Chapter Three

Cade

I sit on my new Ducati outside Kaleo's clubhouse, waiting for the bastard to get tired of me scaring off his people and bring his ass out to talk to me. It won't be much longer. Not with his latest recruit hauling balls down the block as fast as his legs can carry him.

Turns out that flashing a badge here works just as well as it does in Seattle. It doesn't hurt that my goddamn name is all over the news right now. Probably also doesn't hurt that I've been in every shithole in this city in the last forty-eight hours, making my presence known.

I've been taking down gangs and cartels in Seattle for so long that the entire West Coast knows who I am. I've got more goddamn enemies than the cartels. And more sources than a journalist. The major players here don't want to become my next target, and they know it.

Lucky for them, Curtis Kaleo has already secured that privilege. If he isn't willing to back off and leave January alone, shit is going to get real uncomfortable for him, real quick. He may think he's untouchable, but I have precisely zero fucks left to give. He used up his one free pass a long time ago. I'm not inclined to give him another one now. He should have kept his ass away from my girl.

Like most of the neighborhood, the clubhouse is a shithole. He's worth a good two mill, but he still operates out of the same rundown former gas station he did when we were growing up. The lot is overgrown, and the pump spaces are full of trash and tumbleweeds. An old Camaro on stilts sits off to the side, with a line of bikes beside it. Most are old and busted.

The entire scene is honestly depressing. When we were kids, this place seemed so much fucking bigger, so much darker—like a goddamn fortress of evil waiting to snatch our souls. How much different would things have been had I seen what Kaleo really was back then? Would I have made the same choices?

Then – Age Fifteen

"You're serious," Titan says, eyeing me like he thinks I'm fucking with him. "You want to start a gang?"

"An MC," I correct, throwing a garage towel at him, kneeling to tighten a wire on the bike we're building for him from parts we've salvaged from all over Los Angeles.

I got mine a few months ago—spent half of what I'd saved from all the years I've spent doing yard work.

"Sounds the fucking same to me."

I flip him off, which makes him smirk. "Think about it, man. Just a few months ago, January was almost kidnapped from the park. Curtis Kaleo and his crew are constantly coming around here, trying to start shit. Quan, Boots, and Mark don't want to join his bullshit any more than you or I do. If the five of us start our own shit together, we can hold him off."

Boots is in his early twenties, but he rides, too. Quan's been riding for a while now. And Mark's trying to scrape together the funds for a bike. There are a few others in the area who ride as well. They'll join up if they hear that we're banding together to keep Kaleo and his fucking people out of here. It's the best shot we have of protecting January.

I still lose sleep, thinking about what might have happened if Titan and I hadn't been at the park that day to protect her.

"You know Kaleo is the one who sold him the drugs," I murmur to Titan. "He never would have been in that park if it weren't for him."

Titan's jaw pulses, hatred flashing in his eyes. "I should just kill his sorry ass."

"Don't talk like that, man. You aren't like him."

"Says who?" Something dark flashes in Titan's gaze.

"Says me, asshole." I nudge him with my foot. "He's bottom of the barrel. You're going places, even if I have to drag your stubborn ass the whole way."

Titan's quiet for a long moment. "Fuck," he mutters. "It's you he wants. Not me."

I sigh because he's not wrong. Kaleo's been hounding me for the last year. I don't know why he's so persistent, but he can't seem to take a hint. I don't want anything to do with him or the Grecian Guardians. They're a fucking joke.

"He'd quit if we were the competition."

"An MC?" Titan cocks his head. "You really want to go down that road, brother?"

"No one said we have to run shit the way others do." I shrug. "If it's ours, we make our own rules. We decide what we accept and what we don't."

"I don't want bullshit around January."

"Agreed." The last thing I want is a bunch of bullshit around his little sister. She's the one I want to protect. With all five of us working together, we have a better shot of doing that than Titan and I do alone.

"Fuck it," he says, shaking his head. "Let's do it."

My phone rings, pulling me back into the present.

"What's up, Sasquatch?" I ask Roman, no longer pissed at him about January. I stopped being mad days ago. At him, anyway.

"Tristan's girl was discharged about an hour ago," he says, ignoring the nickname. It's fitting, though. He's about six-seven and built like a brick shithouse.

"Good. Any news on when he'll get to take her back to Seattle?" I ask, grinning when the curtains over the front window in the clubhouse twitch. Kaleo knows I'm out here, and he's getting curious. Good. This won't take much longer.

"Not yet. Where are you? I need a favor."

"I'm out scaring the neighborhood children. What kind of favor?"

"The kind that involves pissing people off. Kaleo not cooperating with you?"

"Kaleo's too stupid to know how to spell cooperating," I snort as the man himself steps out. "Give me thirty minutes to finish up here, and I'll be there." I disconnect the phone, shoving it into my pocket as Kaleo heads toward me.

Kaleo hasn't changed much. He's older, harder, but he's still the same jackass who thought he could manipulate me into pledging my allegiance to him. His hair is still stringy and desperately in need of a wash. The scar on his face makes him appear permanently annoyed. His nose is crooked from where I broke it years ago, but it looks like he got his front tooth fixed. He's dressed in designer brands from head to toe, but he still looks like the piece of shit he is.

What's that saying? You can take the boy out of the gutter, but can't take the gutter out of the boy? He's still nothing but trash with money to burn.

Shit. I guess that makes two of us.

"Kincaid," he says, grinning when he steps up beside my bike. Despite the fake smile plastered across his face, the angry glint in his blue eyes makes it clear he's not happy to see me. He crosses his arms, leaning up against my bike. "I thought they were joking when they said you were back in town, but here you are."

"Here I am," I agree.

"Any particular reason you're parked outside my operation, flashing that shiny badge around?" he asks when I don't immediately tell him why I'm here. He's so easy to antagonize it's almost pathetic.

"Got bored beating on little boys sent by men who don't know the definition of the word," I say with a shrug.

His fake smile slips, giving him away.

Yeah, motherfucker, I know what you've been up to lately.

"Seems to me that one of us isn't upholding his end of our bargain," I growl, done playing games with him, "and it isn't me. So, you wanna tell me why the fuck you're sending your crew into my territory to harass my girl?"

"It's not yours, Kincaid. Neither is she. Not anymore. The block is hers," he reminds me. "And she's standing between me and what I want."

"And what is it you want?"

"The park. It's prime real estate these days, and I've decided to claim it."

Of course that's what he's after. The fucking school. Kaleo calls his crew an MC, but he operates the same fucking way a street gang does, sinking his claws into kids while they're still kids. Half of his prospects don't even ride. He lures them in, promising they'll earn their bikes, and turns them into dealers or his own little human shields instead.

They go to juvie for the same shit he'd get prison time for doing, and then he moves on to the next. He's been doing the same goddamn thing for years.

Of course he wants the park so he can keep doing it.

Too bad for him because it's not his for the taking.

"I know you're not very bright, so I'm going to speak little words real slow for you just this once, Kaleo," I tell him. "January is mine. Grecian Manor is mine. The park is mine. Step to her again and I will burn your shit to the fucking ground."

"You've changed," he says after a minute, his curious gaze roving all over my face.

"And you're still the same sorry piece of shit you've always been."

"Maybe." He shrugs. "But I know all your dirty secrets, Kincaid. Think they'll let you keep that shiny little badge when they know what I do?"

"I know all yours, too," I remind him, counting to five real slow in my head to keep myself from wrapping my fist around his throat to choke the life out of him. That he thinks I'm afraid of him is laughable, but the fact that he's still trying to manipulate me into doing what he wants pisses me off.

"Yeah, about that," he says, his eyes lighting up like the Vegas strip after sunset. "Did you know there's a statute of limitations on some crimes? Like mine, for instance. I can't be prosecuted for what I did back then, but as it turns out, there is no such rule when it comes to murder, Kincaid." He grins, showing me those pearly whites of his, and then he taps a hand on the roof of my rental. "Tell January she's welcome to stay on my block, but that it is my block now. If she continues to fight me, she'll learn the hard way."

New plan. I'm going to burn his shit to the ground while he watches…and then I'm going to kill him.

Just as soon as I convince January to go somewhere else for a little while.

"Fuck," I mumble, staring at the heavy wooden door like it might bite me. I'm so goddamn nervous I'm jittery. I have no idea what I'm going to say to her or if she'll even talk to me. And the last time I stepped inside this house, my entire world imploded. Those memories threaten to invade, pushing at the walls I've put up to keep them at bay. Before I lose the nerve altogether, I reach out and knock twice.

A shuffling sound comes from inside, followed by a soft curse.

A second later, the door flies open.

"Um…" I blink at the woman standing on the other side with a wineglass in her hand, gaping at me. She's short and curvy, with rich sepia skin, dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, and glassy brown eyes behind a pair of fashionable glasses. Whoever she is, she damn sure isn't January. She's familiar, though.

"Michael Kincaid," she says, snapping her mouth closed. She stands up straight, glaring at me.

"Mariah?" I ask, blinking at her. "Mariah Dupree?"

Seems I do actually know this chick. She was January's best friend growing up, one of very few girls at school who didn't treat her like shit for being with me. Teenage girls can be vicious. Mariah was never one of them. She treated my girl like January deserved to be treated. I'm still grateful to her for that.

"What do you want?" she asks, stepping into the doorway like she's trying to block me from seeing inside. With no shoes on, she's not much taller than my girl, so it's a useless attempt.

"I'm here to see January," I mutter, raking a hand through my hair. I don't know why this chick is glaring at me like she wants to break the stem off of her glass and shiv me with it, but damn. Okay, that's not true. I know exactly why she wants to shiv me. Her loyalty to January is as solid as ever.

"Well, she doesn't want to talk to you." She lifts a perfectly penciled brow and looks me up and down. "Why are you even here anyway, Michael? You did enough damage when you walked out and left her. Why couldn't you just stay away?"

Walked out and left her? What the fuck?

"I didn't wa–"

"Mariah? Who is it?" January says from behind her, her words slurred. She peeks around Mariah's arms, her green eyes going comically wide when she sees me. She's got her hair piled up on top of her head. Her face is flushed, and her pupils dilated. She's wasted. And still so perfect it hurts to look at her.

"Are you drunk, little monster?" I ask, my voice soft. Clenching my hands into tight fists, I try to keep myself from snatching her up. Part of me wants to spank her ass for getting wasted with no one except her equally as drunk friend here to take care of her. The other part desperately wants to know what she's like when she's drinking. Is she a happy drunk? A horny drunk? I don't know. Titan and I never let her drink.

She was too fucking young. We were too goddamn overprotective.

Tears well in her eyes. "Don't call me that," she whispers.

"Why not?" I whisper back, fighting like hell to stay where I'm at instead of wiping those tears away. She's always been my baby girl—the adorable little monster I created. Titan always gave me so much hell for spoiling her, telling me I'd live to regret it. I never did. Not fucking once.

"Because I'm not yours anymore. You didn't want me."

"Fuck."

She nudges Mariah, forcing her to open the door wider. Even as a tear slips down one flushed cheek, her eyes narrow, and her nose scrunches up. She sways on her feet before grasping the doorframe to keep herself upright. If she wasn't so goddamn beautiful, the glare she shoots me then would be killer.

"You came back for another woman," she says, a thousand different emotions flowing through those emerald eyes too quickly for me to read. "I prayed so many times for you to come back for me, but you never did. You came back here for her."

What the fuck is she talking about?

"Little mons–"

"Don't call me that!" she shouts at me, her voice so loud it borders on shrill.

I snap my mouth closed. Turns out, drunk January is feisty and a little bit frightening. And I don't have the first clue how to handle her like this. I don't know why she thinks I came back here for another woman, either. There is no other woman for me. There never has been.

Did she really pray for me to come back for her?

"January, let's go inside," Mariah murmurs, tugging gently on her arm.

January brushes her off.

"Why, Cade?" she asks me, still crying. "Just tell me why."

"Why what, ba…January?" I ask, my soul fucking bleeding. I shove my hands into my pockets in a last-ditch effort to keep from grabbing her and dragging her into my arms. Watching her cry is killing me. Knowing that I'm the reason for her tears is even worse.

How could she not know she's the only woman I've ever loved?

How can she think for even a second that I'd want anyone else?

Because you haven't been here, you fucking idiot. That's why.

Jesus.

I never even fucking tried to move on. It's always been her face I saw, her body I wanted. Her name I called out when I jerked off. She haunted me, every goddamn minute of the day. She hates me, and I don't blame her for that. But she's always going to be the only one for me. I stopped trying to fight that truth a long time ago.

It hurts like hell to think that maybe she's been living the same way.

How fucked up is it that part of me is over-the-moon elated she wanted me to come back? Her happiness has always been more important to me than my own, but part of me is glad I wasn't the only one suffering. And that's precisely why I don't deserve her.

I'm glad she never moved on. And I'm a selfish son of a bitch for feeling that way.

"Why did you leave me? Why didn't you come back for me?"

"Fuck." I reach for her, the last of my control gone when her voice breaks on a sob. I drag her body into mine and wrap my arms around her. She fights me the whole way, crying and trying to hit me. Her fist catches the edge of the cut on my arm, making me hiss. I'm so much bigger than she is, though. She doesn't stand a chance of fighting me off. I hold her tightly as she sobs, her entire body shaking with the force of her cries.

And goddamn, it hurts in the best way possible. Having her in my arms feels like coming home. Like I've been dying of thirst for years and finally found a little oasis to slake my thirst. It's not enough. It's not anywhere nearly enough to satisfy me. But it's just enough to keep me alive.

She's falling apart, shattering into pieces in my arms…and all I want to do is keep holding her.

Like I said, I'm a selfish son of a bitch.

Has she cried at all since I destroyed us both?

My eyes meet Mariah's over the top of January's head to see tears slipping silently down her cheeks, and I have my answer. She hasn't. All this time, she's held onto it. She's held onto me .

Why, baby girl?

The mixture of pity and judgment in Mariah's eyes has me quickly averting my gaze. There's not a damn thing she can say to me that I haven't already said to myself a thousand times over the years. I don't need to hear it here and now. When my heart is weighed against a feather, and I'm devoured or cast into Hell or whatever happens to men like me when we die…it won't be little Mariah Dupree doing the weighing and judging.

If anyone has the right to condemn me, it's January.

Eventually, she runs out of steam.

I sweep her up into my arms. She doesn't fight me this time. She curls into me, her tears soaking into my shirt. My muscles go lax, my entire body relaxing at the feel of her in my arms and her sweet scent in my lungs after so long. My nerves are raw, and my heart is fucking bleeding, but I feel more at peace than I have in so long. So, so long.

I feel like I can finally fucking breathe again. As if the tears she cried, she cried for both of us.

Mariah steps aside, allowing me to carry my girl into the house. I keep my head down, not sure I'm strong enough to deal with January and all my memories of this place at the same time. I focus on her instead, watching the way her chest rises and falls. She's already asleep, but tears still slip down her cheeks.

I carry her into her bedroom and lay her on the bed. Her hands are so twisted up in my shirt that I have to pry them off me one at a time. When I finally do, she whimpers in her sleep and curls up in a little ball like she's trying to make herself disappear. The sight tears at my soul.

I pull her blanket up over her and then because I'm a bastard and I can't help myself, I lean down and kiss her cheek. Her skin is as soft as ever. Her sugary vanilla scent fills my lungs to bursting and I know I have to get the fuck out of here now. If I don't, I'm going to lose it.

"Take care of her," I rasp to Mariah, who's standing in the doorway. Without waiting for her answer, I flee like the fucking coward I am.