Chapter 2

TWO

brAXTON

" M iles is going to fucking kill you. You know that, right?" Blaze asks, leaning over the open trunk of the Lexus.

I absently move my toothpick in my mouth, a habit I picked up since I've tried to stop smoking—something to keep my mouth busy.

Miles is our leader but is also my brother, so I get more leeway than others. But this?

No. I fucked up.

He asked me to watch a subject, Carter Williams. When I saw her, I moved in. I watched him for days, but this was the first time I saw her emerge from their house.

After a lot of screaming.

I sat back, watching her beat her Lexus with her purse—likely just as expensive as the car. Then, the wind blew, sending her scent toward me, and something feral snapped within me. Something I've been keeping a lid on for a long fucking time.

"What are you going to do with her?" Blaze finally asks, bringing me back to reality.

I hadn't thought that far. I wanted something, so I'd taken it. Besides, he owes us. Technically, her father is the man we're after, but her twat of a fiancé stands to gain it all right off her back.

I cock my head. "Put her in the clubhouse, in the bedroom. Secure her, though. Don't want the little bitch getting loose."

Blaze whistles but nods. "And here I thought you took her because you wanted to play with her."

I had, but on the way back, reason had set in. Logic has a way of getting in the fucking way of all the fun.

"Where are you going?" Blaze shouts when I turn and head down the gravel drive leading out of the property.

"To get my bike!" I growl, brooding off into the night. The long walk should calm me down. Hopefully, Miles will be calm when I return to the house because it'll likely be morning by then.

"Fuck, what have I done?" I groan, scrubbing my face as I step onto the main road.

The clubhouse, shop, and house are all located where the pavement runs out on Snake Avenue, right off the highway. Dad chose it because of its name—with our group being the Cobras—it seemed fitting.

Carter Williams is but a peon to us—a way into Montague Enterprises' front door. A weasel like him will do anything to save his life, while Walter Montague is more brilliant than ten Carters put together. He covers his tracks, and he does nothing if it's going to fall back on him.

That's why we haven't been able to take him down. Other subjects get handled quickly and efficiently, while our problem with him runs deeper than anything a client could bring to us.

Our mother went missing ten years ago—almost eleven—under his roof.

Dad turned the Cobras into his team of private detectives, searching high and low for her. The organization morphed into one where anyone in the surrounding counties knew they could come when they had a problem—one where only a quiver of Cobras could save the day.

We work for little pay, stealing what we need to run from those who can afford it. The pricks that fuck over the little people.

Robin Hood's got nothing on us, either. We've turned this town into a place where we're revered. Us. A gang of motorcycle-riding, leather-wearing, rowdy, unkempt men.

My phone dings, and I roll my eyes before looking at it.

She's still knocked out but all secure.

Thanks.

Are you going to tell Miles, or should I?

I'll handle it, Blaze.

It was nice knowing you.

Snarling, I slide my phone back into my pocket and pull another toothpick out.

A car slows beside me, and I sneak a slight look towards it over my shoulder. A light rain is falling, and it's sliding down the leather of my jacket in tiny drops.

"Need a ride?" the blonde woman behind the wheel asks.

"I think I'll be alright. You best get on home before the rain gets heavier."

I turn back and continue walking, but she doesn't speed off.

"You're one of them , aren't you? You're a Cobra!"

I close my eyes in annoyance. She'd have known that if she had glanced at the back of my jacket. Or maybe she had, and she's just trying to fake ignorance.

"Yes, ma'am, I am." She seems to be my age—twenty-seven—but Dad beat in respect for us, and it stuck.

"You helped my cousin a few months back. Come on, get in. I'll take you where you need to go. We owe you more than you took from us, that's for sure."

I look at the outstretched road ahead, the rain coming down steadily from above. I have at least fifteen miles of walking to return to my bike, and then I have to drive back in the pelting rain.

"Fine, if you're sure it's not a problem."

I hold the handle, letting her look at the one Cobra member no one's seen up close. The one they call The Ghost . I rarely leave my dungeon of tech. Seldom do I even ride with the quiver.

She swallows but smiles anyway.

What exactly did we do for her cousin?

"Get on in. I'll turn the seat warmer on for you."

I try to be polite and not roll my eyes at the mention of such a frivolous luxury.

My idea of luxury is riding my bike without rain slapping my helmet. But on nights like tonight, when a war is brewing in me, the rain helps wash it away.

I slowly put the window back up as she speeds off, two hands on the wheel.

She's uncomfortable.

"What was it we did for your cousin?" I ask.

She shifts in her seat, and I regret asking instantly. This is why I don't leave the property. I argued that fact with Miles when he asked me to watch Carter at his new house in town.

Before, we didn't have access to Carter since Montague Enterprises was tightly locked down. Most higher-up executives live in Portland or surrounding cities, where other clubs monitor the area. We don't need a turf war on our hands. But Carter bought a house in Twin Pines, which gave us a shot at getting eyes on him.

Since Miles and the crew were working on another case at the factory in town, he needed me, so I obliged.

I bet he doesn't make that mistake again.

"She was raped," the woman finally says, and I stop whirling inside my head like I'm on a Ferris wheel and turn towards her. "You all helped when the cops wouldn't."

I nod absently. "Last fall?"

She nods but doesn't speak, her face giving nothing away.

There's the slightest tremor in her locked arms as her hands white-knuckle the steering wheel.

I remember that case. A girl in her early twenties had been raped on the TPU campus. The cops and the campus police fought for jurisdiction.

Campus police won the argument and swept everything under the rug. Even though I found camera footage with the fucker's face on it clear as day. It showed him knocking her over the head as she ran past, and then he dragged her into the bushes just off the running path.

They hadn't wanted the scandal.

They avoided it while we funneled funds from a secret university account nearly hidden from me—an account that made these kinds of things disappear.

Some money went to the victim, and some were in our pockets. While the perp will never fuck another woman, or even his hand, again.

"How is she?" I ask, the silence ringing in my ears as she drives down the highway.

"She's gotten a lot of help and is doing much better. Before we reached out to you all, before you helped, I was certain she'd end it all." A tear slides down her face.

My hand itches to comfort her, but comfort isn't what I'm good at.

My hands are made for keys and bikes .

"I'm glad she's doing well," I say, the words sounding forced, even to me.

The navigation spews directions to Carter's house, and she enters the neighborhood. She eyes me a few times knowingly. I don't live here, but she'll keep her eyes front and her nose out of my business. Everyone in Twin Pines does.

Who we are in the community and what we stand for means more than whatever the fuck we're up to.

I'd parked my bike down the street, but she dropped me in front of Carter's house. When she's out of sight, I begin the trek to my bike.

Rain is falling now in a heavy downpour, and it's what I'll need to drown out the noise in my fucking head. I know a shitstorm is coming, and I know it's my fault.

This is why I don't leave the fucking house!

Once my helmet is firmly on, I start the engine, the rumble between my thighs snaking through me. I rev it before lifting the stand and pushing away from the curb.

As the rain beats my leather and soaks through the jeans that had almost dried on the drive over here, all I can see is my finger skating down her face. The blue of her eyes filled with fear. I throttle hard, pulling out onto the highway in a rage.

I don't know how or why I'd lost my good fucking sense, but I know I'll never live it down.

Miles's leg shakes violently as he sits in the chair before me. His head is in his hands, his breathing erratic.

"Why the fuck would you do this?" he asks for the second time.

I don't have an answer for him now, either.

"Something about her…"

He laughs, sitting back in his chair. I'm at least thankful he did this shit in private. The last thing I need is to be the laughingstock of the fucking club for weeks. I know I still will be; it'll just be said behind my back.

That I can deal with, though.

"Something about her? She's Walter's daughter! We're nowhere near ready to move in on him, Brax!"

I nod, closing my eyes to hide the shame in them. It's rare I fuck up. I honestly don't think I ever fucked up before. I'm the one Miles sends after quiver members who do shit like I just pulled.

He sighs when I don't give another answer and scrubs his face.

He and I aren't blood-related, but he's my fucking brother, and I hate disappointing him. But I can't explain the insanity that comes over me sometimes, and he knows that.

"Man, I'll fix it," he finally says, giving me a soft look that I fucking hate because it means he knows I broke. That the manic side of me had overtaken me, and I had no control.

I open my mouth to say I'm sorry, and he raises his hand and shakes his head. "Where is she? "

"The clubhouse, in the bedroom. Blaze said he secured her for me."

"Blaze is in on this, too?"

I shake my head. "No, he told me you were going to fucking kill me."

Miles stands, rubbing his hand through his dirty blond hair. "But he still helped you."

"More like he's afraid of me, so he listened to my order," I counter.

A huff of air leaves him before he laughs. "Well, at least they're still afraid. Even while you're out making stupid fucking decisions."

"What are we going to do about Walter and the plans?" I ask. It's another stupid question because I'm the one who fucked up.

I don't have the fucking right to inquire about how he's going to fix it.

"I'll figure it out. Give me some time."

Sitting back in my chair, I watch him leave the house. As he heads to see her , I let my leg bounce, anticipating what we'll have to do because of my mistake.

Part of me hopes he'll see it, too; that little something in her eyes made me knock her unconscious and throw her into her trunk.

Then I'm off the fucking hook.