18. Cam

eighteen

Cam

I got itchy if she stayed out of my sight for too long. Even here. Which was fucking ridiculous. I was obsessing, acting like an idiot over a girl. Not something I'd ever done, but Riley was different.

She's in danger.

And there was that. There were things I knew for certain: Archer hadn't killed himself. He and Preacher had been fighting for months, but about what I couldn't ever be sure. My money was on the deal Preacher wanted with the rednecks.

Riley came back to the living area just as we folded up the last table, Merc carting one out under each arm. I'd have taken one from him, but the scowl on her face stopped me. The urge to know what had happened, to stalk into the kitchen and put my fist through someone's face, was so strong I took a step back from her. Gesturing to the front porch, I followed Merc out and lit a cigarette.

"What's up?" I took a long drag, focused on the swirl of smoke on my tongue and the burn in my chest. Anything to keep from acting like some idiot with a hard on. I'd brought her here on the back of my bike, wearing my leather—I'd drawn enough attention to us .

Because I wanted them all—every last fucking man in this county—to know she was mine.

She blinked up at me with those hazel eyes with flecks of green and gold and then shook her head as if to clear it. "Nothing. Just thinking." She looked down and grinned, like we were sharing some sort of secret.

I could eat her alive.

If she'd come to me, wrapped her arms around my middle like I'd wanted her to, I would have held her right there.

I'd barely known her a week. Jesus .

"About what?" I flicked the ash, watched the little ember float away and disappear into the night.

"This is the closest thing to a real family I think I've ever seen."

My chest tightened, pride making me stand a little straighter. "A shit load better than what I was born with."

She leaned on the rail, looking out into the small rock and shrub garden I'd helped Dylan plant a few summers before. "I had Mom, always thought that was enough until…"

"You didn't have anyone else." I finished for her when she trailed off. It was a sentiment I understood and the reason I'd clung so tightly to the Kings.

"It's never been easy like this."

"All of us aren't like this."

She caught my gaze, wrapped her arms around herself, and nodded as if she understood. But how could I explain to her when—if I did, I'd be going against the vows that had saved me? Turning my back on the only real family I'd ever had.

"Well, thank you for showing the parts of you that are."

I put the cigarette out on the rail, dropped it into the little bucket set in the corner, and then rolled the fading tension from my shoulders about the time AP cracked open the door. "Yo Savage, I need you at the Black Cat by midnight."

Black Cat meant putting my game face on. After what Merc had said about Ky's girls, I wouldn't be surprised if I had to answer some questions when I got there. Sure, the club needed to handle business, but Archer was barely in the ground.

AP's expression was solemn. "It's the kid. You know he won't deal with Preacher. I need the two of you, punk." There was truth in what he said about Ky. The younger Ukrainian got sketchy when Preacher was around.

Hell, I couldn't blame him.

"The Black Cat?" Riley's sultry voice licked at my attention. When I glanced back at her, she was looking at me with that never ending curiosity.

"It's a titty bar!" Dekes drunk shout cracked out of the screen door.

I sighed. "It's business."

"Sure, it is." But she was grinning.

I expected her to be jealous, to act out. She surprised me again and didn't.

"I'll get Dylan to drive you home and have someone hang out there until I get back."

"Okay." The teasing tone left her voice. "I'll be fine."

She didn't know our world like I did. Dylan could stay at the house, Puck and a few other guys outside.

I leaned in, almost brushing my lips against hers. It felt natural to kiss her like that. But the closer I got, the more my body heated, and I wanted to do more than drop a quick kiss. I wanted to mold her body to mine, kiss her hard and remind her of all the dirty things I was going to do to her when I got back.

There was a flash of knowing across her face and her cheeks turned a vibrant shade of pink as she looked away.

"Be safe."

Those two words, spoken as she glanced away, were almost my undoing.

Nobody had ever cared if I was safe or not.

Then she laughed. "No running from the cops and doing crazy shit."

She really had no idea.

"And go easy on the lap dances. I haven't had a real shot yet."

Or maybe she did.

***

The final pop of my exhaust echoed across the valley as I cut the bike off. Ahead of me, Merc was already hopping off his and shrugging out of his cut. The clubhouse was empty. The only sound was the hum from the flickering neon signage that hung on the sun-faded brick.

I followed him, hanging my leather on the back of a chair as we worked in silence, changing into a Rocky's HVAC t-shirt.

"I'm driving." He snatched the keys off the table right as Preacher's text rolled through on my phone. I rubbed at the hairs that prickle up the back of my neck and made the place behind my ear itch.

Be there in half an hour.

"Preacher?" Merc asked, before locking the clubhouse door behind us.

When I cut him a sideways look, he chuckled and fired up the work van. "He's not about to let that shit go."

Preacher probably thought he could intimidate the youngest Ukrainian into selling weapons to the rednecks. "Or maybe he's going to make a play over his head?"

Merc's skeptic, sideways glance said everything. "That's not going to happen."

"Nope." Ky wasn't someone to fuck around with. Sure, he looked slick and clean—but I wouldn't turn my back on him.

The van rattled over a pothole. The entire cab smelled like old copper. But there was nothing in the back except a few empty freon jugs that would rattle in their rack at every pothole we hit. We'd made this trip so many times in the last eighteen months I could almost pretend I was working on air conditioners from nine to five for a crummy pension.

And going home to a woman like her…

Something like fear jerked me upright before I settled into the passenger seat. My hands were sweaty, my mouth dry, and even the cool air blasting from the vents was blistering against my skin. I'd never expected to see my thirtieth birthday. Now I imagined a normal life with a woman I had no right to.

"You thinking the Preacher shit is going to go sideways?"

It could, but that wasn't why I suddenly felt like I was going to hurl.

"Nah." I lit a cigarette and despised the trembling of my fingers.

"Archer?" There were very few people who knew what I'd done, that knew the dark shit that lived in my past. Not that Merc would call me on it. He had his own in spades, but he understood what losing Archer meant to me.

When I didn't answer, his tone changed, surprised. "Something with the girl?"

The smoke curled out of the window when I cracked it. I focused on those gray swirls, settling myself, much like tracing burns in the carpet, gave me something to focus on when Mom would shoot up. That memory was a reminder of all the reasons I could never have a normal life with anyone, much less Riley.

Because then I remembered the years that followed, the darkness that lingered there.

I'd seen too much shit. Done too much shit.

We turned off the highway well before the bright lights of the strip.

When I'd met Merc, he'd just been Jace. AP's kid, the only one around close to my age. We were friends from the jump. Ride or die before our sixteenth birthdays. Underneath the dark beard and shaggy hair was a loyal bastard who tolerated zero bullshit.

Jace Merrick knew me almost as good as I knew myself.

"Don't know." I took a drag and tapped the ashes over the edge of the glass. "I'm still working it out." Translation: I'd tell him when I had something to tell.

"Might want to let her know if you aren't playing for keeps."

When I snarled at him and ditched the cigarette, he rolled his eyes and snorted a laugh. "It's all connected. Archer's gone, you're marking territory everywhere she goes, and pissing Preacher off. Let me know if I need to hop off this Savage train of self-sabotage."

Never failed that when he really wanted to have an opinion on shit, it was something I didn't want to fucking hear. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it?"

I thought for a minute. "Fuck. I can't explain that shit either."

He didn't push and for a long time we rode in silence, just endless moonlit highway broken up here or there by passing headlights in the opposite lane.

"Be careful."

That was the second time someone had said that to me in the past few hours. My response was a half-annoyed grunt.

The flickering lights of The Black Cat Gentleman's Club lit his face as we pulled into the parking lot. Even the beard didn't hide the hard line of his mouth. I hadn't told her shit, hadn't explained the rules. But I'd done it to protect her. I couldn't explain that to Jace, not yet. I'd have to leave him with his opinions.

I climbed from the passenger seat. Preacher and Band Aid, a burly guy with a baby face, were already waiting outside with Kyrylo Soletsky. The heir to the Ukrainian mafia had a baby face that would fool just about anyone.

But I knew better. The cheap grin as Preacher talked was fake as fuck.

"About damn time." Ky's smile vanished from his face but twinkled, real, in his eyes.

I slapped my hand into his and let him pull me into a back smacking hug.

"Looks good on you." He tugged at the front of my t-shirt. "Maybe I won't lose any of my girls to the back of your bike tonight." There was no accent to his English. He'd grown up in Vegas. But he switched easily to Ukrainian to issue a few curt commands as we followed him into the club.

The lights and smells were all familiar. They used to leave me feeling at ease, maybe excited. The dancers here were as hot as any I'd seen in the city. And yet, I could only think about Riley.

I locked gazes with Preacher as we ducked off into Ky's office, and the spot behind my ear itched again. I let the older guy go in first, not trusting him not to knife me in the back. This was a brotherhood, with no place for that distrust and yet...

"The agreed-upon amount?" Preacher asked as soon as the door shut behind us. Asserting his dominance, an attempt to remind the younger men in the room he was in charge.

Ky nodded.

"Have you considered our offer?" Preacher barreled on, not giving him a chance to respond further.

Ky caught my gaze in the mirror across from his desk and made a face. Preacher was going over as well as a shovel to the skull. I'd not talked to Ky about this. Hell, I'd adamantly argued against Preacher's bullshit right alongside Archer.

"I have. My answer remains the same."

The tall Ukrainian looked at home in the dark wood and leather covered office. He wore all black, with the occasional flash of gold around his neck, in his ears, and on his fingers.

"Why not? White boy money spends as good as brown." The growl in Preacher's voice was meant to be threatening.

Ky considered a bottle of vodka, put it back, and poured shots of expensive tequila before turning and passing them out, purposely not answering. There would be no intimidating the guy who grew up with gangsters and war. He might live here, but he'd been home more than a few times.

Ky took his shot, swallowed, and smiled before hitching a hip on the corner of his large desk. "I don't shit where I eat. You shouldn't either."

I shot mine and dropped the glass on the sidebar. Preacher stopped short of scowling, but the man hated tequila—hell, his racist ass hated everything that came across the border. This was extra salt in the wound, not on the rim.

The grin I exchanged with Ky meant he knew it, too.

"Product is being loaded now." Then he looked directly at me, and any good humor egging on Preacher had brought to the room was sucked out. "For you, my friend, and in honor of Archer, my uncles have agreed on a good faith deal. Two days until we expect our payment—minus your cut, of course. The next run, we take half up front."

The ride I would make tomorrow.

Merc took a pointed interest in his shot glass. The vein in Preacher's neck throbbed visibly.

"Wait." Preacher folded his arms across his chest, his gut sticking out far enough he rested them on top of it. "I think I need to talk with Val."

"I'm curious why you think he'd entertain that conversation?" Ky's left brow raised.

Preacher's jaw clenched, forcing his handlebar mustache to raise like he'd just stepped in shit. I covered my chuckle with a cough and wiped a hand over my mouth. Our money stopped at Ky. The only one in the room who had ever spoken to any of his uncles about business was Merc.

"Because I think a renegotiation is in order."

Ky's shoulders went rigid like a fighter just before the bell. The four of us fanned out around him. But I wasn't fooled. We didn't have the high ground here. "None of my uncles will negotiate. Not for you, not for the goddamn president."

The door pushed open, a large body shouldered right behind Band Aid, then another, evening the odds.

"Let's chill," I interrupted, both hands up for peace. And then to Preacher. "This deal was already made in good faith, already set up with the buyers." You don't want to piss them off.

I wasn't about to get beat down by Ukrainian mobsters because Preacher wanted to measure his dick. Merc stood closer to me, out of the immediate line of fire.

When I offered my hand, Ky grabbed my forearm and pulled me to him again. The Ukrainians were touchier than the cartel, for damn sure.

Releasing me, he turned to Preacher. "Two days."

His face tight with barely contained rage, the older man nodded once, slammed the shot glass onto Ky's desk with too much force and stormed out.

"My uncles do want to speak to you," he said low to Merc.

My friend rapped his knuckles against Ky's. "I'll make it happen."

"And make him understand, I won't sell local. Not to those methed-up hicks, and if he keeps it up, not to the club either."

"I hear you, brother." I bumped his fist with mine and went out into the club.

Preacher's shit was going to boil over for Merc if I didn't put a stop to it. There were things Merc didn't like to think about—much less talk about. A part of his life that was darker than selling cluster bombs and other explosives to the cartel. Not to mention the cartel weren't the only ones who got weapons from the Soletskys.

It's how the Kings protected our part of the desert.

Fuck.

When he wasn't right behind me, I turned to see him watching a dancer on the main stage. She wore a blue wig and little else. I looked away before he did. Had I not had another woman on my mind, I might not have.

"Know her?"

Merc snapped his head up and out of whatever trance he'd been in. "Nah, but…she looks familiar."

"Don't they all, brother?" I smacked his shoulder with a laugh. And with that, we walked out.