Chapter 2

CHAPTER

TWO

PIKE

The dream was always the same. Cold, all the way down to the bone. The pond water lapped at my ankles as I was shoved forward, the hand hard between my shoulder blades. I was sinking, water lapping over my chin, my nose, closing over my eyes. Toes sinking into the muck that squirmed with only God knew what. I prayed to God then, when I was small.

I woke with a start amongst rumpled sheets, breath heaving in my chest like I'd been holding it in. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes as I sat up, trying to collect myself. Sometimes, I could go months with no nightmares, and then they'd come with a vengeance, hitting me hard night after night. Right now, they were worse than they'd ever been.

Splashing my face with water and pouring myself a finger of whiskey, I moved outside to the patio. I knew better than to believe that I could get back to sleep.

My end-unit apartment's selling point was its decent patio and a tiny yard. Flopping onto a deck chair, I looked into the vast Arizona sky. Suddenly, when my life was starting to get onto a good path, it seemed like it was going to shit.

The night was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt almost unnatural in a town like Morinrock. The stillness was both a comfort and a reminder of the chaos lurking just beneath the surface of my life. The stars were scattered across the sky, offering a false sense of peace.

I couldn't shake the feeling of that dream, the sinking sensation of being unable to breathe. It always left me rattled, but this time, it felt different, more urgent. It was as if my subconscious was trying to tell me something important that I couldn't quite grasp.

Taking a sip of the whiskey, I let the burn ground me in the present. I let myself think for a minute about Natasha Petrova. She was a fucking surprise. When the door had opened to the shitty interrogation room, I'd expected another one of the Morinrock police officers to come in for more questioning. They'd been taking turns hauling me in on bogus charges to poke at me, trying to make me crack, make some dumb mistake. Idiots.

But instead, in had walked Natasha. Dimitri mentioned her, but I didn't believe she'd show up. Some fancy Bratva lawyer? Fuck. My luck was never that good on my best day. I would have never imagined her as such a knockout either, with that long dark hair or those eyes the color of storms. I was hard just thinking about how she had moaned a little when she took that first bite of her burger.

She'd handled that cop like a pro, too. I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could help me out of this mess. Natasha seemed smart as a whip. If she was used to keeping mob bosses out of jail, surely she could help me, right? Yeah, she didn't believe me about Eli, but she'd said she would look into it. That had to be good enough.

I took another sip of whiskey, letting the warmth spread through me. The dream, Natasha, and the ever-present threat of returning to prison swirled in my mind. I needed to focus. Natasha had asked for details, my alibi, and any information I had about Porter.

Michael Porter. The name conjured up a storm of emotions. The absolute piece of shit had been one of our foster placements, the fifth, the eighth? It was hard to keep track when you were flotsam on an ocean tide. He was just another stop for my brother and me. He'd been our initiation into the terrible side of what our life had become—an abuser of the worst sort who liked little boys; the younger, the better.

We'd been there for two months, Eli and I, until we'd been moved. Two hellish months where I'd done my very best to hide Eli when I could. It wasn't enough to protect him. Slamming the rest of the whiskey, I closed my eyes but stopped myself. Closing them wasn't any use. Eyes wide open was better. Best to see what was coming for you.

Natasha had been clear about one thing: I needed a solid alibi. It pissed me off more than I could say at the injustice of it all. This was just another fuck you to kids in the foster system. I racked my brain, trying to remember every detail of the morning I'd found Porter. I'd been at the bar that night with the rest of the Cobras, but I needed more than just the word of my brothers to back me up. We were all suspects in the eyes of the law.

In the early morning, I'd gone out to my bike once the bar had wound down. The night had been wild, a Saturday, and we'd had a shipment go through. It'd gone well. The Cobras were partying hard, both individually and with the ladies from the titty bar around the corner. After closing, they flocked to the Snake Pit to make extra tips depending on the night. If the mood was right, most ladies were parked on Cobra laps.

I'd parked it around the corner. There on the bus stop, sprawled naked as a jaybird, was Michael fucking Porter. It'd been thirty years since I'd seen Porter, but I'd recognized him, even with his eyes gone, and time hadn't been kind, which was good. He was still a fat fuck, and the alcohol had caught up to him, blowing out the capillaries in his face. Of course, the fact that he had the big ‘x' carved in it didn't help. If it was Eli, I was surprised the guy still had his cock. Porter's arms were spread across the back of the bus stop as if he were lounging there, legs set in the "man spread," so to speak. The body was staged even to my eyes, but I'd gone up and stared at it. The large birthmark had given the identity away, but I didn't mention it to the police.

For days, I'd spun theories and speculations in my head about how he had got there. Who might have killed him? Was he a message to me? Punishment? Connection to the Cobras, maybe? Something I did inside? None of it made any sense. It was the eyes. It kept coming back to the eyes.

My phone pinged.

Dimitri: You ok? Natasha said the cops hauled you in.

Me: Fine.

Dimitri: She's smart as fuck. She'll get this sorted.

Me: Thx for calling her. I'll keep you posted.

I appreciated Dimitri checking in. The Iron Brotherhood was my friend Maddox's club, and his sergeant at arms, Dimitri, called Natasha. Thinking about Maddox, I owed him a conversation. Fuck, I've owed him a conversation for years now. Well, that was going to be a problem for another day.

I finished the whiskey and set the glass down, feeling the first light of dawn creeping over the horizon. It was going to be a long day. I wasn't sure I was ready for it, but at least I wasn't in a cage. That was something. Glass half full.

?

Morning waited for nobody, but at least I got to ride for a while. I'd learned I could get out on the road when the nightmares were bad. The desert was forgiving. Everything faded when all I could hear was the roar of the pipes and the rumble of the bike underneath me. I could subconsciously focus on meeting the next curve instead of worrying about a nightmare dragging me under.

Once I got to the Pit, I got engrossed in my work and snagged a cup of coffee before spreading out the stack of papers I needed to look at. We'd had some trouble at one of our warehouses. There had been a fire behind one of the buildings, and we couldn't figure out how it started. Luckily, one of our prospects was nearby and had put it out. Managing the club had been more work than I thought it'd be. There were disputes, spreadsheets, and organizing shit. School had never been my forte, but prison had allowed me to catch up, and I was determined to make the most of it. When Natasha arrived, I was knee-deep in my tasks, and she looked up with a nod as I approached.

"Morning," I said, motioning for her to sit. Today, she looked stunning in a silky blouse paired with an alluringly wrapped skirt that showed off her figure. Everything about her screamed money, from her fancy manicure to those damn shoes of hers that made her legs look amazing. I'll bet she got some catcalls coming up my office stairs. The thought suddenly pissed me off.

"You staying over at Dimitri and Hollis'?" I asked to take my mind off the thought.

"For now," she admitted. "Our family isn't close, and I wanted to reconnect with Dimitri. To meet Hollis and Olive. This is a good opportunity to do it. He likes you," she added.

I wasn't so sure that Dimitri liked anyone other than his fiance and her little girl. Maybe he liked Maddox, so we had that in common. He'd been kind enough to call in a favor to bring Natasha in to help me, so I suppose he liked me well enough. I'd been surprised when he offered.

"I've been going over everything we have so far. We need to tighten up your alibi," she said, looking uncomfortable as she set her briefcase on the chair next to her and opened it up. Ok, we could go down this road. She was my lawyer. She was on my side. I'd told myself that over and over last night, too, but I wasn't very trusting. My life had been an example of why I shouldn't trust people. Her dark hair curled over her shoulders, brushing against the soft skin of her cheeks as she arranged her tools the way she liked. Fuck, she was classy. I tried to organize my thoughts, but they felt scattered around her.

"Ok, well, I was here with the Cobras. We'd partied pretty hard that night." I waited for a frown from her but didn't get one. "It was a Saturday, and the shipment went well. Boys were riding high, so there was some celebrating involved." I wasn't sure how much information to give and what was better to withhold, but she just nodded, marking a notepad. She'd scooched forward so she could use the edge of the desk, encroaching just far enough into my space that I caught an intriguing hint of peppermint candy. I wondered what she'd do if I reached a hand out to touch that bow of her lips or slide my thumb between them.

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Well, that's not information we can give law enforcement, as I assume it wasn't legal?" She chewed the tip of her pen, but I knew it wasn't a question. "Can you give me a small list of some of the club members present that evening at the after-party that might vouch for you?"

"Sure, sugar, but they'd all vouch. The cops will poke a hole in that in a hot minute."

She continued as if I didn't speak, "What time did you leave? Approximately?"

"Just before five in the morning. I only know because I called the police after I found the body. I stayed at the Pit all night, did some office work, then was going to go for a ride. As I was headed for my bike … that's when I found Porter." She looked up from the notepad. I could see her notes, small bullet points in black ink—the highlights of our conversation and arrows with questions.

"Was anyone downstairs still? When did you come down? Or was the party still going on?" Her pen poised; those grey eyes were locked on me over the desktop. I scribbled out the shortlist and passed it over to her, brushing against her fingers when I gave it to her to feel if her skin was as soft as I thought. Her eyes flew to mine as she snatched the list from my hand.

"These people were there when I came down. I wouldn't necessarily call them reliable witnesses, but it is what it is, I guess."

She huffed, leaning back in the chair, brushing her hair back as she adjusted herself. "Look. I need you to let me decide who and what facts are important. I ask the questions, and you answer them. We will run into enough roadblocks from other people without throwing them up ourselves."

My jaw tightened. I hated to be told what to do or how to do it. It was how I ended up being in this damn position at this desk. I couldn't stand that last president. He was a dumb fucker who was running the club into the ground and kept giving lame ass orders. Natasha had a point, though. I could see that. "Understood," I ground out, but I was pleased my fingers tingled from the contact. I'd take annoyance over indifference. I liked riling her up.

"Is there another way out of the Pit other than the front door?"

"Yeah, it's part of the fire code. Has to be a secondary exit. You can get out through the back, but the door is busted. The alarm will blare in the whole place. I turned in a work order with the alarm company to get it fixed, but they're taking forever." Her face lit up like it was Christmas.

"Was it broken before you found Porter? Was the work order already in?" she asked excitedly. Her whole chest flushed, and I wondered if the same thing happened during sex. I couldn't wait to find out.

"Yeah."

"Excellent. That locks you into one entrance, then." I nodded, although I wasn't sure why she was so excited. We still had a major problem. No way was the DA going to alibi me based on the word of a bunch of felons. "Any security footage that places you here at the time of the murder? Saturday evening?" Her eyes came back to me and narrowed into angry slits. "Why are you looking at me like that? We're close to a breakthrough here. Focus."

"Sorry, sugar. No, we don't have cameras here." She nodded as if that wasn't a problem. She seemed completely at ease now, a smile curving over her face.

"Tell me more about this shipment. Were you involved at all?" I frowned at her. "The coroner has the time of death at approximately midnight to one A.M. … What were you doing then?" Oh, I caught her drift now.

"I was at the diner before the run. It should have been around midnight. Meet wasn't until two. There will be a receipt at the diner. Daisy can vouch for me. She's the redhead waitress there, but she's clean. No record. Jury would love her." I sighed in relief and leaned back in the old desk chair, letting the worn-out springs rock a little, which led to me thinking of Natasha on my lap.

"I'll talk to the people you listed, the alarm company, and Daisy. We can pull some traffic cams around the area if the cops get a little squirrely. That'd place you around the diner and the area just to be safe. But we have plenty to establish you were nowhere near the kill site. If the cops want to keep hauling you in for this, they'll have some trouble with me about it. We'll have all the evidence to establish a solid alibi." I looked at her in wonder as she made notes furiously on the legal pad, underlining a few things and making arrows to other things. She was writing so hard that I could see the impressions of the pen on the paper from where I sat. There was intensity in every line of her body as she worked on her thoughts.

Wow, she was good. Dimitri hadn't exaggerated. Relief washed over me. I had thought I was destined again for the cage. I wasn't sure I could have done another stint in prison. In a rush, I stood from my desk and paced a little. The office was always a test for me; the windowless room pushed my boundaries with feelings of claustrophobia. It wasn't a small office, but there were just tiny windows that led to a sense of being closed in.

Finally, she finished her notes and tapped on the paper thoughtfully with the tip of her pencil as she looked up at me. "We need to consider motive here. Can you think about that?"

"Motive?" I asked, stumped. "What do you mean?"

"Why someone would put Porter's body here of all places." Her face was tilted to watch as I paced, her pretty mouth pursed.

It made me think about that mouth of hers as I focused on those lips, stuck on the question. Now all I could think about was how good they'd look, sucking my cock while I thrust between her lips until I made her gag. Now, that was an image I could get behind. I sat on the edge of the desk, knowing I was crowding into her space more than was polite. Subtly, she shifted, but not to move back; no, the little minx shifted to clench her thighs together. This turned her on. Natasha Petrova was attracted to me. Her cheeks flared with pink.

I leaned on my palms, acting like I didn't have a care in the world. "You think someone could have done this to set me up? If it isn't Eli," I qualified.

"Let's keep all possibilities open." She gave me a measured look, making sure to look in my eyes and not glance at my crotch where she would see the unmistakable evidence of my interest in more than the case. "There could be other suspects. Anyone with a grudge against you or the club?"

I thought about it. "Plenty of people have grudges against us. Comes with the territory. But setting me up for murder? That's a different level of vendetta."

Natasha nodded, considering. "Think about rivals, business disputes, anyone who might benefit from you being out of the picture."

I frowned. "There's always tension with other clubs, but nothing that's gotten this personal recently. Business has been smooth, too. Maybe a bit too smooth? I don't fucking know. I could talk it over with Maddox and see what he thinks."

"What about within your club?" Natasha asked, her eyes sharp. "Any internal conflicts? Power struggles?"

I hesitated. "Not really. There's always some jostling for position, but nothing major. Everyone knows their place."

She tapped her pen against her notepad, deep in thought. "We need to look at every angle, Pike. Anyone with a motive to frame you needs to be considered. What about when you served time? Anyone that stood out as having a beef with you?"

That feeling of being trapped was so strong that it enveloped me in a suffocating grip. The walls were closing in, the air thickening every second. Memories of the prison cell—small, gray, and unyielding—flooded back, making breathing hard—the clanking of bars, the relentless scrutiny of the guards, the constant battle to maintain sanity.

"I guess," I finally managed to say, my voice tight. "A name comes to mind, Virgil Holder. We had a... disagreement. He made it clear he had a long memory and a thirst for revenge. I'd be surprised if this were him, though. How would he know?"

Natasha nodded, scribbling down the name, not answering my question. "Anyone else?"

I racked my brain, the feeling of claustrophobia intensifying. The pressure of the situation, combined with the flashbacks, was almost too much. "O'Connor," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. "He was a guard. A real piece of work. Took pleasure in making our lives hell. Wouldn't be surprised if he held a grudge."

"Good," she said, looking up from her notes. "We'll start with them. If you remember anything else, let me know."

I nodded, trying to focus on the present, on the fact that I was no longer behind bars. But the feeling of being trapped lingered a dark cloud that refused to dissipate. She stood, that peppermint scent wafting around her, silk brushing me. She was so close.

"Pike, we did good work today." Out of all her statements, this one was hesitant and comforting. I lifted my head to find those eyes of hers. We got your alibi established." She reached out a hand to grip mine. That's a good thing. You're not going back," she said vehemently.

Her mistake had been to touch me. I was burning inside, waves of energy that needed an outlet. Yanking her towards me, I didn't even care that her eyes widened in surprise. I liked that little look of fear, but I caught that her pupils dilated as my mouth crashed hard on hers and took what I wanted. Capturing her mouth, I plundered it and took it for my own. Cupping her ass, I pulled her against my cock so she could feel that I was ready to fuck her right now if she'd let me.

She pulled away from me, albeit reluctantly. "Pike, I..." Her breath hitched, making her hard nipples skate across the fabric of her blouse.

"I'm not sorry," I said belligerently.

"I don't want you to be sorry. I need to be professional. This is important to me."

I nodded stiffly. Her clothing was rumpled, her lips swollen and plump, the color high on her cheeks. "If I think of anything, I'll text." She seemed uncomfortable, but I couldn't find it in me to care. I only wanted her back in my arms where I could kiss her.

"Great," she said, smoothing her skirt. "I'll start looking into the people you mentioned. If there's anything at all that seems off, I'll find it. Meanwhile, keep your head down and try not to attract any more attention."

I ground my teeth at her directive. The last thing I wanted to do was ‘keep my head down' unless it was between her skirts, but I didn't think that's what she meant. I watched her leave, her heels clicking against the floor with a confidence that belied the intensity of the situation. Her presence was a strange mix of comfort and chaos, making me feel more secure and on edge at the same time.

After she left, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were missing a crucial piece of the puzzle. I pulled out my phone and started going through my contacts, making a mental list of people to contact. Someone may have seen or heard something that could point us in the right direction, and I couldn't afford to overlook any potential leads.