a reason for her fear of the Life. She’d seen bad things from another club and didn’t realize all the good that could be hers.

Like safety and family.

They stared at the candle for a while until it burned down a bit more. Ever smoothed a thumb over the wax, pressing it into a rounded edge. Seeing her stroke the candle made Jamison as hard as steel.

More minutes ticked by, but they weren’t uncomfortable. He almost felt her relenting, growing as pliant as the wax. She leaned against his side and dropped her head to his shoulder.

“I love the tattoo,” she whispered after more time elapsed.

A smile claimed his face and soul. “Good.”

“It suits you.”

“I know that. I’m glad you see it too now.”

A shiver ran through her, and he drew her closer. Her top was open, her torso was bare.

“I’m not agreeing to anything, Jamie.”

Let her believe that. He had her on the line, reeling her closer with each heartbeat.

Before the wax spilled over again, she pushed the candle edges together. Then Jamison withdrew it from her hands and blew out the flames. When they were plunged into darkness, he set aside the candle and took her.

•●•

A fist against his door woke Jamison. “Time for church.”

He groaned an answer to the person knocking. He stretched his arm, expecting to feel cold sheets, and instead touched soft, sweet woman.

He grinned and climbed carefully out of bed. She didn’t move a muscle, and her breathing was still deep and even. As he pulled on his dirty clothes, he stole peeks at her face.

It was turned hard into the pillow, fiery waves of hair half-concealing her features. She hadn’t told him a damn thing, but she had screamed his name several times.

For now, it was enough.

He stuck his arms into his leather cut and quietly left the room. As soon as the staler, smoky air of the club hit his senses, he woke up all the way. If Mitch was calling them to church, he must have a good reason.

The guys were already in the dim room, seated around the big wooden table. Two chairs were empty—his and Strother’s. Everyone was subdued, hung over or suffering from a long night of pussy.

Jamison glanced around the table. “What’s going on?”

“Strother called this morning. He and his old lady are headed back to Heller’s Gap this afternoon. They’re going to take their time but should be here tomorrow.”

Jamison nodded. “That’s good news.” The club had thrived under Jamison’s leadership, but it was time their prez took the chair again.

The guys were all loyal to Strother. He’d saved most of their asses in one way or another over the years. He’d kept Bunky from going to prison by putting up his own savings to pay the lawyer fees. Ace had crashed his bike last year, and Copilot had needed put back together. The vet bills were taken care of.

And he was a good friend and big brother figure to Jamison.

“There’s something else,” Ace spoke up.

The weight of his tone wasn’t lost on even a sleep-deprived Jamison. “What is it?”

“It’s Ever.”

He blinked. “Ever?”

“Yeah, I told Strother you were holed up with a new girl, and he asked about her. He said if we couldn’t get more information on her by the time he arrived, he was going to kick her ass out of the club.”

Jamison templed his fingers, not looking at any of them. He’d known this was coming. The rule was total disclosure. The club knew all your business, or you weren’t in the club. That included everyone from sweet butts to officers. No secrets.

And it was obvious Ever had plenty.

Ace’s gaze was heaviest on him. “We need that information, Jamison.”

“You don’t even have a last name? It’s common for girls to use nicknames. Think of Breezy and Giggles. Is Ever a nickname?”

Jamison didn’t know for certain, but he didn’t believe so. Nothing fit her better. He shook his head.

“You can get her to moan, but you can’t get her to talk?” Bunky asked. Several guys laughed.

Jamison cracked a grin. “I’m working on it.”

“Well, you’ve got till tomorrow, man,” Ace said.

“We can’t be too safe, even if it’s a prime piece of red muff,” Bunky added. Ace guffawed, but Jamison shot him a look that shut him up.

“Listen, Jamison, we know you’re deep in this girl, but Bunky is right, for all his jokes. The club safety is more important than anything.” Mitch’s years carried gravity, and they all listened.

Jamison rubbed his hands over his face. “I’ll get the information. Is that it?”

Everyone nodded.

He stood and rapped his knuckles on the table. “Church is concluded.”

Ace followed Jamison to the kitchen, where he watched Jamison make coffee. After filling the liner with grounds and the machine with water, Jamison said, “Speak your mind, man. We’ve always been friends.”

Ace sighed. “I was wondering…if she’s part of this drug stuff in Heller’s Gap right now.”

Icy dread licked down Jamison’s spine. “No.” His tone was inarguable. In no way would he believe Ever was connected to drugs.

“But she said she isn’t working, she’s new in town.”

He slashed the air with a hand. “That means nothing.”

Ace folded his arms over his broad chest. His arms were inked from wrist to shoulder, and tattoos even peeked from under his white wife-beater and his cut. He had more than one for a woman, but as far as Jamison knew, Ace had never been in love.

Lust, yes.

Was that what Jamison was feeling? Was Ever such a good lay that he had let his judgment get clouded?

One thing was certain, he’d never regret getting that tattoo for her last night.

He leaned against the counter and stared at the worn tile floor. The club girls kept the clubhouse clean, but like most everything in this place, it was well-used and needed updated. To do that, they needed money, though.

It was on their list, but first was amping up their gun supply. They weren’t at war with anyone at the moment, yet they had to be prepared. Especially with drugs coming back into Heller’s Gap. Strother had promised to share his ideas for raising money within the club upon his return.

He shook his head. “It’s not Ever.”

Ace’s gaze leveled on his. “We’ve been friends forever. I pushed the hardest for you to wear that VP patch. But Jamison, you’re not thinking straight.”

Fury pounded through Jamison’s veins. He lunged across the floor and gripped Ace’s cut, right over his heart. Jerking his friend close, he growled, “You do your job and find her file and you’ll see, goddammit.”

Ace tensed but didn’t lay hands on Jamison. “I’m doing the best I can. I’ve searched and hacked systems, but I can’t find anything on her. She’s hiding something, and if you don’t want her thrown out of the club, then you’d damn well better march down that hall and get her real name.”

He was right. Fuck. Jamison had been letting a woman walk on him.

Releasing Ace, he gave him a little push. “I’m going.”

The coffee sputtered to a stop, the aroma hanging in the air. More than anything Jamison wanted a cup, but he had to handle his shit.

When he reached his room, Ever was gone.

“Son of a bitch!” He slammed the door open wider, and it cracked off the wall. Her clothes were gone, and the bathroom door hung open, revealing she wasn’t there. He’d managed to get her to spend the night, but she’d run. This looked bad.

He strode out, determined to find and then drag the information from the woman. And if that failed, he’d twist the landlord’s balls. Ace finessed information out of his computer, but Jamison was better at operating hands-on.

As he passed the bar, Ace was putting goggles on Copilot. The dog was panting with excitement, his tail fanning the air. Ace looked up. “I figured you’d be going. I’ll ride with you. As you said, Copilot’s been dying to get on the road.”

Jamison nodded. Blake fell in step behind him, and the three of them—and the dog—headed out to their bikes.

He paused at the gate and tilted his jaw toward the guard, Harris. “Did you see a redhead leave?”

Harris nodded, looking a little dazed. “Ten minutes ago a cab pulled up, and she climbed in without looking back.”

Of course she wouldn’t. Damn her.

Maybe she wasn’t feeling him the way he felt her. He wanted her with a bone-deep ache. Part of her allure might be uncovering her secrets, but he didn’t think so.

With a nod at Harris, he revved his engine and rolled through the gates. They knew the landlord’s address and headed there first.

The man’s wife told them he was at his day job, so they thanked her.

“Wait,” she called as Jamison threw his leg over his bike.

He gave her his attention.

“Is Terry—my husband…in trouble?” Meaning rough guys like the Hell’s Sons wouldn’t be looking for him because they wanted him as a prospect.

“No, ma’am. You can rest easy.”

She nodded, relief spelled over her face. Jamison and his guys left the quiet neighborhood and went to find Terry.

The landlord sat behind his desk, managing a shipping company. When Jamison and his crew came through the office doors, Terry turned an alarming shade of white.

“Easy, man. I only want to ask you some questions.” Jamison took the open chair in front of the desk while his guys closed the door and barricaded it with their bodies. Happier to be outside, Copilot had stayed in the sidecar. With him snarling at anyone who got close to their bikes, they had no worries.

Terry didn’t look very convinced. “Okay.”

“1055 Villa Navarra Way. Who’s renting that house?”

He looked straight at Jamison and said her name without pause. “Mr. and Mrs. David Fox.”

Mrs. David Fox? Ever was fucking married?

Jamison shot Ace a look. Judging from his expression, he already knew that.

“Do you have information on this couple? An application your tenants fill out?”

“Yeah, it’s all online, though.”

Jamison came around the desk and hovered over Terry, who broke into a sweat. Most of the time the Hell’s Sons didn’t use their power to intimidate the common citizen, but this was necessary. Jamison pointed at his desktop computer. “You have access.”

“Uh…of course.” Terry pulled the keyboard close and tapped a few keys. Jamison stayed nearby, using his leather and patches as leverage. People like Terry didn’t want trouble—they would give the information the club needed without more coercion.

A screen popped up, and Terry went to the
F
file. David Fox, aged 42 and his wife, Alyssa.

Son of a bitch.

“Print that,” Jamison ordered.

“Yes, sir.” Terry pressed more keys, and the printer slid off several sheets, which Jamison took. Then he walked to the door.

Terry looked at him fearfully. “That’s all you wanted?”

Come to think of it, Terry was sweating like a pig, and all over the sight of a cut?

Jamison planted his hands on the desk and leaned over. “Conscience eating at you, Terry, my boy?”

“N-no. No, not at all.”

Blake chuckled. “Come on, boss,” Ace said.

“Keep yourself clean, Terry.” Jamison pushed off the desk, papers in hand. As they passed through the office building, people peeked around cubicles. Once they got outside, an unearthly yowl sounded from the parking lot.

Ace rushed toward the sidecar. Copilot had a guy cornered, holding his bleeding hand.

“Your dog bit me!”

Ace laughed. “That’s dog language for don’t touch people’s shit.” With that, he climbed on the bike. Blake and Jamison did the same, but they only rode a few streets before pulling over to a city park. There was a picnic table in the sun, which Jamison spread the papers on.

“Alyssa Fox. Her old address is Adams City, Colorado,” Jamison read.

“If she’s from Colorado, I’m a black Asian man,” Blake quipped.

“With that accent? She’s pure Alabama,” Ace added.