Protect (35 page)

“Fritter, I don’t think it’s good you guys
are here,” she began, carefully.

“You packing up and taking off?” he asked,
ignoring her statement and turning to face her. When she didn’t
answer he went on. “Saw your car. The back is full of shit. Even
the dog bed. You’re leaving town.”

She looked down at her hands. “Fritter, think
about how this will be for me. How can I stay here? Look anyone in
the face, always scared they’re just thinking about that video and
nothing else? I can’t be Sherriff. I can’t be a respectable member
of the community. No matter what, I’ll just be seen as some biker’s
bitch.”

His head came up, eyes flashing. “So what?
What do you care what people think?”

“I’m not that person, Fritter. I’m not made
to just be someone’s … slam.”

“You’re not. And there are plenty of other
things you can likely do instead.”

“I agree. Just … not in Markham.” She felt
real sadness as she said it, knowing that she truly meant that now.
Her wheels weren’t just spinning. She was planning a permanent
move.

“You’re leaving for good?” The flash of anger
faded as quickly as it came, replaced with something that looked a
lot like hurt. She bit back the reaction she had to him possibly
missing her. Jesus, how did they get
here
?

“I think I have to. I’d rather stay but … I
can only imagine people when I go out. Comments, stares, whispers.
I can’t do it.”

“You shouldn’t care.”

“Easy for you to stay,” she snapped, arms
crossing. “You’re getting high-fives and I’m getting gang rape
threats.”

The temperature in her entryway dropped about
ten degrees. “You’re what?” She’d never heard him truly pissed off.
For just a moment she marveled at what an awesome sight it was; he
went from boyishly handsome to dangerously scary. His voice was
even different.

She answered anyway. “Gang rape threats.
Online. When that video was posted. They’re putting my street
address out there while fucking joking about it. I didn’t see them
but Brayden saw them. Yeah, by the way, my son saw that video. So
I’m pretty sure my Mother Of The Year aspirations are dead in the
water.”

“He have the names?”

“What? What names?”

“The people who commented. He have their
names?”

She shook her head, reading the fury on his
face and knowing his intentions. “No. You’re not beating up a bunch
of spineless idiots who have huge swinging dicks on the fucking
internet.”

“Yeah, actually. I am. He got their
names?”

“Here.”

They both turned as Brayden joined them,
coming down the hall with his phone held out. “This is a screen
capture of the comment section the video had on the campaign page
when I took it down.”

“Brayden!” she chastised while trying to
intercept. Fritter put one hand to her stomach and pushed her back
while taking her son’s phone.

“There’s more than one shot,” her son went
on. “Swipe to the left to see them all.”

Fritter was doing it, and as he did she
watched his face cloud over like the sky on a hot humid day,
threatening violence as surely as thunder and lightning. “You gotta
be shitting me,” he muttered. “People actually put this shit out
there like that?”

“Only when they’re real assholes.”

Sharon crossed her arms. She didn’t want to
see the comments, and as Fritter read them she knew she
really
didn’t want to see. And somehow, Fritter reading them
and getting indignant made her feel better. Again, he didn’t think
any of this was funny. He took it seriously.

“Okay, so it’s really about ten names,
trading bullshit back and forth. And most of these names I
recognize.” He turned to the door and shouted “Spaz!”

The youngest Red Rebel came through the door,
eyebrows up, ready to be of assistance. Sharon wondered if he even
shaved yet. “Yeah?”

“I got a list of names here, people in
Markham who commented on the video on that Facebook page. It’s been
taken down. Can you still find it?”

“For sure. I can find it wherever it’s being
watched.”

“Can I possibly beat up everyone spreading
this shit around?”

Spaz smiled. “You’ll be busy, but when we
left it was mostly centered on Markham.”

“I guess not everyone,” Fritter amended while
handing Brayden his phone back. “Just the really fucking disgusting
shit. Oh yeah, and that prick that posted it in the first place.
That’s Turnbull’s son, right?”

Brayden’s smile was wicked. “Yeah, it
was.”

“You mind if I pay him a visit?”

Brayden shook his head, but all he said was
“Awesome.”

“You’re not beating up Turnbull’s son.” She
felt it necessary to interject, even though they were ignoring
her.

“Okay. I’ll just scare him.”

“Fritter!”

His smile was slow, and it made her knees a
little bit weak despite the nightmare she’d met with that
morning.

“Sharon, they videotaped a Red Rebel in his
kutte and put it on the internet. It included a great shot of my
fuckin’ cock besides. That’s stupid enough. Bringin’ you into it,
too? Usin’ it to cost you your career?” He shook his head, voice
getting soft again. “That ain’t okay, baby.”

Her stomach went gushy when he called her
baby. He never called her that, did he?
Babe
, maybe. But
baby
was definitely new.

“Can’t take it back, but I can make them
sorry.”

The crying impulse was so weird. One slip up
where a guy starts to get to her and she becomes an insipid, weepy
twit. However, she resisted the urge to throw herself into his
arms.

Before she could respond to his offer to
extract violent revenge he was talking again. “Where are you guys
going?”

She exhaled slowly, rubbing her temple. “My
parents have a house in Templeton. I just told them we’re coming to
visit for the weekend.”

“You’re coming back, right?”

Behind her she was aware that Brayden was
backing away, and she heard his door shut before she answered.
“Eventually. But ... I don’t know how much longer I’ll stay in
Markham.”

Now his look of concern vanished, replaced
with shock. “What?”

She tilted her head, finding it irrationally
cute that he was somehow surprised by that. “Fritter ... think
about my situation. Women never come out of this okay.” She made a
show of checking her watch. “I need to get moving. I want to be on
the road within a half hour.”

“Please come back, Sharon.” He caught her
elbow, and once again she found herself getting emotional.
“Please.”

“Fritter—”

“Tell me there’s nothin’ here.” He moved
closer, voice dropping. “You tell me that, I’ll respect it. But for
my part ... I do care for you. I want to get to know you better. I
want that shot.”

She swallowed as her heart convulsed, jumping
into her throat. “Fritter—”

“Don’t play it like there’s nothin’ here.” He
captured a hand, and she didn’t try to pull away. With surprising
gentleness he pressed the palm of her hand to his chest and moved
even closer. “Please come back. Let some of this blow over. Then
come back. Okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed softly, not lying. Not
exactly. She’d have to put her house on the market and close out
all that type of business before she could really move away. She
just couldn’t come back for him.

His smile was hopeful, and she realized he
didn’t totally believe her. Still, he tipped his head down and
brushed his lips over hers softly. A jolt shot through her, right
to her toes. Fucking Fritter Horton and his goddamn kissing.

“Don’t be scared, not of me. Okay?”

His whispered words were sobering. She
was
scared of him. How he undid her, crept under her skin
and was starting to get into her head as well. This was a disaster.
She vaguely wondered if that was part of the attraction. She
couldn’t peg him, not completely. She through she knew what he
wanted, and then he’d completely changed the plot on her. On
them.

“I’m not scared. This is just crazy.”

His free hand cupped her jaw. “Yeah, it is.
That’s why I like it.”

She shook her head. “Fritter—”

“Don’t tell me no. Don’t run away. Just come
back.”

“Okay,” she whispered, staring at their hands
on his chest. She liked his hands. They were big, square, very
manly. They dwarfed hers, and she’d never had dainty hands.

“Okay.”

What a lovely dream. Saying it made it feel
better, but it was all fairy tale talk. She wouldn’t end up with a
biker, and he wouldn’t give up that life to keep her. But for right
then, she’d say anything.

“It’s not that I don’t care,” she said
carefully, bringing her eyes up to his. “Because ... I do. This
situation is too much.”

“I know, baby.” That stomach flop again.
“Take your time. But come back. I won’t let any of this hurt you.
I’ll make it so people don’t make you feel like shit. Okay?”

Again, what a wonderful dream.

“Okay, Fritter,” she agreed, nodding. Just to
get him out of the house, she was sure. Mostly.

“Take care, okay? But don’t turn tail and
run. You’re not that kind of woman.”

Yes, she was. She absolutely was. But she
wanted him out of there before she lost the will to get the fuck
out of town and the strength to deal with her parents.

“Call me when you get there, baby. And trust
me to handle all this. I’ll make it so no one dares to look at you
sideways.”

“Okay,” she whispered, again, and this time
he kissed her cheek then circled around her to the doorway. She
turned to watch him, then caught Jayce leaning against the corner
of the wall separating the entry from the living room. His eyes
were on hers, and the look was unsettling.

“You’re not coming back,” he said quietly, as
the door banged shut. “Are you?”

With a deep breath she decided to perpetuate
the lie. “I will. Eventually.”

Jayce shook his head. “You’re running.
Because of this.”

“Think about it, Jayce,” she hissed. “How can
I be around here? Go to the store? Fill up the car at the gas
station? Knowing what everyone’s thinking?”

“It’d be hell,” he admitted, then he jerked
his head at the door. “But that guy would be a human shield for
you. I was ready to take his head off for putting us in this
situation. I wanted his kutte, his patch.”

That shocked her.

“But now ...” Jayce shook his head. “That’s a
man that cares about you.”

“Damnit, why does everyone suddenly know
what’s best when they’ve known about us for all of five minutes?”
she basically screeched.

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Jayce had
the nerve to chuckle. “Why are you fighting him so hard?”

She bit her tongue. “Get out of my house. I
have to pack.”

“So, gentleman, I’m sure you can appreciate
that it was a real fucking
shock
to find out a group we
trusted was getting in bed with law enforcement.” Anthony Guidinger
didn’t get spitting mad, but it was a barely contained rage that
still caused spit to fly out of his mouth anyway.

It took seven hours for this greasy son of a
bitch to find out about the video and slide his ass down to
Markham. Now he stood in
their
clubhouse giving them a
dressing down. Fritter could tell by his brothers’ postures none of
them liked this any more than he did.

“We’ve never had a beef with law
enforcement,” Jayce snapped back. “They’ve never been onto us, our
allies, or our enemies. You got nothing to be yelling at me
for.”

Guidinger raised one eyebrow. “You don’t
think so?”

“You got any proof we’ve been pillow
talking?”

That hung Guidinger up for a couple of
seconds, then the son of bitch had the nerve to laugh.

That made Fritter’s jaw clench, and his left
eye twitched a bit, but Guidinger cackled on like the host of a
cocktail party or some shit. “Fuck. I’ve seen clubs pay off
sheriffs and deputies from here to Oregon. I do think this is the
first time I’ve seen a sheriff paid in cock.”

That spiked the twitch right into a
convulsion, and one look at Jayce told him not to argue. Just go
along with it. And as Guidinger turned to him Fritter knew that was
the test.

“So. How many you got on your payroll there,
young buck?”

Fritter forced the smile, knowing that would
make it look bitter. Hopefully, indifferent as well. “Just the
one,” he assured Guidinger. “Only one sheriff we need to worry
about in Markham. She’s a lot more economically feasible, given the
size of the county.”

Guidinger threw his head back and laughed.
Fritter wasn’t sure why that was so hilarious but he kept the smile
in place. Buck, on his left, shifted his feet, and to his right
Tank ran a hand over his filling-in hair. No one was joining the
hilarity but that didn’t matter to this cologne-soaked weasel.

“Good work then, son.” Guidinger clapped a
hand on his shoulder, and Fritter made a show of being unmovable.
Guidinger reacted, but only slightly. The twinkle went out of his
eyes, and he turned to Jayce again.

“You’re a man that uses his assets for the
talents they have. Like lover boy, here. So now I want to borrow a
different asset from you.”

“What? Be warned. I don’t think you’re
Fritter’s type and there’s only so much I’d ask a guy to do.”

Guidinger gave one short, humorless guffaw.
“We’ve been doing research on your club. You have a varied group
here. I know you pick ‘em carefully, and you’re also smart with the
shit you take on. You know your limits and your strengths.”

“What’s this about?” Jayce asked, tilting his
head the other way and sighing while he asked it. “Just come out
with it.”

“Him.” Guidinger snapped his fingers
and
his voice as his arm shot out, finger extended and
pointed right at Knuckles.